Race Recap: Haley Snyder at the Maine Marathon 2022
There is arguably nothing better than a fall day in Maine. The trees are jarringly colorful, the air smells of woodsmoke and the Carhartt beanies are on full display. The atmosphere’s crisp disposition is a welcome respite from the torment of New York City’s summer months and the distinct aroma of hot garbage.
The Maine Marathon takes place in early October and typically has perfect weather with highs in the 50ºs and 60ºs. It’s an out-and-back route that begins in Portland and turns around in Yarmouth, a town to the north. There are a little over 3,000 racers, with most of the participants running the half-marathon or the marathon relay. Spectators are a bit sparse along the course but the scenery is unmatched, with complimentary local beer awaiting the finishers.
I’ve never been an athlete. I prided myself in college on “never doing cardio.” But in 2020, the pandemic got to me and I hopped on the running bandwagon. Who knew that endorphins caused happiness and that sometimes sweating felt good? Who knew that bike lanes existed for me to run in and piss off cyclists? By early 2022, I decided to double down and train for the Maine Marathon. I hoped that it would be a low-key race and, as a plus, the start line was conveniently located half a mile from my childhood home.
Thank god for North Brooklyn Runners. July and August in New York City are grueling even when you’re not obliged to bang out 16-mile long runs, but the camaraderie of banging out those runs together is pretty unbeatable. What a summer it turned out to be - discovering the delights of non-alcoholic beer and how quiet the city is on a Sunday morning. My friends and I dubbed it “Hot Girl Marathon Summer” and the Type 2 fun of running almost became Type 1.
The morning of the marathon, my boyfriend came over so that we could walk to the start line together. He was running a leg of the marathon relay and his bib proudly displayed their team name: “Born to Chun”. I drank a little orange juice, pulled on a Goodwill fleece and slipped on the running shoes that would hopefully take me 26.2 miles. Friends and family were stationed along the course, Honey Stingers were locked and loaded, and I was freaking out. It was gametime.
At 7:45AM, the gun went off and all the marathoners, half-marathoners and relay teams started running in a pack. It was very crowded at first but I liked it, allowing myself to get swept along and focus on maintaining an easy pace. We circuited Back Bay, a large cove in the middle of Portland. It was a beautiful day, slightly cloudy and not an ounce of humidity.
As we crossed over the bridge into Falmouth, the town north of Portland, I remembered the warnings about Mile 7. That was when all the half-marathoners turned around and only the marathoners were left to continue up the coast. I’d been told it became bleak as the crowd thinned but I hadn’t taken it too seriously. However, when the crowd thinned, it REALLY thinned. I focused on getting down gels and enjoying the ocean views, aware that I could no longer ride the energy of the crowd.
At Mile 13, I planned to meet up with my dad so he could replenish my gels and run with me for a couple miles. Disaster began to strike as I reached him - cramps and nausea and the urge to walk. “Oh my god, Dad,” I said, “I think I’m gonna shit my pants.” He gestured towards the abundant woods around us, but I willed myself to make it to the next bathroom station, which was at Mile 15. For the next two miles, he distracted me with stories about his flag football team and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. As the bathrooms finally came into view and I noticed there was an uphill climb between them and us, I whimpered “I’m not gonna make it!” But my dad wouldn’t have it. “Yes you are!” he replied. Luckily for both of us, I reached them in time. After a minute and 18 seconds (he timed me), I was running again.
After my pit stop, the running didn’t feel as easy and the hills on the way back to Portland were rough. Negative thoughts started entering my psyche; what if I don’t finish? What if I pretend to faint at the next aid tent so I don’t have to keep running? But I also thought about how annoying I’d been the past five months - talking about my training, complaining about the heat, and pathetically failing to mask my frequent hanger (hunger + anger). The mental pain of NOT finishing the marathon would be worse than the physical pain of finishing it.
And then, at Mile 18 - friends! Family! My aunt cheered me on, wearing decorative stars and yelling “YOU are a star!” My friend and fellow NBRior Grace ran with me for a couple miles. My cousin and his girlfriend biked next to me on a few of the hills, giving me water and supportive words. My mom joined me at Mile 20, bantering with the other runners, one of whom was from Georgia and had mistakenly thought that a coastal marathon would be flat. My dad found me again at Mile 24, encouraging me into the homestretch. If it hadn’t been for these incredible people, I would not have finished.
I entered the last two miles strong. I picked up the pace and could see the finish line in the distance, counting down the half miles on my watch. My Dad met me again at Mile 26, shouting “You’ve done 104 quarter miles and you have one left!” I dug in and blocked out the agony in my quads. Five months of training for 4.5+ hours of running, all about to be over.
I crossed the finish line with my legs screaming out in pain and a smile on my face. I wrapped a foil cape around me feeling like a superhero and greeted my friends and family with sweaty hugs. I’d done it. I ran a freaking marathon! College me would not believe her eyes. I couldn’t wait to sip (chug) a beer and take a shower and not move for the foreseeable future.
A wise person once said “At Mile 20, I thought I was dead. At Mile 22, I wished I was dead. At Mile 24, I knew I was dead. At Mile 26.2, I realized I had become too tough to kill.” During the race, with my mind and body shrouded in misery, I told myself I would never attempt a marathon again. But five minutes after finishing, I was already thinking about the next one. Simply put, running is the best, and I am so grateful for it.
