What do you do when you’re 19 miles into a marathon and your legs cramp up?
"This is going to be a problem. Walking hurts, and there are still ten kilometers left between me and the finish line."
It’s October 2nd, 2022, and I’m about three and a half hours into the Cape Cod Marathon. I’ve just passed the aid station around the 19-mile mark, where I sipped a small cup of water. Out of nowhere, my right thigh cramps up. Like really cramps up. My muscle contracts so hard that I jump into the air like I’m in the video game QWOP, and you’ve just hit the wrong key.
I land and walk off the pain for a few feet. This isn't good! Every time I put weight on my leg, I feel the muscle tense. My mind starts racing. Why is this happening? What do I do? Is this how the race ends?
I pull off to the side and try stretching my thigh. I put my foot up against a tree and push into it, but I can’t seem to stretch the right part of the muscle. I regret not ever stretching during my training. I regret half-assing my PE requirement in college. If I had listened more or stretched more, I would know how to fix this.
There’s nothing I can do now. I have to keep moving forward. I start walking again, slowly at first, then gradually putting more pep in my step. I start trotting along. If I’m conscious of not putting too much pressure on my right thigh, maybe I can keep it from… NOPE! Now my left calf cramps up. This is going to be a problem. Walking hurts, and there are still ten kilometers left between me and the finish line. A year ago, ten kilometers was the longest I had ever run. I’ve come a long way! The problem is that I’ve never run ten kilometers with cramps in both legs. This isn’t going to be fun.
In my heart, I want to believe that I can still do it. Look how far my mental strength has gotten me already! I’m almost twenty miles in, six miles more than I have ever run before!
Like actually: I have never run more than 13.1 miles continuously until today.
My confidence has gotten me this far. Surely, it can get me to the end. Right?
Maybe I was wrong to be confident. I was naive. I’m clearly not ready to run a full marathon. It’s just too much. What was I thinking? I haven’t trained enough, and no amount of willpower can surmount physical ineptitude.
My training
The truth is, I knew this would be a problem from the start. The first time I attempted to train for a marathon, the running volume was too much for my body to handle. In the span of a month, I tried going from running a few miles now and then to running thirty miles a week. I ran my first (and only) half marathon last January as part of that training. But that race left me with an injured knee that prevented me from walking for multiple days, let alone running. And I was expected to do an even longer run that week! I couldn’t handle it…
So, in the end, I ended up withdrawing from the Paris Marathon.
I knew that when the time came to train for the Cape Cod Marathon I wouldn’t be doing a traditional training program. My strategy was to get myself as mentally prepared as possible while lowering my risk of injury. This meant less running and more racing.
So that’s what I did. Over the two months leading up to the marathon, I raced in five different races, ranging from a one-miler (the Fifth Avenue Mile) to a 10-mile race two weeks before the marathon (the New Balance Bronx 10 Mile). Even when a race left me with pain in my leg or knee, I had ample time to recover before the next. The key was that these races allowed me to test how far I could push myself, especially when they got hard.
My plan for the marathon
Having trained the way I did, I needed a clear plan for the race that would rely as much as possible on my strengths (my ability to push myself) and as little as possible on my weaknesses (my lack of physical preparation). I knew the key would be to try and get as far as possible in the race without relying on my tenacity. Essentially, I had to run easy so that I could persevere when it inevitably got hard.
My main worry was “hitting the wall.” That’s when you’ve burned so much energy that you have nothing left in the tank, no energy to keep going. I was doubly worried about this because I had never experienced it. I had no idea how it would feel and even less of an idea of how I would deal with it. I just had to make sure it didn’t happen.
So my strategy was this:
Slow and steady. Run at a comfortable pace, and listen to your body to preempt “hitting the wall.”
Drink water at every aid station.
Eat a gel pack every 45 minutes and fill up on gels whenever the aid stations offer them. The only way I can prevent myself from hitting the wall is to ensure I have more than enough energy. Since the race will have gels along the way, I’ll start with only four in my pocket.
Make it halfway with the least effort possible so I can rely on my physical strength for the second half, where I will be in uncharted territory.
If I hit the wall, take short walking breaks, eat a gel, and drink water if possible.
Race Day
So there we go. I trained (more or less) and have a clear plan for the race. I got a decent night's sleep barring the fact that it took me an hour to fall asleep due to stress. Now it’s time to run the thing.
The first half went very smoothly. I followed the plan to a tee. I drank a cup of water at every station, ran very comfortably, and just tried to take in the scenery and the atmosphere.
At around mile ten, I struck up a conversation with a guy I had been running alongside for about a mile. It was his first marathon too. I asked him how much he had trained before telling him about how little I had. I also told him that the longest I had ever run before now was a half marathon.
And to this, he replied, “Oh, just so you know, the second half is wayyyyy harder than the first!”
