3 times I hit the wall (and how I kept going)
‘Life comes down to whether or not you can take a punch.’– Richard Gargiulo
Hitting the Wall: the most dreaded feeling in all of sports. All the preparation in the world can’t ready you for that feeling when your energy hits zero and you have miles to go before you sleep.
I hope you experience it for yourself (I’ll explain later).
Is there any feeling worse than wanting to go faster, or dig deeper and finding out that you just can’t? It’s not there. It’s been used up, picked over. All the will in the world can’t get a depleted body to move once it has hit the wall. It isn’t about wanting it more, or digging deeper than ever. It’s about SURVIVAL.
I hope you experience it for yourself (I’ll explain later).
Run long enough, you’ll hit the wall.
Live long enough you’ll hit the wall.
Here’s 3 stories about when I hit the wall, and what I did to get through.
Wall #1:
October 2004- Cape Cod Marathon.
Let’s take it back to my 26th birthday. I’m out for a run in Falmouth MA. and I notice some blue spray painted squiggles on the side of the road.
‘Water stop 18’.
‘What’s this for?’
‘The Cape Cod Marathon’s in 2 weeks.’
I’m thinking hey, I’m 26, why don’t I run 26.
Now every year I get an email from someone 2 weeks ahead of the Boston Marathon saying something like ‘Steve-o, just got a number for Boston. What should I do?’
My honest answer: ‘Talk to your priest.’
Honest answer #2: ‘I have no idea. You can’t train for a marathon in two weeks.’ Unless…
You are an active person who runs a bunch anyway. At 26 I had been a competitive runner for 11 years, I was running at least 20 to 30 miles per week and I was lifting three to four times a week for years. I was fit, strong and my running age (number of years I trained seriously) was over a decade.
Two weeks later I was on the starting line in Falmouth. I wanted to run a Boston qualifier: 3:10. 7:15 per mile.
So I ran the first mile in 7:10.
Then the second mile in 7:12.
It was easy.
My friend had just run a 2:54 and trained for it. Wouldn’t it be great if I ran faster on only two weeks of serious training?
And by the way, my ego reminded me, You’re Stephen Allison. You’re a conference champ. You’re an All American. You’re the man.
Captured here is rare photo of an idiot in the wild
You’re an idiot.
I picked up my pace and absolutely crushed for 18 miles. That was the longest run I had done to that point in my life. Fatigue set in. I struggled.
Then more fatigue. My body screamed for calories and all they had was watered down gatorade. My hips were a wreck. I couldn’t lift my knees more than a few inches. My feet were smashed to blistery bits.
I had 8 miles to go.
So I ground out 8 miles on blistered feet with hips that wouldn’t work.
I suffered brutally for 4 of them. It felt like gravity doubled, pulling me down at twice it’s normal power.
Every muscle in body ached. Breathing was painful. Yes, breathing.
The last few miles… I just wanted to quit. This was not worth it. Just stop.
What pushed me through that? Was it pride? Vanity? Toughness?
It was ego. My ego was having none of that. ‘You’re Stephen Allison, you’re a conference champ, you’re an All American.’
The same thing that got me in hot water was getting me out.
I finished in 2:49. It wasn’t pretty, but it got done.
What I learned: when you think you’re out of gas you can go an extra 8 miles.
And next time Steve, train for the stupid race.
Wall # 2:
Boston Marathon April 2006
My first taste of the wall put me off for a couple of weeks, but then it was time to put myself to the test again. I wanted Boston.
This was Winter ’05. Training was going pretty well. I decided to run the Martha’s vineyard 20 miler as one of my long runs. Untrained and running conservatively I had hit the wall at 18. I figured I could bring the pain for all 20 this time. I took this race out FAST. I think I averaged 5:40’s for the first 18.
And then the wall. Crash. A painful schlepp to the finish in which I coughed up the victory in the last mile because I couldn’t push faster than 8 minute pace.
The next morning I woke and couldn’t bare weight on my right leg. My knee throbbed just walking. ’05 wasn’t my year.
So I came back for ’06. And I was hell bent on running fast. Guys I beat in college were dropping mid 2:30’s. ‘You’re Stephen Allison…blahblahblah’ my ego reminded me. I was going to run 2:30 or else.
I reran the Martha’s Vineyard 20 in preparation. Early on this preparation worked. I won the Vineyard 20 this time and was able to walk the next day.
Discover & share this Like Me Now GIF with everyone you know. GIPHY is how you search, share, discover, and create GIFs.
So the next week I ran the Beverly 30K. Then a half, then a couple of fresh pond 5 milers tucked into long runs, then the Borderland 15 miler, Khoury’s run, and a bunch of other runs I can’t remember.
I overtrained.
