Crossing the Finish Line

Running isn’t pretty. Races aren’t pretty. There is nothing lady-like or polite about finding new limits to push your body to. But running, it’s a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I started running in my Freshman year of college. I danced for my whole life, so I was a different kind of athlete than most of my friends at school. When I went to college, I transitioned from dancing 12+ hours per week to nothing. After first semester, I knew something had to give. Second semester, I was in a Kinesiology class with a very interesting syllabus; to workout. As part of the class, we had to work out at least twice per week. We were to record what we did and for how long, which was a great way to hold us accountable for our own fitness. I started on the elliptical, and one day I decided to switch it up and get on the treadmill instead.

That first day, I wanted to die. I was never a runner; I have asthma. I always used that as an excuse to not even try. My first time on the treadmill, I lasted maybe 42 seconds running. I was winded, and thought for sure I had made a big mistake by even stepping on the treadmill that day. I wanted to throw in the towel so badly, to go back to the elliptical because I thought it would be easier. Something inside of me wouldn’t accept quitting, though. I stuck it out. Each day after that, I went back to the treadmill. Each week, I tried running for a little longer, even if it was ten more seconds. Over the course of several weeks, I was starting to get into the groove and run for 8 minutes at a time, then ten, and so on. One day, I made the mistake of trying to run with my cousin and my aunt who were avid runners. I was yards and yards behind them the entire run. I was cursing them under my breath. I felt myself get lost in thoughts like: I should have never done this, I’m never doing this again, and I’m not cut out for this.

Something that I realized that day, a very invaluable lesson, was never to compare yourself to others. You are responsible for your own journey, and your own progress. By holding yourself accountable, and setting goals for yourself, you can accomplish what you want. I was trying to keep up with them, and compare myself to them, when realistically, I was years behind them in terms of running experience. That day really helped to mold my mindset into something positive going forward.

Eventually, with the help of that Kinesiology class, I was able to run 2 miles without stopping. Then 2.5 miles. Then 3 miles. Though it wasn’t fast, I was developing endurance. That was my number one goal. I never had any intention of being a fast runner, I just wanted to run. After the class ended, I was so accustomed to my routine that I kept it going. I had made so much progress, come so far. I held myself accountable.

It’s hard for me to explain everything that happened in between then and now. Treadmill running progressed into outdoor running with my dad (who could run laps around me). 3 miles turned into 4, 4 miles turned into 5. I signed up for 5k’s, and then 5 milers. The more I ran, the more comfortable I felt. The more comfortable I felt, the more my pace picked up (it was gradual, but still evident). I got to the point where I was running 5 miles at a 9:30 pace, and that was a BIG deal. I started to love running, which I never expected.

Speed crept its way in to my runs, without me even realizing it. I was so much more focused on completing a run without walking, or increasing my mileage, than I ever was about speed. Often times, I didn’t even pay attention to how fast I was running. I had built up my endurance, and now my body was itching for another challenge. I started running a 9 minute pace, then an 8:30. I was getting faster, and I wasn’t even fully aware.

Somewhere in between all of my own personal running, many lives were changed forever. I remember exactly where I was when the news broke. I had a doctor’s appointment, and walked into the waiting room to find my mom crying, the reporter on the radio station playing in the background saying the words “Boston Marathon” and “bombing”. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, around the cruelty and hate behind those responsible for such a thing. My heart ached instantly for the victims. The runners. The families. That day I had made my decision; I wanted to run Boston. I wanted to run for those who couldn’t, and for those who would never have the chance after that day.

It was at this point that I decided it was time to do a half marathon. I signed up for my first half marathon in the fall of my senior year of college. I ran it in 1 hour and 52 minutes, and I was ecstatic. After graduation, I joined OrangeTheory Fitness, one of the best decisions that I ever made. The interval training helped me hone in on my speed. Alternating between days of endurance, strength, and power (hill work and sprint work), combined with toggling between base paces, push paces, and all outs, forced me to become faster. My heart was used to its comfortable pace, and I needed to push it further.

