Running is meditative, cathartic, and challenging in ways that few other things are. I’m not convinced it ever becomes easier, because the fitter you get, the bigger the goals become and the faster the paces are that you reach for. Running feels equally grounding as it is freeing, especially when you leave the AirPods at home and are left with just the thoughts in your head and the sound of your feet (try it, trust me!)
In high school, I remember how long 400 meters could feel, especially with hurdles in the way, the burning in my legs and a metallic taste in my mouth as I reached for speed and another gear to propel me to the finish line. In college, running a half marathon felt like a scary but doable goal, a significant jump in distance compared to even the longest workouts we did at track practice.
I still remember training for my first half marathon through the heat of the summer and needing to take walk breaks to catch my breath. I remember how invincible I felt breaking two hours in a half marathon for the first time nearly four years later in Houston, Alessandra and my mom cheering me on with the cutest hand drawn posters.
I remember feeling both a sense of accomplishment and pure relief when I crossed the line at my first full marathon in New York City, knowing I met my goal despite unrelenting calf cramps.
I don’t recall the exact moment when I was first mesmerized by the lure that is running the Boston Marathon, but a couple weeks ago, in a haze of taper-week-fueled-nostalgia, I found and leafed through old running journals to reflect on the journey it took to reach Boston, and the many miles that brought me to the present moment. Reading through old entries, one note in particular caught my eye:
I knew that the thought crossed my mind back then, but it felt surreal to see that dream written down so explicitly and staring back at me. After finishing that first marathon, I was so excited about the future and ready to set big goals. That next spring, I had just hired Katie as my running coach, and it really felt like the start of something great!
A couple weeks ago when Katie and I were discussing my race plan for Boston, Katie recalled that very first coaching conversation back in the spring of 2020 when I shared with her that running Boston was the a big goal of mine. At the time, I didn’t know how upside down the world would become, just a couple weeks after that initial conversation.
Even though it was already part of my routine, running became even more essential for my mental and physical health when COVID shuttered us all from many of life’s simple pleasures and each other. Even without races on the calendar, I laced up daily and proceeded to run 1000 miles that year. I also discovered trail running in the Pacific Northwest and felt the thrill of earning a couple top place finishes at races for the first time since high school track!
By 2022, I had kept up with running consistently, but had not yet attempted another marathon. I trained intensely that fall soon after moving to NYC, setting a new personal record in the Half Marathon distance and placing 3rd Female Overall at the Bay Ridge Half Marathon in what monsoon-like weather (a shoutout to my friend Ryan for his brilliant pacing and letting me draft off him!).
I was building toward my first Boston-qualifying attempt at the California International Marathon that year, only to be sidelined 4 weeks pre-race by a disc injury pedaling wrong on a Citi Bike.
The silver lining was that even though I couldn’t run, I still went on that trip but pivoted and skied an incredible powder day in Tahoe (physical therapist approved so long as I did not fall even if racing the marathon wasn’t approved) and watching a friend run an absolute dream of a race earning a huge PR and BQ on a perfect day in Sacramento (go Amy!). Bearing witness to a friend’s successes and triumphs must be one of life’s greatest joys.
That spring, with a healed back I got back to work with my eyes set on a June marathon back in Washington. I remember my unbridled excitement when I earned an elusive Boston Qualifying time at that race, supported and celebrated by the sweetest friends who made the weekend so perfect.
My second full marathon turned out to be about as painful as the first just in different ways, since my choice to run in the Nike Vaporfly on a packed gravel course turned out to be a bit of an aggressive choice. Hoping to shave off as many minutes as possible, I opted for the fastest race shoe on the market (despite my dislike for Nike). About nine miles in, my shins were on FIRE, likely from the carbon plates that refused to flex as I ran through the rocky, woodland course.
Luckily, Khrystyna was at the finish to help me untie my laces and remove my shoes.
In the years prior (2021 and 2022 Boston Marathons), every applicant who met their respective qualifying time was accepted to the Boston Marathon, likely skewed by the reduced number of races and qualifiers due to the lingering effects of the pandemic. It turns out the COVID running boom was real though, and I was humbled that fall when I received my letter of non-acceptance from the Boston Athletic Association.
The 128th Boston Marathon in 2024 was a record breaking year with over 11,000 qualified applicants unable to be accepted since the ‘cut-off’ time needed to get a bib was 5 minutes, 29 seconds faster than the qualifying time standard. I missed it by 15 seconds. That disappointment stung but it also fueled me to dig deeper and work even harder.
The elusiveness of Boston is part of what makes the pursuit both frustrating and motivating. The qualifying standard must be met to apply for a bib, but once all the applications are submitted, the Boston Athletic Association gets to work, determining how many applicants from each age group can be accepted for a limited number of spots.
