What I learned from not finishing a marathon.

I love running. Ok, sometimes I say I hate it, especially on a cold, rainy day but deep down, I love it. It’s been something I’ve done on and off for years. I was that teenager who actually like cross-country at school. Probably something to do with not being much good at team sports.

What is it about running that I love so much?

It’s something you do on your own. You set your own pace, find your own challenges, compete with others or just with yourself. Nobody needs to know what you're doing. It can be your secret or something you share. It’s completely yours.

Sometimes it's a place to work through problems. Other times, it's a break from all the thoughts and worries that life throws at you. You focus on nothing but putting one foot in front of the other. When I’ve felt low, and there were times I didn’t even want to leave the house, something deep down knew: a run is what I need. And getting out for a run however slow or short has always helped.

I don’t think I’ve ever regretted a run. I might have walked most of it or turned back early, but I’ve always felt pleased I went out. When I run problems seem smaller for that time, it gives me space, it gives me a new perspective when I’m out in the elements thinking about how small I am on the planet.  I feel part of something.

The Run That Broke the Pattern.

There was however a run when all these things went out the window.   The 2012 Manchester Marathon.

I love the different challenges that running gives me and seeing how far I can go, so I decided to sign up for the ultimate challenge, a marathon 26.2 miles.  I chose Manchester as I love the city and went to university there. I chose to raise money for charity in memory of my university friend, Tracy, who had passed away suddenly.  

I trained hard. I gave up my social life, swapped pub nights for long runs up and down the Strawberry Line in Somerset. I worked. I ran. That was my life.

Race day came. I stood at the start with 6,000 other runners. Classic Manchester weather: grey, cold, and raining. I hadn’t dressed for it; I was in my vest and capri leggings. No running jacket. In my pockets I had fun size Milky Ways and jelly beans for fuel. I didn’t have a strategy; I just planned to run and finish. That was it.

Here I am ‘ready’ for the 2012 Manchester Marathon.

The start was incredible. I got swept along with the other runners, paying no attention to my pace and keeping up with those around me. At one point I was running next to a woman with the same name as my friend, so the crowd was shouting both our names, it felt like a sign that Tracy was here with me and this was going to be amazing! Despite the rain the crowd were full of enthusiasm.  I was flying along.

Then we left the city. The crowd thinned. The rain got heavier. The wind picked up. The people I’d been keeping pace with pushed on but I started slowing down. At mile 13, it hit me: I’d gone out too fast. The Milky Ways weren’t helping. I was cold and losing energy fast. I got my head down and kept going but things were unravelling.

Locals stood outside their houses, offering sweets, drinks and encouragement. But by mile 18, I’d hit the infamous wall. I started walking. Doubt crept in. What if I don’t finish? I’d raised over £1,000 was I letting everyone down? Where I needed self-compassion, I gave myself criticism. When I needed a coach, I became a bully. Other runners tried to help; one woman even pushed me along for a bit!

I jogged and walked to mile 21 but I knew I was done. I was frozen, depleted. I made the heartbreaking decision to stop. I watched the other runner disappear into the distance and felt jealous. I told myself I’d failed; let down my husband who’d supported my training, my friend and everyone who donated. I told myself I was useless those other runners were finishing it, so why wasn’t I?

I stopped at the side of the road. A steward double-checked I wanted to stop and then I was bundled into a local woman’s car, she was kindly rescuing stranded runners and taking them to a sports hall. There, we were wrapped in foil blankets and given tea. I texted my husband to come and find me.

That’s how my first marathon ended.

What Happened After.

I didn’t want to face anyone. I felt ashamed. I was convinced people would be disappointed and that they might demand their sponsorship money back! But what actually happened?

People congratulated me for getting to mile 21, for doing all that training, for trying. Some said it was brave to stop when I did. No one asked for their money back.

So what did I learn from not finishing a marathon?

I learned not to get swept up with the crowd. To run my own race, at my own pace. To stop comparing myself to others whether it’s another runner, or someone’s picture-perfect moment on Instagram. We only ever see a snapshot. We don’t know the full story behind their achievements. We don’t know how hard they might have worked behind the scenes.

If I feel jealousy now, I try to turn it into inspiration. How did they do that? What steps did they take? Could I do something similar, in my own way?

I realised I could be incredibly hard on myself. Complete strangers, people who didn’t even know me, were showing me kindness. Yet I couldn’t extend that same compassion to myself. My friends were nothing but supportive and in being so hard on myself, I was also dismissing their care and belief in me.

Finishing My Race (Eventually)

And I did go on to complete a marathon. Six months later, I crossed the finish line at the Chester Marathon. When I got to mile 22 and still had fuel in the tank, I felt elated. I ran my own race, listened to my body and stuck to a plan. I didn’t scoff Milky Ways this time! I finished in a time that surprised me and I learned that when I set a goal that really means something to me, I can get there.

Chester Marathon! A different story. This is me near the finish line.

And Manchester? Well, 13 years later, I’ve decided it’s time to face it again. I’ll be at the start line on Sunday 27th April, along with 35,000 other runners. This time, if I make it to mile 22, I’ll be in personal best territory, whatever happens next. And hopefully, this year, I’ll finally get my Manchester Marathon medal.

What’s this got to do with counselling?

And in counselling, just like running, it's not always about how fast you go or whether you finish every race. It's about showing up, learning from the setbacks, and being kind to yourself along the way. If you’re struggling with the being kind to yourself part, perhaps counselling could help you. If you’d like a chat with me to find out how I might be able to support you in finding your self compassion please contact me using the button below.