A different kind of wall

When you read about marathon running, it’s fairly common to read about ‘the wall’. ‘The wall’ usually being somewhere around mile 18 to 22 where there is a significant drop in energy level. As I’ve read about the wall, the distance of 18-22 seems about right given that the body will run out of normal carbo stores around that point. It’s also the point just beyond most training plans. Most training plans stop around mile 20, so it’s no wonder the body does a double-take around the point of reaching new ground.

I felt like I’d done enough long runs, both distance and time, to avoid the wall. My longest run was about 3:15, so longer than my actual race time. That run was 24 miles, so not quite as long as the race. I’d done 6 runs of more than 20 miles and 3 runs longer than 3 hours. During those runs I worked on nutrition as well to ensure my stomach could tolerate food during the race. Even during the race I kept up my water intake and ate almost 250 calories an hour of mostly Hammer Gel.

Still, come mile 22 I hit my own wall. I wasn’t out of energy – I felt good. My mind was still functioning well – I know because I could still do math in my head including calculating average pace. But there it was, my legs, more specifically both calves and my right hamstring, quite quickly were in a near-cramp state. Perhaps it was the effort and pace, perhaps it wasn’t enough salt intake (though I had plenty of that too), perhaps it was new territory. Anyway - there I was.

Now what? I hadn’t prepared myself for hitting a wall. I went through the strategies I knew. I tried focusing on breathing. I tried sending breath and energy to my legs to relieve some of the near-cramp. I tried mantras. I tried gritting my teeth. I tried ignoring it altogether. Connecting to nature. In some ways each helped a little, or at least I was able to keep my legs from cramping full-on. Almost – I did walk once for about a minute, though running actually felt easier. I did stop once and stretch my calves, and then I was off again. The near-cramping was such that it significantly altered my stride and my form – shorter strides with very little knee bend, a stiffer back which translated into stiff shoulders. Not pretty.

And then there was grace and peace. Twice in the last 4 ½ miles, I felt a grace and peace come over me. Both episodes lasted about ¾ of a mile and for those few minutes my mind was completely quiet, my legs though still hurting were softer, my stride opened up just a little, my pace smoothed out. During the race I wasn’t really aware too much of what had happened, only on looking back do I recall much. There was a surrender and letting-go to just running, forgetting about time, distance, cramping, breathing, or any other technique – just running. I don’t know how it happened, I just know it did, and it wasn’t even my doing. It just was.

This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced such ease on a run, though I’ve never been in this much discomfort on a run before either. Perhaps it was simply what my body knows from practice, when I stop ‘thinking’ and just am the spirit of running.

For most of the race I felt a great ease – letting my body be the guide of pace and effort, breathing and rhythm. There was no trying. It was only in the last 4.5 miles under duress that I went back into my head. Of course I could lament not letting go more in those last 4 ½ miles and that would deny the experience. It happened and I learned from that as well.

Our bodies really do know, more than our mind does, we just have to accept that grace and peace that’s always there and run with it!