That decision making process isn’t random, faster times from each age and gender group are accepted first until all the spots are allocated for. I’ve been on both sides of that, fast enough to apply and finally fast enough to earn a coveted spot.
For those unfamiliar, the symbol for the Boston Marathon is a unicorn affectionately known as “Spike” and has been used by the Boston Athletic Association (B.A.A.) since its founding. Jack Fleming, the B.A.A.’s President and CEO describes Spike as:
“a mythological figure that is meant to be pursued, but in that pursuit, you never catch [it]…[so] it inspires you to continue to try — to race harder in the case of running — and though it may be elusive, it really is the pursuit of the unicorn that makes you better and better and better.” – Jack Fleming to Boston.com
Spike’s continued elusiveness did fuel a pursuit that would make me stronger and faster, yes, but also more accepting of outcomes beyond my control. The clench I had on races being meaningful strictly because of a time on a clock slowly loosened. In that space, I filled it with a greater reverence for a sport that has already given me so much, and an understanding that even a perfect build doesn’t protect you from missing a goal. And as it turns out, an imperfect build can lead to a near perfect race. When the sting of non-acceptance to the 128th Boston Marathon faded, I set my eyes on running the Chicago Marathon the fall of 2024.
It turned out to be my strongest marathon build, topping off at 220 miles a month in both August and September leading into that race with consistent 50+ mile training weeks. That paired with a fast, flat course, great weather, and an incredible group of friends and family in Chicago cement that weekend and race as a core memory beyond my race results.
Knowing that beating the Boston Qualifying time standard wouldn’t guarantee a bib, learned from prior experience, I ran Chicago with a different focus. Rather than pinning the success of the race on a specific time, I wanted to run my best race that my body was capable of on that brisk October morning. The freedom to run on “ feel” and enjoy the experience of Chicago for that race only without as much attachment to the outcome was a silver lining I didn’t expect from my non-acceptance to Boston. Of course, the time still mattered to me but I wanted to run a race that I was proud of and accurately reflected my level of fitness.
It was the first marathon I made a friend on the start line (hey Hope!). The first race I smiled big, grinning and waving as I passed friends and family multiple times on the course, I got chills mid-race passing through what felt like a scream tunnel at the half, I stayed calm when I felt a cramp around mile 18, and my form held together through the final miles even when things started to really hurt.
My heart felt like it was bursting with happiness when I was reunited with everyone at the finish.
Chicago truly felt like a charmed build and race. I even gave myself a little hug at mile 9, realizing it was the furthest I’d run in a marathon without something going terribly wrong!
Since the qualifying window for Boston starts and ends in September, I didn’t apply to run the next Boston Marathon until nearly a year later, in September of 2025. If you had asked me what surprise could possibly beat receiving an acceptance email from the B.A.A. I would have been stumped trying to think of something. But, as life is truly full of good surprises when you least expect, Ion proposed on September 20, 2025 coincidentally 3 days before a confirmation of acceptance landed in my inbox from the B.A.A.
I tease Ion that our engagement is literally one of the only things that could have stolen the thunder. He won. Yes, acceptance into the Boston Marathon is epic but meeting the love of your life, that’s next level.
Aside from a bout of food poisoning mid-marathon build that sidelined me for a week or so, training for Boston was honestly enjoyable! I finally learned to run my easy miles actually EASY, and save harder efforts for workouts. Even with running 7-8 hours a week, I still felt like life was relatively normal (I actually highly recommend adopting a 80/20 easy/effort approach to training even if it seems counter-intuitive).
With a relatively consistent build, I wrongly assumed I would be cool, calm, and collected leading into the final taper before Boston (spoiler: I was not). Tapering is the time when you drop mileage while maintaining some intensity to give your body a chance to recover before the herculean effort that is race day!
I think dreaming and striving for Boston for literally 6+ years put extra pressure on the race that rattled me more than I expected. Two weeks before race day I carefully calculated the exact grams of carbs I would need for a three day carbo load, I meticulously practiced both pre-race nutrition treating my last long run as a dress rehearsal, only to get to Boston Marathon weekend barely able to eat, my stomach in knots, and feeling so overwhelmed at the expo I almost left without buying even a Boston Marathon jacket (thankfully Ion didn’t allow that to happen!)
My brain felt like it had somehow short circuited and rather than imagining a dream finally coming to fruition, all I could picture was anything and everything going wrong.
Something I can’t anticipate will go horribly wrong and I won’t finish the race and be a Boston Marathoner … even if I take it easy at the start I’ll be gassed and walk up the hills… I’ll feel flat and crappy every mile… I won’t finish and be embarrassed …my nerves will wreck my ability to perform
My stomach in knots, I had somehow convinced myself everything was in fact too good to be true and something, surely, would go wrong. Life can’t be this good. Ion had me write each fear down and we challenged it, trying to get my logical brain to turn on and stop catastrophizing. I just couldn’t shake it.
