I Hate Marathon Training

I have not always hated marathon training.

After all, I’ve run two marathons in two years and am preparing to run my third. Marathon training led me to running, the first form of intentional movement I’ve been able to convince myself to do semi-consistently. It led me to reevaluate my relationship with alcohol, and now I’m a year sober. And in September, it will give me my first excuse to travel internationally when I head to Germany to run the Berlin Marathon.

But more than halfway through my third marathon training cycle in as many years, I’m going to say something that is pretty much sacrilege in the world of running these days – I am not having any fun training for this marathon.

I’ll give you a minute to recover from your shock.

In a world dominated by run streaks, back-to-back marathons, and marathon lotteries that are harder to win than the actual lottery, it feels like no one wants to admit that, I don’t know, they might regret actually signing up for that race.

I’ll take a second here to recognize my privilege here: one, I am physically capable of running. Two, I was not only able to secure a spot for a world major marathon (through a charity), I have the financial means to back up that fundraising commitment if I can’t meet it, and the means to travel across the world just to run 26.2 miles. So it might sound kind of obnoxious for me to be talking about how much I’m not enjoying the training I signed myself up to do.

As more new runners get into the sport (and welcome, we’re glad you’re here!), the gatekeeping can often feel overwhelming.

You’re not a real runner if you can’t run under a 10-minute mile.

You’re not a real runner if you don’t run marathons.

You’re not a real runner if you aren’t trying for your Six Star Medal.

You’re not a real runner if your goal isn’t to one day qualify for Boston.

These are all great goals, but aspiring to none of these doesn’t make you less of a runner or less worthy of being in the space.

And frankly, I’m tired. More power to the runners who can run marathons back-to-back (to back), but after three solid years of marathon training, I’m just plain exhausted. I’ve dealt with multiple injuries, all of which have cost a chunk of change to diagnose and treat with a physical therapist. The three-hour long runs aren’t fun anymore; they’re an obligation. I feel like my progress is slow, if it’s happening at all. The world majors are EXPENSIVE regardless of how you get in, and the pressure of fundraising (and the pressure I’m putting on the same people, for the third year in a row, to donate) is not insignificant.

These are all valid feelings, but I have actually been scared to admit on the Internet that I’m kind of over it (because of the aforementioned gatekeeping).

But yep, that’s where I am. I’m preparing for my 17-mile long run tomorrow, dreading the slog through humidity. I have not hydrated nearly enough for this (better go get my water bottle).

I will keep on with the training, because I committed to the marathon (and you know, the flights and hotel are already booked….) In just a little more than a month, I’ll toe the start line at the Berlin Marathon and (hopefully) survive, and probably have a great time and be wowed by the experience, and truly appreciate how amazing this opportunity has been for me.

But afterwards, I plan to take a break (of indeterminate length) from the marathon. I know, I know…every runner says “never again” and then signs up for a race three days later. But I feel like my joy for running, and my enthusiasm for the sport, is starting to falter because of the artificial pressure I’ve put on myself to continue running marathons. More than anything, continuing to love running is more important than any PR or any race goal.

Maybe I’ll change my mind, but the point is – the pressure is off. You do NOT have to run a marathon to be a runner, and if you’re sick of marathon training, you’re not alone. And it’s ok. We’ll get through the last few hot, sweaty, humid miles, run our fall marathons, and then NOT FEEL GUILTY when we take time to figure out what comes next.

See you at the start line. If I make it through my long run. I still haven’t hydrated. Bye.