The cursed marathon coat

There it is, hanging on the hook near the front door. I don't wear it too often in case it gives someone the idea to tell me about this specific marathon it symbolizes. Not the marathon as such, or the organization that gave out the famous good and beautiful coat (despite that rough translation, "finishing", in big letters on it), but the marathon mine.

The thing is, I did that damned marathon just 30 days after doing a damned Ironman. Yes, yes, 30 days. What? You have to try things out sometimes, and I would like to point out that it went well for Philippe and Hugo who did the same nonsense as me. But that's kind of the point, I'm neither Philippe nor Hugo, who, in addition to being much better athletes than me, they have the advantage of being younger. That said, I'm prettier than them. And them, well they piss in their wetsuit.

Age, I don't really believe in it (it's an invention of those who sell gifts), it's hard to remember ("it changes every year" said cousin Germaine) and it never played too much on my overall abilities (even though I have 3 pairs of goggles and still can't read my swimming training because my arms are too short). However, I must admit that age is not just an entry into the era of anonymity (in front of the cashier cute the IGA or the handsome bus driver, depending on where you crèche), no, age in sport, well it's a lot about your ability to manage recovery. In other words, recovering from an Ironman takes longer at 52 than at 32. Knowing is one thing, assuming it is another. But I assure you, thanks to the fact that our age is written on the calf during triathlons (Why? The podiums for amateurs are by age group, and think about it, when we pass you, you like to know if you must swarm more or let the youth run away!), I see that the well-trained human being can provide much and for a long time. But don't ask the older ones to "run" the shops the day after a race or do another competition the following weekend, the spa will appeal to them more.

So, if we go back to the cursed marathon, I must say that I am still perplexed in front of him. It's not so much a matter of timing (although that aspect haunts me a little too, to be quite honest), as it is a matter of overtaking. I'm not talking about the overtaking of my friends from the running club Jorge and Sébastien (accompanied by a Frédéric to support the expression never 2 without 3), because they really didn't understand the concept; I wanted them to surpass themselves, not to surpass me (finally!).

The fact of surpassing oneself is for me, one of the most important things. It comes before the performance, before the statistics, before the paces of contemplation (or complacency…), and especially before the happiness of finishing a race when finally, you did it only for the cursed coat. "I feel that I am sitting on the court of values" says the poet François Charron; let's face it, I find that almost any reason can be good for running a marathon (even the ones I disagree with but don't give me a second's look at), but not the one to do it to get the cursed coat. Me and my girlfriend, well…we both did that; a marathon for a bloody free coat. Not strong. We were not in self-transcendence, but in stubbornness with ourselves.

A lot of things happened to me during this race. There was a knot of junk in my head when I thought, after finishing the 21.1km at a great pace, that I was going to finish the rest of the race as a king. To surpass yourself well, you have to respect yourself, and there, we could especially say that my head and my body formed more of a couple. to broil just an example to follow… You know, on a marathon, you experience the ups and downs of being a flight attendant; your body, pushed to the limit, sends you funny signals. A lack of sugar and dark thoughts rush with the big questions (for-who-why-I-do-this and so on). You think you're a Kenyan and you think you'll win? That's it, you're in the m and the famous wall is near. Well, I thought I was a Kenyan that time. I followed Éric, a young recruit from my triathlon club. Eric may not know it (I had disguised myself to make sure no one recognized me; not difficult, I just had to not wear the club colors), but I stuck to his buttocks until at km 33, and that's when I started running slower than the volunteers were walking. For an old-timer like me, badly "managing" (it's crazy how administrative language invades everything) a race like this, well, it's hard.

Still, if my marathon will not go down in history for my performances, my pride in having accompanied Sébastien in his training for his first marathon, which he did well, will remain etched in my memory. Same thing for the fact of having passed the thread almost at the same time as Jorge. The year before, I had moreover had the pleasure of running the last meters (the penultimate ones in fact; the real last ones are for the real heroes and we settle down before the wire) with him for his first and that too, I will not forget. Finally, the damn coat also reminds me of the great deals that come with running; you "lose" a race but you gain months of training and enviable health (unless you switch to the dark side of the force as I said before). Let's be proud of our accomplishments. Really. And running a marathon is no small feat.

I didn't make tons of mistakes in the damn coat marathon, but basically I made a pretty big one: I overestimated myself. I had nevertheless left in all modesty with realistic objectives (it was still my fourth), but along the way, I unfortunately changed my plan like a blue…I overestimated myself twice; I first believed (not really believed but it's just like…) that I could line up an Ironman and a marathon (so two marathons) within a month with my form then, and then , well, I copied the rhythm of the others. Morality? Realistic goals hurt the body and pride less! Above all, realistic goals save us from many dangers (injuries, overtraining, impostor syndrome, disappointment, etc.) and promote longevity, the healthy maintenance of our passion. And yes, a passion is maintained. Do you put the best oil in your car? So grab your best goggles to craft your competition schedule because ultimately, like with better oil, you'll go further, better, and longer.

I know, it's not always easy to position yourself well, to find how to be pulled up, but with the right cable... you have to surround yourself well. It's valuable to have a friend, a coach or a training partner who is able to "reposition" your goals and at the same time, who is able to push you to the limit. It reminds me of my parents; my father, born in 1923, unconsciously did everything so that my mother, born in 1924, never finally took the wheel of the car! He was a good Jack my father, but unconsciously he was addicted. Different times, different customs you might say, but still, it looks like some runners who unconsciously resent their partner overtaking them. Finally, Jorge and Sébastien, the cursed coat and I, on this point, we supported each other in the right direction and I am quite proud of us!

By dint of talking to you about my cursed marathon (I'm going to end up digesting it completely and calling it my marathon which taught me beautiful things), I realize that I didn't tell you that the coat, in terms monetary, was worth less than the cost of registration… It's a bit con huh? But it is symbolic, and it reminds me of my adolescence. I mean, if we went to see Genesis, the question did not arise, we bought the damn t-shirt, beautiful or ugly, expensive or very expensive, because it showed our allegiance and our presence at the Forum on the evening when it was necessary be there. The next day, at the polyvalente, we were lined up in an onion row with everyone, I said everyone, an identical t-shirt with scents as magical as they were dubious. Sounds like the day after a marathon, right? If it doesn't run very well, it works or it crawls to the sports shop the next day with a moderately clean marathon t-shirt to go and swipe shoes that the athlete has already swiped 10 times, but now it swipes relax with a winning tan. Don't try, I saw you, I sold some too running shoes.

Anyway, I realize that I didn't tell you either about my cursed Ironman which preceded the cursed marathon in question. Not the one where I had the turista, nor the one where I picked myself up in hypothermia and my girlfriend in the emergency room, no, the other cursed one, the one in the torrential rain with a deflating tire. The one where the next day, at the banquet of champions, two or three watt pushers and myself, we complained about our ordinary performances in front of a nice table of athletes without really being interested in the courageous triathlete next to me who had had 4 punctures during the event (4!!!) and who was dragging his insulin (if I had listened to him, I would have known and I would have been interested, but I talked all the time), and above all, without think too much about those who were victims of a huge bicycle accident (a real carnage) on the famous section of the circuit where there is a not worse drop. In fact, we bragged about our imitation failures and imitation successes because we didn't want to think about the victims, we wanted to drag them under the carpet, clean the carpet, because it was our day of glory, day of buying clothes of "finisher". We'll talk about it, promise. But after the article on the importance of education. I don't know, but I want to say thank you for reading. See you soon.