On April 17th, 30,000 people will line up in Hopkinton, Massachusetts, to run the Boston Marathon. That’s 29,999 of the world’s best runners.
And me.
Growing up in Fermanagh, my friends and I walked the fields, rode our bikes and fished every inch of Lough Melvin. In my teens, smoking and drinking replaced those activities, and we’d rather catch girls than fish.
In school, PE was as active as I got. Our cross-country route passed an abandoned house, and a couple of lads and I would duck inside and smoke a ciggie before rejoining our classmates to run back to the school. Our teacher, smelling the smoke, despaired.
After college I wound up in the budding Irish television industry, where there was a party every night for anyone who wanted to go – and I always wanted to go. Why waste good partying time on physical activity?
When I moved to Portland, Oregon, in 2008 I was still in my drinking-smoking phase. I moved into the corporate world, making videos for a multinational printer manufacturer. People in the US are, for the most part, very active and health-conscious. My colleagues packed more activities and hobbies into a weekend than I had deemed possible in a lifetime.
Over the next couple of years my wife and I welcomed two little boys into the world, but, now in my early 40s, my weight ballooned as my metabolism slowed. By Christmas 2013 I was more than 14 stone (89kg). I felt terrible. I was sleepy, listless and depressed. I looked worse.
My wife is American and comes from a family of runners. Her dad asked me to join his team for a 200-mile relay race later that summer, and I agreed.
In March 2014 I ran my first mile since school. It took more than 12 minutes. I arrived home and threw up. The next day I was stiff and sore, but I ran another mile. In fact I ran a mile each day for a month. Then I ran two miles each day for a month, then three. And so it continued.
Meanwhile, I had started a job with another multinational company, and my colleague asked me to join his running group at work. I was embarrassed, but he persevered and introduced me.
Joining that group was the start of a new chapter for me. We ran every day and chatted and laughed. Before I knew it, I was running six or seven miles each lunchtime, and the anxiety and depression that had plagued me since my teens started to fall away. By the time the race with my father-in-law arrived in August, I’d lost more than two stone.
At mile 21 I smacked right into the wall again, but this time the pain was compounded by my internal voice telling me that I was a huge failure. I finished with my spirits crushed
In May 2016 I ran my first marathon, in Eugene, Oregon. The training was brutal given it took place mainly in the Oregon winter (think Fermanagh winters, only wetter), but by race day I was ready.
At mile eight I felt unstoppable.
At mile 16 I thought I was going to win the thing.
At mile 21 I wanted to die.
I had “hit the wall”, which happens when a runner’s body runs out of quick-burning fuel (glycogen) and starts to utilise slow-burning fuel sources (body fat) to keep going. It’s miserable, and with every step that misery is compounded. I finished that marathon saying I’d never do that again.
Moments later, I’d made up my mind to do it again.
[ Spring running season: Should I bother signing up for a race?Opens in new window ]
This is where you’d expect me to say that my next marathon was fantastic. Well, it was worse. At mile 21 I smacked right into the wall again, but this time the pain was compounded by my internal voice telling me that I was a huge failure. I finished with my spirits crushed.
It was my third marathon before I finished without “boking”, as we call vomiting in Fermanagh. Then, at my fourth marathon (Portland, Oregon), I qualified for Boston – the gold-standard race for runners in the US. Now my training is over.
I’m just back from a visit to Fermanagh and Belfast and was impressed by the number of runners out and about. Turns out the Belfast Marathon is coming up on Sunday, April 30th. Walking down Belfast’s Ormeau Road to a city-centre bar, I counted 23 runners. There were four people in the pub. Maybe more people are discovering the positivity and joy that running gives me and are finding a better balance for their lives, just like I did.
And no matter how I do in Boston, I can always say that a guy from Garrison represented our wee village on the world’s biggest marathon stage.
At mile 11 of my fifth marathon, I saw a lady holding a sign that said “Your Gym Teacher Would be so Proud”. I smiled to myself and shouted to her: “Shocked. Not proud. He’d be shocked.”
Him and me both.
Ronan Feely is from Garrison, Co Fermanagh. He left Ireland in 2008 and went to Portland, Oregon where he is now a senior marketing manager in the IT industry.
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