Here are some of the things I learned from running my first marathon, and some of the blunders I made.

As I train for my 39th marathon amid a brutal Boston winter, I can’t help but think back to my first one. I ran the Baystate Marathon in Lowell, Massachusetts back in 2007, right after my daughter, Grace, was born. 

I had been racing shorter stuff, mostly 5Ks and 10Ks, pretty regularly before my girls were born, but then I put running on the back burner for a few years when they came along. Needless to say, I was chomping at the bit to get back after it once I had my feet back under me and was finally racking up enough hours of sleep for training. 

Running a marathon had been on my bucket list since moving to Boston in 2001 and, for obvious reasons, I had my sights set on the Boston Marathon. But, first, I knew I had to qualify. 

I signed up for Baystate and locked in on running a 3:40, which was what a 32-year-old woman needed to qualify for Boston back then. (For the record, today that time is 3:20, but given the competitiveness of the field and the number of entries, the cutoff is really several minutes under that.) 

Also worth noting, back then they gave us a one-minute cushion after crossing the line, so I really needed a 3:41, but that was not what I was telling myself. No need to cut it that close. Before this, the farthest I’d ever raced was a half marathon, which I did (prior to having kids) with my college roommate, Merri, who’d run with me at Colgate. Full credit to her as she roped me into that half and was no doubt a big reason for the initial spark of my marathon obsession.

OK, so now I was doing this. Or, at least, I was going to try. I started running more. Like 5-6 miles almost every day, which seemed like a lot at the time. And because that seemed like a good plan, and no one told me any different. I didn’t do research or actually learn from experts. Because why would I do that? I’d been running since I was a kid and ran competitively in college. I would be just fine! 

Some days I even picked up the pace a little bit. Sometimes I’d throw in a couple long-ish runs, too—like 14 or 15 miles. I really don’t remember. My naive, younger self just assumed if I stayed healthy and ran consistently, I’d be good to go come October. Silly, silly me! 

Finally, it was October and the race was looming. I didn’t taper because I had no idea what tapering was and, let’s be honest, I didn’t really need it given how little mileage I’d run to get to that point. 

A Learning Experience

On race morning, my husband drove me out to Lowell and told me he’d see me at the finish. I think this was when it hit me that this was actually happening. I remember feeling nervous but also pretty confident that I would be OK if I just didn’t go out too fast and kept it under control until the end when I planned to pick it up and finish hard. 

I have to laugh about it now. It’s funny. Also idiotic. But mostly funny. I grabbed my bib and watched as people ate bananas, loaded up fuel belts, stretched and eventually did some strides. 

As a marathon debutante, I couldn’t help but wonder things like:

• Why would someone eat food right before a marathon? That seems really risky.
  
• What were the utility belts a lot of people were wearing? Seems like that would be cumbersome and annoying for 26.2 miles.
  
• Why is everyone moving around so much? We are literally about to run a marathon, why are they doing more running before they start?

Finally, it was time to head over to the start. I walked outside and instantly realized why everyone was wearing a trash bag or carrying a blanket. Dammit! That would have been smart, but I’d jumped that ship months ago. I was freezing but I just played it cool because, well, what else was I going to do? 

Finally, the starting gun blew and we were off.  For the first half of the race I felt awesome. The miles were literally flying by. I’d been comfortably holding about a 7:30 pace and hadn’t had any issues. Until mile 17. I started to feel a little woozy. So, I slowed down a little, but I was still chugging along. I hung on like this for a few more miles ,and then the wheels fell off. 

I felt weird, dazed, confused. My legs were getting really, really heavy. My feet didn’t want to go. Somehow, I managed to shuffle/walk/jog through the final 10K, and finally I saw the stadium where the finish line was located. I had no idea what my time or pace is at that point. I’d stopped looking, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to be done. 

Mission Accomplished

Finally, I was on the track and the finish line was visible. I sprinted with all the energy I could muster. (Well, not really, but I thought I was!) I crossed the line in 3:39:59. No joke. I was one second off my Boston qualifying time. Talk about cutting it close!  

I found my family and promptly told them I was never doing that again. My older daughter, Rosie, wanted me to pick her up and carry her to the car. Of course, she did! When I got home I remember just sitting on my couch in a state of disbelief and bliss. I had qualified for the Boston Marathon. But also … holy sh*%! … now I had to run another one?!? 

Fast forward to this April. I’ll be running my 13th Boston Marathon and lining up for my 39th rodeo. A lot has changed in regard to my training, my race prep, and my overall knowledge about running in general. I’ve ramped up the mileage and added workouts. I got myself a coach. I’ve learned how to fuel during training and the race itself. I’ve also learned to be prepared but to expect the unexpected. 

What I learned from running my first marathon is still with me today—especially that feeling inside me when I made my way over to the finish line back in 2007 for the first time. That, I’m sure, will be exactly the same in eight weeks as I run down Boylston Street in Boston. I love it. I think most of us do, and that will likely never change.

My First Marathon Blunders

A lot of what I learned from running my first marathon came as a result of some of the mistakes I made. Believe me, there were many.

• I did the same run, same route, same pace, just about every single day, and threw in a couple longish runs closer to race day. That’s it! 
  
• I paid no attention to carbs and protein or anything related to diet of fuel, really, while I was training. I just ate whatever the heck I felt like. I was banking on the fact that being “pretty healthy” in general was more than enough from a nutrition standpoint.
  
• I did not carbo-load for multiple days before the race. I ate like I always did that week and had a bowl of spaghetti the night before. All my hopes of not crashing due to lack of fuel were in that one bowl.
  
• I raced in cotton shorts. Cotton! And they had a lot of excess fabric. I felt every thread with every step, and discovered the uncomfortable horrors of chafing. Needless to say, that post-race shower was super fun.
  
• I did not carry any fuel. Because I didn’t really know what it was. I’d never really heard of gels and didn’t use them. Back then, they didn’t hand them out during the race, only water and Gatorade.
  
• I didn’t drink the Gatorade at aid stations because I wasn’t really thirsty and didn’t think I needed it. 
  
• At the beginning of the race, I chit-chatted with the people around me thinking it would be a nice distraction and that they also wanted that distraction. They did not.
  
• I assumed running a BQ would be relatively easy for me. In the end, I made it, but it was anything but easy.

About the Author

Boston-area editor-at-large Rebecca Trachsel is a mom, a competitive age-group marathoner, a high school cross country and track coach, and music lover with a coffee problem. She’s still chasing big goals and having a blast along the way.

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