I’ve never been a breakfast eater. Most of the time before my morning run, I may grab an energy bar or some coffee, but not a meal. Once I started training for a marathon, I learned the hard lesson of staying properly fueled.
As my long runs gradually crept up in the double digits, my running partner, who is a seasoned runner, warned me that I would not be able to run on empty. She said that if I didn’t refuel, my body would refuse to keep going.
Dutifully, I grabbed a pack of power gel in my pocket before heading to the half. The race event informed participants there would be water and food stations on mile marker 4, 8 and 12, but after reaching the first prospect, I knew I was in trouble. No fuel. Eight miles in, I learned firsthand what my friend meant as I felt my energy level drop. I gagged down the thick goo and waited for the sugary electrolytes to work their magic. Within minutes, my internal needle rose back to full and I resumed running. The only problem I foresaw was that I my needle would fall again and there was no fuel station in my future.
Right before I reached mile 9, I noticed a unopened pack of power gel on the road. And another several hundred feet ahead. I just knew God was watching out for me, but I had to feel for the others who had lost their valuable fuel. Needless to say, I got the fuel I needed and finished well.