1.
How to eat and run.
Before marathon training, eating while running was a skill I had only attempted once, at running camp. If I'm honest, it was "eating lunch, then running 10 minutes later," but who's counting. When you're running a marathon, you have to eat. Unless you're a sub-3 marathoner, you're burning over 1000 calories an hour and no amount of Gu, Powergel, and Gatorade can replenish those lost calories quickly enough. No matter how sensitive your stomach is, you must learn to eat and run. You also must learn to eat and run and not puke or choke, because puking leads to dehydration and choking leads to respiratory distress, and neither of these are conducive to successful marathon running.
I started small. On our training runs, I'd take an orange slice off the table every couple of miles and start there. This led me to a discovery: At age 19, I had never eaten a straight up orange. Those things are complicated. I've since learned how, but still... What a weird fucking fruit. It's all stringy and gushy and texturally unpredictable.
Then I moved onto carbs. Pretzels worked well, I realized, unless you broke the golden rule and forgot to chug water immediately after eating said pretzel. This led to me almost choking to death in Framingham, in February of 2004, dressed in red from head to toe on a Valentine's Day-themed 16-miler. Oops. Lesson learned.
I'm happy to report that this skill continues to be useful in my life. I haven't run a marathon since, but I'm still a distance runner, and it's not uncommon for me to go on a 14-miler with several waffles strapped to my arms. It also means I can eat something in the middle of boxing class and not upchuck. I can also all-out sprint down Comm Ave looking for a cab 36 seconds after stuffing my face.
2.
Peeing your pants is badass.
I realize this goes against everything we've been taught since being potty trained, but when you're a marathon runner, you're badass, and badasses don't wait in line for the bathroom. It doesn't matter how slowly you're going, if you're waiting in line to use a porta potty, you're STOPPED. Zero miles per hour. And I wouldn't know, but I'd expect the following dialogue to be running through your head: "So.. I've put 6 months into training for this race and I'm waiting in line for 5 minutes in the middle of it to pee... While the clock is still running..."
It makes no sense to STOP to pee. Not to mention the fact that you're already covered in so much dirt and sweat and blood and pus (throughout the course of a marathon, you get blisters, they pop, and you get more), is pee really going to make you that much grosser? The answer is no. Suck it up.
On the 8th day, God created fancy fabric that wicks away moisture, so fucking buy some. Go all out and by dri-fit underwear if you want to. I didn't bother. I just went with bike shorts. But whatever floats your boat.
One time I met Uta Pippig and she complained to me about everyone asking her constantly about her messy marathon. She got her period, didn't stop, got the runs, peed, and kept going. I mean really, if I could run a marathon that fast, I wouldn't care what was on my skin while I did it. RESPECT.
Related sidenote: Peeing your pants is actually quite difficult. Your entire torso is clenched together, and you can't really stop and sit down, so you have to kind of un-clench part of your torso while still clenching enough ab muscles to keep yourself running. I actually had to stop and walk to make this happen the first time I peed.
3.
Weight training is key.
I was a naive child at 19. I thought I could just run and that would be enough to stay thin and fit and strong. As is evidenced from the pictures taken during that time period, clearly that was not the case. Take it from me: You might make it through a 21-mile training run with no arm strength. You might think you're fine, because running is legs. You would be wrong. When you hit mile 21.5, your arms start to burn. The pain slowly extends into your delts, lats, and pecs, to the point when you feel each pump in excruciating, slow-motion detail, and it hurts so badly you picture the muscle fibers ripping as you move. Then they get heavy, and it hurts to lift them. By this point you're in Brookline, so it's not too hilly, but you still need to pump your arms to move your legs in sync and it hurts so much you start tearing up. No one notices because by this point you're covered in 27 layers of sweat. You try briefly to run with your arms floating by your sides, but they don't float, they drop heavily and the impact shoots through your shoulders and you instantly regret that decision.
Do not make the same mistake I did. Make your arms strong too. Just trust me.
