Running on my terms

Two weeks ago today, which was Saturday, Oct. 4, 2014, I ran my first marathon in more than four years. If you count the 50K I did in June of this year, then it's three. Regardless, I am late in filing my reflection, and there's a good reason why.

I don't care to remember the marathon.

That sounds negative, I know. I have to say that the medal was cool, and the half-zip, long-sleeve hoodie we received in our swag bag was awesome, so much so that I love wearing it. But there is a solid reason why this marathon was a nightmare.

Let's back up the story for a minute. In late April, I registered -- on the whim -- for the St. George Marathon lottery. (Sidenote: I don't know why I sign up for these long-distance runs. Sometimes, I am persuaded easily by all my running friends' accomplishments that I feel sucked into trying to do what they appear to love to do. The enthusiasm was contagious, so to speak.) I was selected for it, so I began training in June after the 50K.

Training went well, and during the summer, I watched the airfare and waited for the good prices to hit. Those never really occurred. The stress in traveling and spending loads of money on a race for which I wasn't even trying to qualify for Boston mounted on me. I started to look for a nearby substitute race for the same day as St. George, and I found the Southern Tennessee Power Classic Marathon in Winchester, Tennessee, much closer to home. Happy with that option, I registered for it.

I didn't look at the elevation charts. I figured since it was in Tennessee, hills were likely. The night before the race, my husband and I drove the course. He pointed out some of the long inclines, but none of them were registering in my runner's head.

On marathon day, the first 6 miles were OK. After Mile 6, runners climbed for almost 2 miles. Then there was a brief descent, with another long climb. A false flat comes up, then more climbing. And more climbing. And more climbing.

You get the point, and I hope you understand now why I don't wish to cherish the memory.

I never have been glad to be done with a running event until that day. In comparison to the 50K at Carson Park in Paducah, Kentucky, the course was flat and circular in the same direction. A runner would think that would be worse, but it pales now in comparison. I simply wasn't prepared for all that climbing.

My running steam has diminished. I am tired. Since mid-September, I have been getting up at 3 most mornings to make the commute to Murray State to run before work. Even after the marathon, I still have been getting up at 3 just so I can get the run done, but the miles aren't training miles. I run only to stay fit.

I love to run, but I want to do it on my terms now. I don't want another event hanging over my head, but on Nov. 15, I am scheduled to show up at Tunnel Hill in southern Illinois and somehow run and walk 50 miles. I really don't know if I can do it, and truthfully, I don't care if I do or don't. Part of me doesn't want to go. The other part of me wants to see what I can accomplish. No firm decision has been made, and the jury is still out on this one. However, I am not really training for this ultra, at least not in the manner some ultramarathon enthusiasts do. The only thing I am doing is a 10-miler every Wednesday morning, maybe another Saturday morning long run if I can fit it in my schedule and medium-distance runs of 5 to 8 miles two to three times throughout the workweek.

To me, that's good enough. We'll see what happens.