That threw me for a loop. All I could think was, “Why the f*ck would you say this to someone as they’re running a marathon? You think I don’t know that this is going to be hard?” The only thing I want to hear when I’m running a marathon is, “Wow, you’re doing great! You made it this far! Keep going!” Not, “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” Of course, I knew he was right, which scared me the most. But so far, everything was going well, and the best I could do was assume that it would continue that way.
I let him run ahead, mostly because I wanted to follow my plan of running easy but also to ensure I didn’t fall victim to another unwelcome truth bomb. Eventually, I made it to the halfway mark, and everything was still going perfectly according to plan. I finished the half in just a few minutes more than my previous half marathon, but I still felt fresh and painless, a significant improvement from last time! I just had to stay the course and not diverge from the plan.
At mile 17, I started feeling a little tired but still confident. The worrying thing was that I had taken my fourth and final gel, and so far, I hadn’t come across any aid stations with gel packs. I thought I would have stocked back up by now. I had to make a decision. Since I was starting to feel fatigued, I opted to walk a little to conserve energy. This was still following my initial plan, so I wasn’t too disappointed. Since I had my phone with me, I decided to call Charlotte to let her know how I was doing and that I believed I could finish. I had already made it almost 18 miles and felt tired but had no pain. How hard could another 8 miles be? After about half a mile, I hung up and started running again, and then…
Disaster hits.
The cramp
We’re back to where this story began: my legs cramp up, and I can only walk.
My mind races through my limited sports science knowledge. How can I relieve the pain and help my muscles relax? Do I need to consume more energy? Well, I’m out of gel packs, so I’ll have to do without. More water? If I drink more, my blood pressure should decrease and help relieve the cramps. (Obviously, I have no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s what’s going through my mind.) Unfortunately, the last aid station was about a mile back, and the next one is even farther than that. More than a mile of pain stands between me and the cup of water that could be my salvation.
The time has come to go all in on my mental toughness. I had conserved it all for the dreaded wall, but instead, I was going to use it just to get to the next water station.
I start jogging again, but I try to use my muscles as little as possible to avoid more cramps. What does that look like in practice? You don’t fold your legs and act like they’re just two pegs. It sounds ridiculous, but it just might work… I’m pretty desperate, so I give it a go. I must look pretty funny right now.
Somehow, it’s kind of working. I’m making faster progress than if I was walking, and after a few hundred feet, my muscles haven’t cramped up more. I keep going.
The brunt of the pain is now being taken on by the joints, specifically my knees. But I can work with knee pain. I’ve run with knee pain before. So I keep going.
After an arduous effort, I finally reach the next aid station. There are four volunteers with their arms outstretched, holding out cupfuls of the antidote to my pain: WATER! I take the first cup. Then the second. Then another. By this point, all the volunteers are laughing, and the fourth volunteer, smiling, offers me his cup, “How ‘bout one more?” I gladly accept.
I walk, slowly drinking all four cups, making sure that I don’t waste a single drop. I keep walking a little more. I’m worried. What if that doesn’t do the trick? Sure, I made it about a mile using my revolutionary “no-muscle” running technique, but I can’t do that for another ten kilometers. If I’m going to make it to the finish line, I’m going to need to use my legs.
I start speeding up. After a minute or so, I feel like I’m running again. I pace myself. I don’t want to cause another cramp. But somehow, after a few hundred yards, I’m actually running! I can run again!
My knee hurts like hell, but my muscles are fine! I’m elated. I’ve never appreciated water as much in my life! The last time I ran the half marathon, my knee hurt the whole time, and I was able to finish that. I only have ten kilometers left, and I basically just walked the last three miles, so I’m feeling fresh. The very fact that I’m running makes me feel like I just started the race anew. I can do this.
I CAN DO THIS.
Until now, I wasn’t sure I would be able to finish. Now I know I can.
And I was right! I finished the marathon.
The remaining few miles were quite uneventful. There were very few people around at that point, and we all were fighting our own battles. Small words of encouragement as we passed each other went a long way.
I even passed the guy who had told me the second half would be hard! I mean, he was right, of course — the second half did suck. But I still didn’t need to hear it.
I drank all the water I could and finally found some gels at one of the stations as I was starting to feel exhausted.
And then, finally, I turned onto the road where this had all started 5 hours earlier. My grandparents were at the finish line, and I heard my grandmother yell, “Go, Max!”
And then, I crossed the finish line.
I did it! I finished a marathon.
It took me five hours, twenty-three minutes, and twenty-three seconds, but I did it. I completed the Cape Cod Marathon.
That was definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Five straight hours of pushing myself to the absolute limit.
Would I do it again? Definitely! But maybe I’ll train more next time…
What’s next? The next goal on my mind is this: a triathlon. Oh, and maybe the 2023 New York City Marathon?