Finally it is here, the culmination of two+ years of training–until the next big thing, anyways (Half Ironman?). After losing almost a month of training time due to illness I debated dropping down to a half, but decided to slow way down, embrace walk/run intervals à la Galloway, and go the distance.

My ego has always struggled to accept walking during a race, so to quiet it I turned a flaw into a feature, and found an appropriately-sized "CAUTION: This vehicle makes frequent stops" sign to attach to my hydration vest along with a "First time Marathoner" bib that the race provided. This was a big hit, getting me a lot of comments, fist-bumps, and thumbs-up.

The first half went smoothly, or as smoothly as 2:1 run:walk intervals can be, holding steady around 11:30 min/mile. On my long runs I usually started struggling around mile 15, and sure enough pace started falling off in mile 16, as run intervals began slipping, one minute turning into three turning into ten around mile 20.

Things were starting to hurt that you really don't want to be feeling in a race–ankles and hips notably. My feet were also starting to really complain, but that's just life as an active person over 250 pounds. Thoughts went to just wanting to sit down, collapse on the roadside and let the sweepers pick me up.

I wasn't ready for this. I'm not even a runner, why did I think I could do a marathon? I just want to go home...

Walking wasn't even really helping, and I found that running felt better, at least for a little bit, or at least needing to focus on putting one foot in front of the other quieted my demons. I even was able to get back to my starting pace with around three miles left, although that wasn't sustainable.

One mile to go found me walking, head down, past the photographer stationed in front of the Scottish Rite Cathedral. Pretty representative of how I was feeling to be honest. But the end was in sight.

I ran the last four blocks, cheered on by the music and the roar of the crowd. I found my wife, or she found me, a hundred yards from the finish; stopped and gave her a quick hug and kiss–I was the one running but this race belonged to both of us.

5:30 was not what I hoped for, but any finish of 26.2 miles is an achievement I will forever be proud of. I doubt I will ever take on a full marathon again, my body just isn't built for it. Never say never...