Run a marathon

Sometimes, when I get certain ideas into my head, for better or for worse, they materialize. Even though I only started outdoor distance running in April, I decided that I was going to run a marathon while I was 25. I started with the 12k Bay to Breakers in May, graduated to the San Francisco Half-Marathon in July, and decided to sign up for the Bizz Johnson Trail Marathon in October. In theory, this is ample time for someone who is reasonably athletic and diligent about training to do just fine. And I was, more or less, until after the half-marathon, when my lackadaisical training approach paid off surprisingly well with an easy, unwinded 2:15. I felt pretty good. I signed up for a full marathon and a trail one at that, which is harder. Then, in the inconsistency that consistently defines me, I stopped running.
Initially, I had hoped to finish in around 4:30. Didn't even sorta happen: 5:28. While disappointed, I readily recognize it could've been MUCH worse, considering I have only run nine times since July, the longest distance being the SF-half. Whoops!
The marathon was in Lassen National Park in Susanville, about 5.5 hours north of San Francisco. While a forgettable and vaguely sad little town that surely had its last heyday when Indians still roamed the frontier, the scenery for the run was gorgeous. Alanis Morrisette also ran the marathon! (Though she is pushing 40, she passed me before mile 1, but details, details.) The first 6 miles were a gradual uphill and the majority of the remaining 20 were a steady downhill.
As I have never run on a trail before, and had not trained AT ALL, I decided to run-walk. (Though by the end, it was mostly walk...) I was one of the youngest people running, the majority of the marathoners being at least in their 40s, but this did not stop most of them from passing me. My strategy was to pretend the race was only 13 long miles demarcated by the 2 mile apart aide stations. I walked through each one grabbing a gulp of water or Gatorade and an orange slice. I felt a little dizzy around mile 6 (couldn't tell if it was from the altitude or only having had an apple for breakfast [I can't do athletic activities on a full stomach)), but hit my wall around mile 11, where my right arch decided to bail and I limp-jogged along in a club-footed manner for a bit, cursing my abject stupidity for not training so that my muscles would be more acclimated to the tremendous endurance marathons require. I talked myself into continuing after passing the halfway mark, thinking if I could just make it to 16 miles, 10 more wouldn't seem so bad. I focused on not letting the people around me get too far out of range, forcing myself to jog until I caught up with or passed them if they did. At 17 miles, my right leg started randomly spasming, but I jogged on, determined to at least finish. I was really starting to regret running at this point and it didn't help that this 70 year old man in front of me was wearing a shirt that said "Start slow and taper off," which I had to force myself not to read as "just quit now." I made it to mile 20 in just under 4 hours, but then I hit another wall. My asthmatic lungs were doing just fine, despite constantly inhaling the dust of all the runners ahead of me, and the weather was perfect but my legs were not happy campers. Running a mile seemed to take FOREVER and willing myself to jog more instead of walk was a purely mental battle accomplished to varying degrees only by picking arbitrary points to jog to, admiring the beautiful scenery of rock ridges, colorful leaves, mountain springs, foot bridges and railroad tunnels, high-fiving trees close to the trail and passing people clearly over 50. The last 2 miles seemed never ending, my knees starting to ache, but I managed to sprint the .2 to the finish line, legs numb.
Every joint from my lower back down to my toes aches. I am limping around like I was ravished by a herd of elephants and I'm sure I won't be able to move or walk tomorrow. A Thai massage would be soooo nice right now! I was even considering some Bengay or Tiger Balm, but decided RICE and ibuprofen were better than smelling like an old Asian man. (I also kinda like feeling as if run over by an 18-wheeler. It makes me miss rugby!) I know I vowed never again, but I am curious too see how I can do if I allow myself adequate training... such is the price for my half-assedness!