Today’s article is another guest post by Tim Killian – enjoy!

Quitting never really felt like an option when it came to running. I had run Track and Cross Country in high school, and I think with that came a certain hubris. When I ran my first marathon in 2015, I had no goal in mind other than to finish, and if I did it in under 4 hours I would be happy. I trained but I didn’t train. This was only a year after graduating high school, so some of my training and conditioning from being on distance teams for 3+ years carried over.

During my first Marathon I remember feeling like the miles were going by quickly, and it didn’t feel too bad. I don’t know if it was preparation or the great atmosphere of Duluth on Grandmas weekend but I did reach my goal and finished in 3 hours and 40 mins. I have never been in more pain than I was at that finish line, but I knew I wanted to do it again.

Being totally ignorant going into my first full marathon, I was elated with this result, albeit temporarily. Speaking about the marathon with a friend a few weeks later, he made an off hand comment that I was close to qualifying for the Boston Marathon – he was wrong, but at the time I didn’t know that. Looking into what it takes to qualify for the race, with my age group it means finishing in under 3 hours and 5 mins, I immediately made that my goal for 2016. But things didn’t go as planned.

That following year I went into my sophomore year of college, I was going to school full time, working a job 25-30 hours a week, and involved in on campus organizations. This was a long way of saying I was very busy, or at least thought I was. I kept on putting off the start of my training and constantly told myself I’d be just fine training for 10 weeks, then 8 weeks, and 6…This is where the hubris kicked in again and I wasn’t the least bit worried. Looking back this was foolish of me; even whilst knowing I was in better shape going into 2015 then I was, currently in 2016, I thought I had it in me to pull of a 35 min PR. Dumb. 

I wasn’t going into it completely cold, I still put in a hand full of miles here-and-there in the months leading up to Grandmas, but this would barely pass as training for a 10k let a lone a full marathon. It was May when reality finally hit me and I started to run more and more. I vividly remember one warm day where I tried to run 10 miles, but had to stop after 7 because my legs and lungs couldn’t keep going. “How am I supposed to run almost 4x that in a month?” I asked myself. “It’ll feel different on race day.” I thought. It was around 4 weeks away, and still telling everyone my goal was to qualify for the Boston Marathon. 

To make matters even worse, I upped the ante on myself. I made a deal with a number of family members that if I met my goal and qualified, that they would have to give up smoking. It was amazing of them to agree to it, but another bonehead move on my part. Added goal, added expectations, added pressure. And I still wasn’t training. 

When race day finally came I woke up with a headache and a runny nose – Running a marathon is hard enough, no sense on adding a degree of difficulty by not being able to breath – so I took Dayquil (#NotAnAd). Nothing else about my usual routine changed, I had toast with peanut butter on it, a couple bananas and as much water as I could drink. I’m not superstitious, but I also am not risking bad luck on the far side of 26 miles. Then it was off to the buses. 

The ride up the shore was its usual beautiful and calm self, eager runners talking to the person sitting next to them, others with their heads tilted back trying to get just a few more zzz’s in before the start. I had my headphones in, but couldn’t hear the music. Now, on this bus ride, is where all my nerves and fears of the race came out. As I’ve said previously, the one thought that sticks with me on race day comes from my mom, “The hay’s in the barn.” Nothing I do now will affect my preparedness for this run, and I’m terrified. 

Normally the beginning of the run is the most energizing. The first few songs on my playlist fuel that, and being shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of runners makes me feel like I could go for a hundred miles. This race felt like that too, but only for about the first two or three miles. By mile 6 I was feeling tired and my legs heavy.

To make matters worse my phone arm band broke. Using it as an excuse to stop and walk, I began trying to MacGyver the thing back on my arm. Some nice runners passing me made comments like, “I hope you’re not walking already” and “Why are you texting right now”.  I wanted them so badly to be wrong, and while I don’t think I could ever say those things to someone else, they were right. 

Out of spite I started to run again, but my legs didn’t feel right. As the miles ticked by I stopped at every water stop to get a break in and feel sorry for myself. Around the 11th mile my legs were tightening up and cramping from calf to thigh. Not even half way there and I felt like hell. Later, crossing the half way mark, and running through the start of the half marathon felt good, but I knew I didn’t have another 13 in me. When I passed the mile 14 marker I called it. 

I knew my family was waiting to cheer me on just past Lester Bridge, but there’s no way I could make it to mile 19. I called my girlfriend and told her I was quitting. Asking them to come and pick me up was the lowest point of my running career. I walked a little more and then tried to pick up the pace so they wouldn’t have to wait for me at the Drop-out tent. 

At the 15th Mile Marker I saw the giant sign that advertised the Drop-out location and made my way right over there. “I’m dropping out.” I told the worker sitting there with a clipboard. “You’re quitting?” He asked me, clarifying. Answering back “Yes” was the hardest, most demoralizing feeling ever. He took my bib number for tracking purposes, so they could account for me, then led me into the tent. 

The cramping was so bad in both my legs I had to waddle-and-swing to get around. The workers inside the tent were some of the nicest people, and made me feel less guilty for quitting. They offered me an array of food and drinks from their table, there specifically for treating hurting runners, and gave me a cot to lay on and wait. I ate pickles, peanut butter, bananas, and chugged water. 

A few minutes later, my dad, grandma and girlfriend came and got me, the car ride was somber, but they are so supportive and that helped. Selfishly I asked if we could drive to the finish, I wanted to go through the finish area and get my shirt and medal. We did, but I wish we hadn’t. Walking through the crowds of actual finishers and asking for my shirt from the volunteer made me feel pathetic. I never wear that shirt and the medal is tucked away, not on display. They’re tainted. 

Being very vocal about doing the marathon for months meant that I had to tell a lot of people that I backed out. No one ever gave me hard time to it, most understood but with an air of sympathy. I hated that too. The following year I skipped doing grandmas, but ran other races in the Twin Cities because I could still have fun with it. This year I am signed up to do the full again, my first since quitting in 2016.

Looking back I know there is good that can be taken from quitting, a humble perspective and paying respect to the fact that running a marathon is extremely difficult. I will not be shorting my training this time, and nothing short of injury will keep me from that start line. I’m not glad it happened to me, but I know I deserved it for the effort I put into training. 

Every bad part of the experience came down to my lack of preparation and ignorance. Everyone around me was supportive even when I didn’t come through the finish line in Canal Park. I’m not saying every runner should go through this type of experience, but don’t be afraid to fail either. I’m fortunate to have a supportive group in my corner, and the amazing Grandma’s weekend staff made a positive impact out of a negative experience. It’s still my favorite race to do, and I will recommend participating in the experience to anyone and everyone…even if you only plan on making it halfway.