When I talked to my run coach the night before the race, she encouraged me to take care of Marissa the person, not Marissa the runner.
The feelings still came in waves, at times I was able to quiet the negative chatter in my head, but it was always lurking at the periphery, taunting me even on race morning. I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other (literally) and trying to shove down as many carbs as possible. I couldn’t stomach a bagel like I’d so meticulously practiced before long runs, so shoved a bag of cheerios in my gear bag and prayed I could find my appetite by the bus ride.
When Ion dropped me off in the Boston Commons to catch the official runners bus to the starting line, he gave me a big hug and encouraged me to go make some friends, knowing it would calm my nerves. Turns out, that really did help (I should have listened to him all weekend, oops). I chatted with a woman on the bus seated beside me who flew in from India, also running her first Boston, after qualifying at the Delhi Marathon. I bumped into a friend, Caroline, soon after starting the race too! One by one, those early miles clicked off and I settled in.
I ended up shoulder to shoulder with another runner, Zoe, as her pace perfectly matched mine. After running side by side for long enough that one of us had to acknowledge it, Zoe broke the ice “I really like your pace, so I’m going to stick with you.” I felt relieved. Everything in my wave seemed to be surging ahead while I was trying to heed the advice of saving my legs for the hills that were still a long way off. Zoe and I chatted briefly, comparing training cycles and weather in the northeast vs. Zoe’s base in San Diego, and proceeded to run in lockstep.
As we ran, I could feel the anxiety dissipating, gaining more confidence each step and continuing to bring my race mantras to mind: smooth is fast, fast is smooth for those sneaky early downhill miles, how lucky am I on repeat through the middle miles, and these hills have nothing on me up and through what is often considered the toughest section of the course. Katie was right all along, my body knew what to do. I wish my mind had been able to trust that. I hugged the middle of the road for most of the race, careful to stick to the tangent line, but couldn’t resist veering a bit off to high five the kids lined up and smiling along the course.
It wasn’t until around mile 16 that I knew I would not only finish, but I would finish the race strong. Spotting my sister and Dad at mile 17 before they even saw me, I sprinted toward them and gave them both a big hug. When my dad asked me how I was feeling as I ran off, I yelled back with a smile, “I feel strong!” and I meant it.
Suddenly, I shifted from a state of protection and preservation, found my fighting spirit and started racing. I surged up the Newton Hills, even Heartbreak Hill, with a smile, throwing down faster miles up the hills than down them. The part of the course I feared so much turned out to be one of my favorites, thanks to some relief on my quads from all the early downhill miles and a newfound confidence! My mantra for those miles held strong: these hills have nothing on me. I repeated it again and again.
After passing mile 22, I knew I was in the home stretch. Looking down at my watch I saw my average cumulative pace had dipped into PR territory. Now or never I thought, it’s a PR at Boston kind of day if you just hold on. And hold on I did! Nearing mile 26, I turned right on Hereford and left on Boylston, the most iconic turn and I could see the finish line come into view. Within a few more seconds I could see the race clock showing 3:15 something. My quads screaming like the end of a ski day and my right calf talking very loudly to me to chill out, I closed my eyes for a moment, pumped my arms and said three hail marys in my head, giving everything I had left to get to that coveted finish line under 3:16.
Suddenly, I was experiencing the image that kept playing in my mind in the years and weeks leading up to this moment: right on Hereford, left on Boylston, that finish line coming into view, crossing it with strength and my arms up in the air, a medal around my neck, hugs at the finish line.
3:15:39 — twenty seconds faster than the A goal. I DID THAT. A dream turned into reality.
There was an incredible mix of emotions that surrounded all of these running experiences: determination, relief, pride, but also disbelief, disappointment, and eventually acceptance. But in all of them, I’ve always felt a grounding sense of gratitude. I’m grateful for a healthy body, such a loving and encouraging support system around me, and the big dose of luck I’ve been blessed with too!
A tip I once heard that I really like when considering the impact of making certain decisions involves asking myself “would this make 80-year-old-me proud?” but I also like to think about 8-year old me, 15-year-old me, 21-year-old-me – all those versions of me that lived through the highs and lows of both running and life!
I’m so grateful that “younger me” stuck with it. She didn’t throw in the towel. She put in the work even when a lot of those runs felt pretty awful and the progress was anything but linear. Her phone in an armband, MapMyRun in the background, all sorts of aches and pains popping up and requiring attention, figuring out a fueling strategy, finding supershoes that didn’t cause pain, she went on to complete 10 half marathons and now 5 marathons since then. I’m so grateful to her for that discipline and believing that one day, her dreams really would be within reach.
It feels surreal to even type this, but as of this past Monday, I’m not only a five-time marathoner but I’m a Boston Marathoner. That feels pretty special.
