by Todd Daigneault

Created on: April 10, 2010

My first race was way back in 1985-it was the Vancouver (Canada) International Marathon.  I was a brash nineteen year old kid, with five years of running experience behind me.  I had always wanted to run in a marathon, and running was my life.  But, being a newbie, an awakening experience of immense proportions lay ahead.  But for me, running began way back in 1980, being caught up in the running/health craze that was sweeping across North America.  Finding team sports in high school ever so boring, and not challenging enough to me, I started to get into running.  This was the era of the track suits, running gurus, and the cassette Walkman was still big and bulky-IPODs and MP3 players were still years away.

Long before the horrors of 9/11, I remember watching the New York city marathon, and dreaming of competing in a marathon of my own.  Being a green kid of seventeen and eighteen, I started an aggressive training program.  Being young, and in excellent physical condition, enabled me to start pushing the envelope in distance.  But still there was a way to go in understanding the complexity behind the training associated with preparing for marathons, and fully getting in tune with the psychological  mechanics and dynamics in preparing for a marathon.  In those early years as a runner, I didn't even have the proper shoes.  But a few shinsplints and a little water on my knee soon gravitated me to Nike air shoes, which made a huge difference for me.

As 1984 dawned, I was already in high-gear for my marathon preparations.  Due to the modifications made to my existing training, and the improved shoes, I was already starting to make a huge difference in my training performance.  Being a naturally-talented athlete, I was easily beating other runners in my area, and started to look forwards to my first marathon.  As the summer of 1984 closed, and fall began, preparations began in earnest for my first race that was now less then a year away.  Being brash, young and oh so certain, my assumptions were that readiness was there.

As marathon day approached, in 1985, my nineteen year old frame seemed ready.  As the crowd surged forwards, time seemed to stop.  But, invariably, we cleared the marshalling-area, and surged forwards.  I remember adjusting my sweat band and arm band as that analog-Walkman played beautiful music into my ears.  The race moved well for me-the miles seemed to melt away-as my training and expertise kicked in.  Compliments came from race officials over my breathing and everything else. 

 For a first race, I did remarkably well.  Suddenly, I reached the eighteenth mile and stopped dead in my tracks, out of gas after hitting the wall.  Now with energy-depleted muscles, I walked the remaining eight miles very slowly and still finished at four hours and nineteen minutes.  Had the wall not stopped me, I would have finished it at just over three hours.  Although my time was much later, no sense f defeat was seen.  In the years that followed, many other races and years more of running was done by me. 

 In 2010, I am still running, and still look forward to the possibility of competing again.  Running can be a metaphor for life: what can be perceived by others and ourselves as a defeat is just the first tentative steps towards eventual triumph and victory.  Even if we don't win the marathon, we move forward, buouyed by our own personal bests and triumphs, and that in itself is as sweet as a victory of having won the race in the first place.

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