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It doesn't matter how I feel, I will do it anyway.

Taryn Spates

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My Canadian Year - The Edmonton Marathon Race Story

August 26, 2025 Taryn Spates

It rained last Friday in Vancouver, the day before I flew to Edmonton, and Air Canada flight attendants went on strike. I was reassured that my flight was operating on schedule because it was chartered through Jazz Airlines, I realized while checking in on that odd mid-August rainy morning, that my name was incorrect on my itinerary. Dang. However, after some quick research, I learned that it was a mistake that could be rectified by reaching Air Canada reservations, but the strike was causing a massive disruption, their website and phone lines were jammed, so I charged out into the rain, and went to the airport to try to fix the embarrassing, and potentially pivotal mistake in person.

I left the airport soon after I arrived. Defeated, yet appeased by a polite Air Canada attendant who relayed that they were currently bogged down with rebooking flights to stranded customers, and couldn’t resolve my mistake at that moment, but advised that I arrive at the airport early for my flight the following morning in order for the name issue to be resolved on plenty of time before the plane took off.

I strolled the dozen or so blocks in the pouring rain from the train station near City Hall to our apartment, drenched, and reminded myself that I choose to run marathons because they are difficult. The 3-4 hour window of time on the race course provides an specific opportunity to suffer, to push beyond my comfort zone that is cushioned nearly every other hour of my life, but the truth is that the difficulty of marathons often bleeds out beyond the race course itself; the lead up in training can be difficult, the travel to and from the race venue can be difficult, trying to achieve the balance of fueling properly all week leading into the race can be difficult, every scenario can work out seamlessly, or not, nothing is guaranteed, it is a gamble every time, and in the specific scenario of the Edmonton Marathon, the theme of that window of chosen difficulty was managing discomfort.

I made my flight on Saturday morning and stayed at the host hotel right smack dab in front of the start/finish line in downtown Edmonton, a geographically desirable location, but not exactly a sparkling metropolis. After completing the tasks of the day, packet pick up, hotel check, shake out workout, I ventured to a grocery store about mile west of the hotel which thankfully had all my comfort foods to supply a safe and easy dinner, bagels, fruit, raw almonds, water crackers, and hummus.

I woke up relieved that I slept reasonably well, but aware my digestive system was off.

Maybe it was due having a poor night sleep on Friday night after my strenuous attempt to fix my flight booking mistake, maybe it was losing a hour because of the time zone difference, maybe it was the gut disruption of flying one day before the race, maybe it was feeling listless about the invisible meaning I was hoping to find, maybe it was boredom, maybe it was ill-timing in eating not enough carbs during the first part of the week, and too many near the end of the week, all of that mattered, and none of it did, the fact remains that while standing on the starting line Sunday morning I was uncomfortable, an all-too familiar feeling I have not felt since my fifth marathon, The Tucson marathon all the way back in December 2003, I knew what was ahead of me, not how fast I could run, but how much discomfort I could manage.

My legs felt fine over the first 10K, but my stomach was tight. I was hesitant to take in any gels, so my energy was waning each mile, and by mile 13.5, insides sloshing, and eyelids drooping, I thought I might not make it all 26.2 miles without something internally short-circuiting or blowing up, and a wave of fear washed over me.

I stopped running, and then I stepped off the course. I turned down a street that was just a couple of blocks from my hotel, scared that my breath was short and shallow, and that I might collapse from a physical stress, or guilt.

One of the traumatic effects of my crash last year was intense guilt of affecting others with my selfish behavior, running, and because I was in Edmonton on my own, (Marion would’ve come if I invited him, but I figured it would be easier to travel and race solo since it would be a quick trip), I didn’t want to put myself in a frightful situation again for my loved ones.

While walking down a block, I tried to calm myself down, control my breathing, and consider every scenario, quit and go back to my room to relax and recover, or finish the race. Once my mind was at ease, I snapped back to the present and acknowledged that I chose to put my myself into this difficult moment, and I would choose to pull myself out of it.

Next, I assessed my glutes, hamstrings and feet, which have been my problem areas in recent years, but they all felt strong and pain-free, a nod to the strength and mobility training I have been doing weekly with my trainer, Keaton, at Restore Human since March, and a shining beacon of progress of healing from the crash, and legit fitness I had gained during months of training that I did not want to waste, so I turned back toward the course, reframed my mindset to let go of my original pace, and simply complete each mile as well as I could. I had plenty of time left to finish the race, my hotel checkout wasn’t until noon, I had nearly three hours to cover thirteen miles, so I rejoined the crowd and started to run again.

Each mile hurt more than the previous, but I’ve finished painful marathons before, during triathlons, during stand-alone races, and during training sessions, this sensation was not my favorite, but it was nothing new, yet even during marathons when my gut is at peace and my fueling is topnotch, I don’t run them for their ease and simplicity, but for challenges they provide, and Edmonton provided plenty of challenges.

I gritted through each mile, and even enjoyed a few, like during miles 9-11 when we ran through a neighborhood that felt familiar, like some Kelly’s of yore might’ve tapped some hockey sticks playing on the street with some buddies in-between school and dinner time, and during mile 24 when I handed a woman a gel who was fading from a jog to a walk, acknowledging our similar demise, we laughed and cheered each other on to keep going.

True, the Edmonton marathon was not the experience I hoped it would be, but I am proud that I pulled myself out of the clutches of a DNF, and finished the race in 3:39 hours, not my best time, not my worst time, but a worthwhile time that bumped my lifetime marathon total (so far) to 67…

We’ll take it.:)

My Canadian Year: Planning For Potentially Unraveling Plans Over Edmonton Marathon Weekend →
"Don't Quit Until You Finish."

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