My first marathon

Through a book on running by Haruki Murakami, the renowned Japanese writer and runner, I learned about running. As the title of his short autobiographic book “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” implies, it’s about life and long-distance running. He shares with his readers the life lessons he learnt from running.

Murakami says that running is all about improving or elevating oneself to higher levels by raising the bar bit by bit, with the only opponent one has to beat being oneself. His book inspired me to run.

The idea of running a full marathon dawned on me about a year ago when I ran my first half marathon.

I ran half courses three times this year ― two in the first half and the last in October. All the records were mediocre at more than two hours ― the last one being the longest at 2:21:01. The somewhat embarrassing record last month reflects my laziness.

About a week after the Oct. 7 half marathon, I half-heartedly applied for a full marathon scheduled for Nov. 4, which meant I had less than one month left for preparations.

I have participated in the four half marathons without proper or sufficient trainings. Whenever I managed to finish a half marathon, I always made a resolution to sufficiently train for the next time but failed to put it into practice. That’s why I have never clocked in within two hours.

Now I’m trying to run 42 kilometers without going through proper training. Three weeks was too short for me to work out properly.

Worse, my left hip joint was aching. It was not acute but worrisome enough to sap confidence in myself at a time when I needed a morale boost.

At 8:00 a.m., on Nov. 4, I was standing at the starting line in front of the Jamsil Olympic Stadium in southern Seoul. With the ache in the hip joint lingering, I told myself: “Just run as far as you can.”

It was my goal to finish a marathon this year. I have often pictured myself entering the finish line. But, at the starting line, the prospects for me finishing the race were as cloudy as the weather in the morning.

As the starting siren blared, I edged my way forward. A countless number of marathoners ― many of them with tanned, muscular physiques ― ran past me. But I focused on keeping a steady pace and breathing normally. Time was not important for me. The priority was to cross the finish line.

As I run, gingko trees were shedding leaves on the pavement, setting an autumn scenery for the event.

I felt some stinging pain in the hip joint in the early stage. But I was eventually able to forget the ache as other parts of my body were screaming in pain and overtook the one in the hip joint.

As I run, I was approaching the 21-kilometer mark, the half marathon point, beyond which I had never set my foot. I was thrilled to pass the mark ― I was entering a new realm I have never experienced before physically and psychologically.

But the euphoria was fleeting. From the 30-kilometer section, it became harder to move forward, especially when running up a hill. Before running the marathon, I made a determination not to walk except for the water stations where I stop to drink and do some stretching.

The 35 to 39 kilometer sections were the most excruciating. At some points, I wasn’t able to keep running, and I had to walk at some sections. As my body was lurching, running every 1 kilometer became so painful.

Still, I kept running albeit slowly. There was no such thing as a runner’s high for me. After 30 kilometers, it was just painful.

As I was approaching the 39-kilometer mark, I got the feeling that the end is not far away.

The thought of approaching the finish line made my body a bit lighter. And the Olympic stadium came into my sight. I ran one lap of the track before crossing the finish line where volunteers welcomed me and handed me a finisher’s medal. I clocked in at 5:14.04.

I made it finally. Time did not matter. I was happy to deliver on the promise I made to myself. At least I didn’t give up.

I owe a lot to Murakami. I used some lessons I took from the Murakami’s book. Whenever it was hard to move on, I remembered the lines he used to overcome the pain: “I’m not a human. I’m a piece of machine. I don’t need to feel a thing. Just forge ahead.” That’s what I told myself. That’s what got me through.

Thank you Murakami! It’s like you were with me. You helped me move on. <The Korea Times/Cho Jae-hyon>