It's Not About the Run

Written by Katherine Victorio

My story is about running a marathon and learning that it’s not really about the run.

Seven years ago in October, one of my best friends, Carolyne, ran the Marine Corps Marathon. It was her very first. This was a big deal for her as we all knew this was an attempt to get her life back together after a painful divorce. A full marathon is 42 km and Carol is no athlete by any means. Carol did not run: She pranced, she skipped, she galloped… but she didn’t ‘run’. And here I was, too self-righteous for my own good, thinking, “If Carol can do it, I know I can.”

So the following May, in 2004, I began my training to prepare for the Toronto Marathon. The recipe for proper conditioning is: the right pair of running shoes and socks, dry fit gear that didn’t chafe, good electrolyte balance, slow progressions never exceeding 10% per week, mixed in with some cross training, proper stretching, and a splash of good hydration. You will survive the unrelenting torment so long as you keep those factors in check and never push beyond your limits.

But preparing for a marathon was so much more than just the physical training.

There was mental training. I was in the zone, like a machine you couldn’t stop. You set a goal for yourself, develop an action plan, and execute the plan to reach your goal. It was about self-discipline, focus and determination. I knew it was my time, so not only did I register for the Toronto International Marathon, I had to tell the world I did. Like building a bridge and then tearing it down after you crossed so you couldn’t go back.

I was in university again with only 2 options: pass or fail. And I wasn’t afraid to fail because I knew failing wasn’t really an option. This taught me something about myself. I learned that I could do anything I set my mind to; that if I really wanted something, I had the power to make it happen and take full control over the outcome.

I learned to believe in myself; to trust myself, love myself, and have faith in myself. This introduced the spiritual training. When I got out for an early run at 5am, it was serene out on the streets. I loved the smell of the crisp air, the feel of the morning dew, the warmth of the sunrise. I could feel my heart race and hear my breaths get louder. I was ALIVE. The endorphins would kick in and euphoria swept over me. This was ‘runner’s high’, the best natural drug.

I was at peace with myself. No fires to put out, no technological mercies. It was relaxing, almost meditative because I could tune out all distractions and use all my senses to truly appreciate the beauty of nature, and at times, the wrath of nature. I remember getting caught in heavy rains and having no escape, but rather than feeling defeated by the pelting drops, I felt liberated and rejuvenated to be able to break the routine of finding shelter or an umbrella, and just letting it pour… it was cleansing. Life was beautiful and I was grateful to be part of this whole ecosystem. During my runs, I also realized that with or without me, life goes on in this wondrous world. And this thought humbled me.

Once I became introspective, the emotional wave came crashing in. Some people do drugs or alcohol, smoke or eat when they are depressed. I ran. I ran to escape from my pains and my fears, from untold truths and unanswered questions. I ran because I knew it was something I could grasp during times when I seemed to be losing my grip. I was in a place in my life where I needed change, growth, and creation. I was not rediscovering myself, but rather I was ‘recreating’ myself. I knew who I was and where I came from, but more importantly, this was about knowing where I wanted to go and what I needed to do to get there. And running gave me plenty of opportunity to make my path and ‘walk the talk’.

Training through five months of bruised toes and ripped toenails, aching blisters and sore knees, shin splints and chafing thighs or arms eventually prepared me for D-day. October 17, 2004 arrived. It was a misty cold day; some wet snow fell and made the streets slippery. Two thousand and fourteen people raced the full marathon that day.

The first person came in at 2:16; it had taken me two hours and four minutes to run just the half-marathon the month prior, and that was a good day. A man in his late 60s came in at 3:23. The last person finished in seven hours and 28 minutes but that still beat the other 54 who ran and never made time. I hobbled along in the cold, wet rain, barely mobile with a few kilometres to go… I was destroyed, famished and freezing, but four painful hours and 55 long minutes later, I was elated and glorified that-- like my friend Carol--I had passed, not just the finish line, but a whole lot more.

Katherine Victorio is the Wellness Coordinator at North York General Hospital, and will be participating in the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon on October 20th in support of NYGH.