By the time Boston came my energy was trashed. I ran the first half of the race in 75 minutes (my 2nd fastest half) and it felt easy (probably bc the first half of Boston is downhill). And then the wall.
Gravity increased by 2. My body weighed 250 pounds in an instant.
It was mile 17. Earlier this time.
But I trained so hard. Shouldn’t it come later? I came here to run 2:30 and my pace is tanking before heartbreak hill.
What followed was a mental meltdown Running Man style. I tried to gut it out but there was that stupid voice in my head ‘You’re Stephen Allison…blahblahblah’.
If I was so good why couldn’t I figure out this stupid race?
I suck.
I’m not the runner I was.
I made it to mile 21 and walked off the course, smoke coming from my ears.
I hardly talked the rest of the day. I was a failure.
But time allows us to reflect.
What I learned: My training was stupid. I was fried by race day.
And my ego was a hindrance this time.
Wall # 3: Chicago Marathon 2008
The three most stressful things in life: Death, divorce, and moving.
Three walls. Any one of these three can ruin you and send you into depression.
Naturally I added running a marathon to this.
Death: Diane Allison, my mother, passed away from cancer that summer. It was very painful to lose her. More painful (for me) to watch cancer chip away at her hair, her energy,her muscle tone, her posture.
I couldn’t cry when she passed. I wanted to. I wanted to let go of something, but all that was there was a dull ache. It wouldn’t get better and it wouldn’t feel worse. I wanted to face it full on.
But you can’t force it.
“‘You know you’re a real head case.’”
— DIANE ALLISON (REFERRING TO ME, HER SON STEPHEN)
Flashback to college. I was jogging to the start of the 1500 M conference final and those were Mom’s “words of encouragement”. I had run like shit in the relay the previous day. I coughed up a lead and got my ass handed to me. I let my team down. I was feeling sorry for myself. I was a head case.
But hearing it from her made me fight. I won the 1500. I ran my fastest last lap ever.
We made eye contact post race. Me: defiant. Her: smiling. Proud. She knew what she was doing.
I couldn’t grieve so I wanted to make a grand gesture to show I cared. I would run the Chicago Marathon. For her. I raised $8,000 for the American Cancer Society (because I have generous friends, one of whom, Alex Treves, donated $2,620). My catharsis was waiting for me on that finish line I thought. I’d PR and feel Mom smiling down on me. Something would happen on that finish line and I’d move on. It was waiting…
Divorce: no I didn’t get a divorce but…
I was in a tumultuous relationship at the time. When you’re going through some shit you just want to be loved. My family… we were all struggling in our own way and we weren’t there for one another like we could have been. That includes me.
So I just wanted to be loved and I overlooked some rather bright red flags being waved by this woman. It was an intense relationship, not in the fun way, but in the jealous/petty/unstable way. She was checking my emails and voicemails. She once stopped her car on the high way when she thought I got a text from another girl. Just pulled over to the side of the Mass Pike and asked to look at my phone.
And then one night she wouldn’t stop accusing me of cheating so I got up to leave. She grabbed me from behind, not on the shoulder, not on the arm. Down there.
Yes, she grabbed me down there.
That was a long night.
Don’t worry. Everything’s fine down there.
Guys, you can’t win a physical fight with a woman because if you win you still lose. So I got roughed up.
A week went by where she apologized daily. She pleaded with me to give her another chance.
‘I love you’ she texted.
‘I didn’t mean grab your testicles.’ (Exactly what she wrote. )
And then 5 days before the marathon I’m training a client in a packed gym and I’m summoned.
‘You need to come up front. NOW.’ The girl who asked looked scared. Frightened of me.
I was arrested that night. At work. In front of hundreds of people. Coworkers. Clients. Prospective clients. I can remember some astonished looks as five, count ’em five, of Boston’s finest escorted me into an elevator. My ex had told them I’d roughed her up after an argument.
It was bullshit. I knew I’d win out in court. I’d just show the judge her text messages, her threats, show them that she’d fraudulently used my credit card and the case would go away.
But I got arrested at work. During prime time. Did I still have a job? How do I show my face back there? The word was out. Innocent until proven guilty is not how things work in the court of public opinion.
She’d made her point. I was screwed.
The court of public opinion saw me get arrested by 5 cops. My business was F#cked.
And innocent or guilty a lawyer was gonna be $10-$15K.
I may lose every client I had.
No job. Legal bills. How was I going to live?
Mom would know what to say.
And Mom was dead.
I had a marathon to run for her.
Moving: After all this I had to move. She lived close. Just imagine how much fun seeing her at Starbucks would have been.
I lost out on two places because my background check revealed an open case. So moving was fun.
Days later: I was a mess on the starting line. That dull ache was worse. My mind was not on the race. I felt the need to proclaim my innocence to anyone who would listen. Literally. I had a check up at the Doctor’s that week. He asked me how I was, just a simple ‘how ya doing?’ and I told him the whole story. I just needed to get it out there.