 4 half marathons later, I cut 7 minutes off of my time. In the fall, after a half left me feeling like a normal day of running, I knew it was time. Bite the bullet and sign up for a full. I ran my first 20 miler in March of this year, as part of my training plan (and a test to see if I could do it). I spent 5 intense months training, with long runs sucking up most of my off-Fridays or Saturdays, gone for 2-3 hours at a time. My first full marathon was this past Sunday.

The Boston Marathon is crazy popular. If you’re a runner, you know how hard it is to get into Boston. They have strict qualifying times by gender and age group. Back when I first decided I wanted to run, I didn’t really understand how hard it would be… I looked into charity sponsors, but was never accepted. I decided that if I really wanted to run Boston, I would need to qualify. My qualifying time was 3 hours and 35 minutes. My ultimate goal was to qualify eventually, but I didn’t even consider that I would be able to do it any time soon. It wasn’t until after my 20 miler, which I finished in 2 hours and 42 minutes, that I could actually taste it. All I needed was 6.2 miles in 53 more minutes. It may not seem daunting on a normal day, but after 20 miles, the thought of that made me want to throw up. That meant that I couldn’t afford to slow down… at all.

On Sunday, May 1^st, I ran my first ever marathon. I had never been more nervous for a race. I’ve run more races than I can count… 5k’s, 10k’s, 10 milers, several half marathons, a 20-miler. I am used to the normal pre-race jitters, but the nerves I felt leading up to the full were by far the most intense. I had a pit in my stomach for days, and just kept thinking, can I even do this?

As the marathon got closer, I got more and more in my own head. I started distancing myself from the idea of qualifying, because I wanted to avoid the let-down. It was my first marathon. It was the farthest I’ve ever run. I had no idea how my body would react, at what point I would hit the infamous “wall”, or if I would even be able to finish. I had no clue what to expect. I changed my goal to simply be cross the finish line.

The night before the race, I was a ball of nerves. I was drinking water, eating all the carbs I could get my hands on, foam rolling, stretching, you name it. I went to bed at 9pm. I woke up a lot, had dreams of falling, getting lost on the course, the standard pre-race jitters. The next morning, I woke up with a pit in my stomach. I ate my oatmeal, foam-rolled, drank my electrolytes, and went on my way. I showed up to the race, and then it was time to wait. I watched the runners around me, who looked so normal; so comfortable. Jumping up and down to keep warm. Stretching. Some, even running already (as if the 26.2 miles that they were about to run wasn’t enough). I could feel the other runners clouding my thoughts. They all look so ready for this. I wonder how far their longest training run was. Should I have run a longer distance before this? I needed to change my mindset, focus on finishing. You will finish. You will do this.

I was standing at the start line with a friend, and we were both thinking the same thing. We even said it out loud a few times, laughing (but we were both dead serious on the inside). What were we thinking?

The announcer came over the loud-speaker. “Runners, on your mark…”

The thoughts came pouring in. Oh god, why did I do this?

“Get set…”

I’m never going to finish. This was stupid. I can quit now, no one will ever know…

“GO!”

Oh crap. I’m doing this.

We made our way over the start line, and I was trying to remember how to breathe. I spent five years preparing for this moment, and the second I cross the starting line, I forget how to breathe? Perfect. After a few (maybe more than a few) moments of panic, I kept my cool and fell into the rhythm. Before we knew it, we were at mile 3. Then mile 5. With a 7:34 pace. WHAT?! Mile 7. Mile 9. 7:38 pace. The app that was tracking our pace said to me, “Estimated finish time, 3 hours, 21 minutes”. Okay… Are we going to do this? Mile 15. Mile 17. “Estimated finish time 3 hours, 24 minutes.” WE ARE GOING TO DO THIS.

The last four miles felt like a century. Everything hurt. But we were so. Close. To have come this far, gotten 22 miles under our belts, all well under qualifying time… we had to do it. I had to think of something else, anything else, to not focus on the pain. I could feel the blisters, now SO angry at me, screaming on my feet. My hips felt like they were detached from my body. You are so close. Think about something else. In four miles, this will be over. No pain, no gain.

