Running Into Trouble:
My Midlife Crisis, and Why I Refuse To Have Another One

If you’ve read my blog posting, The Day Marsha Skrypuch 
Whipped My Butt, you might be assuming that I’m a newbie runner. You’d be wrong. In my much younger years, I ran almost every day. I ran on the streets, in the parks, even up and down the stairwell of our apartment when we lived in a rough neighborhood. I ran to burn off lots of energy, so I could feel calm—and to burn off lots of calories, so I could eat like a pig. When my house started filling up with kids, I bought a treadmill so I could keep moving.

A few years ago, I celebrated my midlife crisis by signing up for two marathons that were spaced several months apart. I bought new running clothes and read dozens of inspiring stories about first-timers who finished in under three hours. I was pumped.

So I was somewhat surprised when it took me over five hours to finish the first marathon. I didn’t have the heart to look behind me when I staggered across the finish line, but I’m pretty sure the only people back there were the ones taking down the road barricades.

And even though my second marathon was a bit faster—I trimmed 31 minutes off my time—I was still passed by virtually everyone, including a man who proudly informed me that he had just turned 72. It was painfully clear that I would never be a fast runner, but I learned a lot of valuable lessons that I hope will serve me well if I ever do anything that stupid in the future.

I learned that if you want to run a marathon outdoors, it’s wise to train outdoors. My pre-marathon confidence stemmed from the fact that I had been jogging four miles every day for more than 10 years.

Unfortunately, I’d been jogging on a treadmill in my living room. The morning of marathon #1, the sky was so clear and bright that I was squinting like some underground creature tossed onto a patch of concrete.

I was also shocked to discover that it’s a lot harder to run when the ground isn’t moving smoothly beneath you, thanks to a motorized belt. My first two weeks of recovery were spent wondering if I would ever be able to bend my knees again.

I learned that energy gels come with instructions—and it’s important to read those instructions. Apparently, you’re supposed to take one energy gel every 45 minutes, and you’re supposed to wash it down with plain water so it doesn’t cause bladder mayhem. And diarrhea.

During my first marathon, I tucked a dozen energy gels into my fanny pack, gulped one every 30 minutes, and washed them all down with enormous quantities of Gatorade. I would have paid big bucks for a catheter by mile six. And by mile 13, I was lumbering from porta potty to porta potty like a pregnant walrus.

I learned that expensive running shoes can’t turn a slow runner into a fast runner. I went through five pairs of shoes trying to find the perfect ones for my second marathon. Thick soles, thin soles, arch supports, stability bars…nothing seemed to help. A friend’s suggestion: Give up on finding the perfect shoes, and focus on speeding up the legs they’re attached to. Ouch.

It’s been 10 years since my foray into marathoning, and don’t feel any urge to sign up for another one. And I’ve learned from my mistakes. I stick to the treadmill, I don’t bother wearing shoes (barefoot running is cheaper, plus the shoes weren’t speeding me up, anyway) and I will never—ever—use energy gels again!

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