‘You know you’re a real head case.’
This race meant everything. She knew I was running. I knew she was tracking me online.
This was my first marathon after the Boston flame out, and now it was more than a race.
Lawyers would sort it out in court, and I’d never have any further contact with her, so This was my battleground. My chance to tell her she got away with a sucker punch but it takes more than that to knock me.
Does it?
I was so low. I didn’t know if I had it.
‘Life comes down to whether or not you can take a punch.’
I created two mantras: ‘the only revenge is living well.’ She wanted a reaction from me. That’s why she did this. She’d get nothing. i’d live well in spite of her.
‘Shut up and win.’ No matter what I was moving full steam ahead. Just do good and things would work out.
The race began. I ran the first 20 miles beautifully. 6:06 pace.
Then 2 more after that were a struggle.
And then the wall. I was hoping that because I’d suffered so much that week that I could skip the wall.
No. The wall was back. Worse than ever.
It was bad. It was painful. Energy- low. Hips- jacked. Feet-smashed. Gravity turned up to 4.
4.2 to go.
I tried my mantras, I tried self talk but by mile 23 I was in some serious trouble. Seriously slowing down. Thinking of stepping off the course. A loss here was more than a loss. It would spiral into something worse.
I needed something.
‘You’re Stephen Allison,’chirped my ego.
Was I? Stephen Allison’s a good guy. I got arrested Monday night. I spent a night in jail. My Father saw me shackled hand and foot in a court room two months after his wife passed.
He needed me more then than ever and I got arrested.
I didn’t know who the hell I was.
‘Shut up and win.’ I want to. I’ve never wanted it more but I just can’t. The fatigue. Gravity. I’m not here like I should be.
‘You know you’re a real head case.’
I’m not giving up.
I had volunteered for the Jimmy Fund Walk that September (My Sisters and Dad raised over $10,000). I was passing out Gatorade to the charity walkers when this little powder keg of a kid wearing a camouflage T-shirt that said ‘My Team’ materialized before me. He was surrounded by dozen’s of people wearing the same camouflage. Their slogan ‘Dario’s Team’.
The kid came up to me and yelled ‘I play football!’
So this is Dario. Cancer survivor. Football player.
And he didn’t just yell it. He YELLED it like Teddy Bruschi yelled “Who’s got the F#ing ball now” while waving a freshly intercepted ball at the opposing team (can’t remember the game, but this happened in the playoffs. It was classic, the replayed it in slo mo and you could make out the swear words on national TV!).
He stared me down for a second and then kept walking.
This is why we run for a charity folks. So Dario can play football and scare the shit out of me.
This was where my mind went when I couldn’t go on. To Dario.
Gravity was the weight of sadness; My mother’s passing; the arrest; the embarrassment; the job uncertainty; my Father seeing me in chains; the move.
‘I PLAY FOOTBALL!’ I yelled.
I can imagine I got some interesting looks from the crowd.
I didn’t regain the magic of the first 20 miles, but gravity left. I got it done.
i ran my fastest marathon to date. 2:46.
My Dad met me at the finish. I was freezing cold and wearing a running singlet. I put my hand on his shoulder, holding him at arms length. Allison men aren’t terribly emotional with one another.
‘It’s been a tough year,’ I said staring at the ground. No tears yet but Dad could sense the emotion in me at that moment and he wanted no part of it.
Allison men- we’re stoic.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. We walked back to the hotel.
Months later I had my day in court and everything was dismissed. I didn’t hear from the woman again until last spring when she friend requested me FB. I have a picture of it.
I wrote her a nice little note that ended with two words… and not the two you’re thinking.
‘I won.’
No clients left me. I kept my job. Dealt with some depression and disillusionment, but I got through somewhat unscathed.
Looking back on your life you can cry, or you can realize that the whole thing is kind of funny. So I went on to make a film about the whole ordeal. You can find the trailer to this no budget masterpiece here. And my favorite scene here.
And I finally cried while thinking of Mom. I was teaching a mock yoga class during teacher training; ’cause, you know, where else?
“‘Now here you are, a little older than before. You’ve really been through it and you might go through some more, but if there’s one precious thing you’ve learned, it’s that you can’t take what’s been given ’cause now you know better.‘”
— AMEL LARRIEUX
So there you have it. Three times I hit the wall. I hope this happens to you. Allow me to explain.
I don’t wish misfortune upon anyone.
But each time I hit the wall I learned something that only the wall can teach you, and that I hope you learn for yourself.
Prepare well.
Love your ego.
Forget your ego.
Tough times pass.
Keep pushing.
NEVER.GIVE.UP.
If you learn these things authentically, first hand, there is no wall that can stop you.
