How to cope once you have crossed the finish line
Finishing a running race inevitably leads to a version of the stages of grief. The moment the line is crossed and the finish medal is slung around the neck, a chemical, biological and emotional process kicks in.
There’s no escaping it, no matter how experienced you are.
It usually begins with an involuntary smile, delight at the task completed. You want this feeling to last forever.
I say ‘‘usually’’ because there’s probably going to be a race that beats you some day.
For me it was my second marathon which, for various reasons (mainly the fact I hadn’t trained enough) had gone horribly wrong.
It was 20 years ago in Rotorua, an event which famously finishes under a gantry in the beautiful surrounds of the Government Gardens. The last couple of hundred metres are lined with a crowd cheering you on as you run down an honour guard of joy. Normally, it’s heavenly.
Except for me, that particular time, I may as well have been in hell. My legs were cramping, my lungs felt like they were bleeding, and my head was about to spontaneously combust.
‘‘I never want to do this again,’’ I whimpered, begging (unsuccessfully) to be carried back to the motel.
Not long afterwards, the second stage of the post-race process kicked in – the one where you start having flashbacks of the run itself.
During a hard race, the brain is so busy concentrating on keeping the body upright that it doesn’t really get to think of all that’s happening around you – the mates you see, the funny signs of encouragement, the people in costumes.
And so as you recover, memories tend to come to the surface. ‘‘Oh, there was a band of drummers about halfway,’’ I’ll blurt out, deliriously, to my wife. ‘‘And guess who I saw running dressed in a convict outfit?’’
She’ll smile and nod like she’s interested, knowing from experience that this phase will pass.
Because next comes the most dangerous stage – what’s next?
Depending on how you’ve experienced the finish line – ecstasy or agony – 24-48 hours later you’ll find yourself online desperately searching for another race. We’re like drug addicts after another hit – where’s the next shot of post-race endorphins coming from?
The search criteria will depend on what event you’ve done. If it’s a 5 or 10 kilometre, you be looking up half marathons.
If it’s a half marathon, you may find yourself flirting with the idea of doing a full marathon, even if you’ve previously had no interest whatsoever in doing one (that’s how our boss has ended up signed up for a marathon for the first time in his life, suddenly fretting about things like Sunday long runs and, I kid you not, how to tie his shoes up properly).
Handling this ‘‘searching for the next goal’’ phase of the process is super important. It can have a huge impact on the next phase: the post-race blues.
Usually it hits on Monday or Tuesday, once the endorphins and other runner’s high chemicals have washed from the bloodstream; it’s just a flatness, a feeling of sadness for the race that’s gone. It’s like you’re missing the race, whether you loathed it or loved it at the time.
Quickly, though, it will pass, especially if you’ve got another goal to look forward to.
Malcolm Law, trail-runner and adventurer, knows a hack around this whole process, a way of getting the finish-line rush without all the other affects: pacing someone.
In ultra-marathons, entrants are sometimes allowed to have a pacer, someone who runs with them in the final stages to help them make it home before any cut-off.
On the Dirt Church Radio podcast this week, he tells my co-host Matt Rayment and I about how he recently paced the last finisher at Hard Rock, a gruelling 100 mile race in the Colorado mountains.
Getting his mate to the finish line with minutes to spare before the cut-off, says Malcolm, was one of the best running experiences of his life.
You’ll find yourself searching for another race. We’re like drug addicts after another hit – where’s the next shot of post-race endorphins coming from?