Mile 23. I remembered coming down this hill, thinking, wow, this is really gonna suck coming back up. And boy, it did. I don’t quite know how, but I found a way to keep moving. I never walked. If I walked, it would have been all over for me. Keep the momentum. Hold yourself accountable.

Mile 24. Fire. Everywhere. Stepping on nails. Joints made of rusty metal.

Mile 25. You have run 25 miles. 1.2 miles is NOTHING. You can do this in your sleep. Oh, sleep. I want to sleep.

Mile 25.7. The cop directing traffic says, “Great job runners, a half of a mile left”, and instantly, the words “OH THANK GOD” spilled out of my mouth (so quickly that the runner in front of us turned around and laughed at me. That cop’s words felt like magic to my ears. My eyes filled up with tears thinking of the finish line. Breathe.

Mile 26. I could hear the crowd huddled at the finish line cheering the runners in front of us. I couldn’t see the finish line yet, but I could hear it. I could hear it. I could hear the finish line. I am close enough to hear it. I am doing this. As we turned the corner, saw the crowd, and caught a glimpse of the giant “FINISH”, I was overwhelmed. The emotions that came pouring in… I can’t even describe them. Pure joy. Disbelief. Exhaustion. Excitement. My eyes scanned the crowd, and there was my family, screaming for me. My eyes welled up even more. They wouldn’t have missed this moment for the world. They were screaming, “SHE DID IT! LOOK AT THE CLOCK”! Then I saw the clock. They knew what I now knew. 3 hours, 32 minutes. I threw my hands up in the air, tears pouring out of my eyes, yelling “I DID IT”. In ten more steps, I had crossed the finish line completely. We did it. We finished. And qualified.

My family came around to the finish line screaming for me and group hugged me while I cried, repeating over and over again how I couldn’t believe it, and that I did it. So many emotions, all at the same time. The moment when you realize that all of those hard days, the blood, sweat, and tears… that was all for this. To have accomplished something that at one point in my life I never thought was possible... felt like nothing I’ve ever known. Running that marathon was the hardest thing that I’ve ever done in my life, but I don’t regret a second of it. I worked so hard to get to that point. That was almost five years of work, all paying off. The things I felt coming down that last street towards the finish line… I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was amazing.

It’s crazy to think about how strong you really are. I’ve always been a goal-setter, and an aggressive goal-setter at that. Set a goal. Achieve it. Set a higher goal. When I first started running, I couldn’t even run for a full minute. I just ran 26.2 miles, without walking, for 3 hours, 32 minutes, and 29 seconds. The body is strong. YOU are strong. You are capable of things you may now only dream about... but if you don’t try, you will never even have a shot at achieving.

Over the course of the last five years, running has become a part of my anatomy. It has become so engrained into my schedule. It’s how I relieve stress, how I maintain sanity, and the only place where my head is clear. I do my best thinking on runs. I will do whatever it takes to ensure I can go for a run, whether it is getting up before the sun, forfeiting my lunch break, or putting in a long day of work and not getting home until after dark. If it’s important enough to you, you will find a way to make time for it. Those who know me well know that this is how I work, and it is non-negotiable. I run. I still fulfill my responsibilities; but I run.

Training your body to run requires so much patience. People ask me all the time, “How do you do it?” or “how did you get to this point?” The simplest answer that I have for you is time. To some, that may be frustrating… and trust me, I get it. There will be days where you feel like you have two slabs of concrete tied to your legs. There will be days where you can’t even bear the thought of lifting your head off of your pillow to go for a run. There will be people constantly trying to convince you out of your routine, thinking you’re “insane” for running, or rolling their eyes at you when you say, “I can’t, I need to go for a run”.

And then there will be a day when you achieve that goal you set for yourself 3 years ago; a day where you cross that finish line, where you finish that marathon.

You have to remember; this is your journey. You get out of it what you put into it. Only YOU can hold yourself accountable. Set a goal and work for it. I promise, you won’t regret it.

See you in 2017, Boston.