Bright skies. The air buzzing with a palpable energy. Rock bands, church choirs, families lining the streets. A blur of color ahead of me and the deafening sound of footsteps and cheers surrounding me. New York, New York. November 3, 2019.
The pinch started in my calves, radiating down my legs and into my feet.
NO LEGS! SUCK IT UP! WE ARE NOT STOPPING RIGHT NOW.
I could barely hear myself think over the cheers and the music. I told myself I was ready for this. In the nights leading up to the marathon I had purposely read through my run journal to remind myself of all the tough runs that I endured.
Running a track workout in a downpour so intense I closed my eyes on the straightaways to stop the stinging sensation… the marathon pace long run I did in the relentless sun of Los Angeles… the hill repeats I ran up and down 10th Ave in Capitol Hill.
LEGS, WE LOVE HILLS… LEGS, WE LOVE RUNNING FAST…
In a way, I had expected this challenge – just not so early in the race. I had all sorts of mental tools at the ready for when the run started to feel hard. Everyone talks about the infamous wall after the 20th mile but why was I feeling I had to conquer a wall at every mile?
As I mentally prepared for the race, I thought I would feel good for AT LEAST the first half. But this was a marathon and like Amy warned, the distance can throw anything at you on race day even with a good night’s sleep, smart nutrition, and a near perfect training cycle.
I switched tactics.
OKAY, OKAY YES LEGS I KNOW YOU ARE IN PAIN BUT LET’S FOCUS ON WHAT FEELS GOOD RIGHT NOW. Wow it’s so pretty out! Yes, that BREEZE feels nice, yes, wow, so much better.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The sun still blinding me, I took my sunglasses off my hat brim and put them on in an attempt to shield the piercing rays. For what felt like the 80th time in the previous five minutes, I looked at my watch. Okay, Mile 10… it’s going to be a long 26.2 miles at this rate. I did my best to reel in the exhausting mental chatter and resist completely freaking out over the amount of pain I was feeling.
OKAY LEGS. Get ready for the long haul because we aren’t stopping until we cross that finish line.
Not even at the halfway point, I made a critical decision. I would not give up on this race because of pesky legs cramps or a lack of mental grit. The only way I was going to stop running was if my legs literally gave out. As I continued to run at what felt like a punishing pace, I decided that the sensation of discomfort was indeed uncomfortable but not entirely debilitating. I made a promise to myself that as long as the level of discomfort didn’t significantly escalate, I would stick to my pace.
As if in retaliation, my legs and feet continued to threaten me with full-blown cramps. I could feel my toes starting to curl in my shoes. Cramps in my arches soon followed, a new unwelcome sensation. I doubled up on Gatorade, pulled my shoulders down and away from my ears, like I always remind my yoga students to do, took a deep breath, and locked into my pace.
When I saw the finish line banner peeking out from the loops and hills of Central Park hours later, I dialed in my pace one last time and crossed that finish line with both hands in the air, not fully realizing in that moment what I had just accomplished. It would take weeks for it all to sink in. Honestly, my first thought was just pure joy that I could finally stop running and stretch my calves.
When I imagined the finish line feeling of my first marathon, I expected to be overwhelmed by an incredible sense of accomplishment – proud that I put the time in to train adequately, proud that I mentally prepared, and proud that I completed something that less than 1% of people in the world ever do.
Burying me in hugs after the race, my marathon cheer squad – Alessandra, Mom, Dad, Jenn – told me again and again how proud they were of me. During the race I had to remind myself I was running the New York City Marathon and even after the race, I had to remind myself that I had just run a marathon.
Toeing the line for the race, I had faith in my training. My resting heart rate had reached an all-time low – alarming my primary care doctor – and my Garmin had congratulated me with a new VO2 max a couple weeks prior race day.
Despite showing up well trained, rested, and hydrated, my legs decided it wasn’t their day. Fortunately, my mind decided it was my day. As I pounded the pavement from Staten Island to Brooklyn, Queens to Manhattan, up to the Bronx, circling back through Manhattan and toward the finish line in Central Park, I could not believe how hard every step felt.
THIS IS THE VICTORY LAP! I told myself. YOU ARE RUNNING THE NEW YORK CITY MARATHON!
There I was, in the middle of doing the very thing I thought and dreamed about doing for years, and it didn’t feel easy or fun at all. YOU ARE GOING TO BE A MARATHONER! I told myself. Was I? As I buckled down and did everything in my power to just hold on to that mid-8-minute pace I thought, WOW, THIS IS REALLY HARD.
Mile 1 felt hard. Mile 2 felt hard. Mile 18 still felt hard. I repeated my race mantra over and over again in mind, letting the words roll around in my head, hoping they would stick. Be fierce. Dig deep. Be fierce. Dig deep.
Why did this race feel like the furthest thing from a victory lap?
I set my eyes on a runner in front of me. Catch them and hold their pace. I held on, passing another runner, then another. Remembering the words from my run coach, swift legs, strong heart, stronger mind, I refused to let my body dictate what I showed up to do that sunny Sunday.
It was nearing three plus hours of relentless pain in my legs and feet as I turned into Central Park for the final 800m of the race. THIS IS IT. I told myself. THIS IS WHAT YOU TRAINED FOR! Crossing that line and glancing at my watch, I could not believe I held on and clocked a time of 3:42:22.
Sitting across from my friend Brooke just two weeks after race day, pouring out all the details about the marathon, she helped me realize something. Maybe the ability to remain in a place of discomfort is a skill I’ve honed as part of my yoga practice. I’ll be the first to tell anyone that western yoga is so much more than a series of postures. Every time you show up is an opportunity to practice holding space in an area between comfort and pain, and long-distance running is so similar.
The challenge is quieting the mind and trusting your body.
Holding chair pose for an extra few seconds while your quads burn or keeping a straight spine in downward facing dog even when your triceps want to quit is practice in creating space for discomfort. In yoga, and in everyday experiences, discomfort is a temporary sensation. Both yoga and running provide opportunities to witness this: uncomfortable sensations are transient.
Drop your knees into child’s pose and you immediately feel a sense of relief. Throughout practice and throughout a run, I am met with challenges and moments of ease, proof that sensations and situations do pass.
In Born to Run, the author Christopher McDougall credits this ability to sit with discomfort as being one of the most advanced weapons in even an ultra-runner’s arsenal:
Instead of cringing from fatigue, you embrace it. You refuse to let it go. You get to know it so well, you’re not afraid of it anymore.
Without even realizing it at the time, the New York City Marathon helped me discover that I too have this tool at the ready – in races and in life. Honestly, a few times since the marathon when I’ve felt uncomfortable, I have thought to myself does this feel worse than what you felt during the marathon? Not as bad? You are golden! My ability to hold discomfort for so long startled me. The mental toughness that I mustered on that Sunday morning actually gave me pause.
Thinking back on the race though, more than any pride I felt in my mental and physical body for carrying me so many miles, running the New York City Marathon filled me up with an overwhelming sense of gratitude: gratitude for my yoga practice and newly unveiled mental grit, for a city that showered me with a warm welcome, but mostly for the love and support from friends and family in every corner of the world.
While the race challenged me in ways I never anticipated, it surprised me in ways I could have never imagined.
I saw friends from college jumping up and down, heard them screaming my name. I smiled and waved to friends from high school, who raced from Brooklyn to Manhattan in hope of finding me and cheering as I ran through each borough. My phone buzzed with words of encouragement. The outpouring of love and support brought me to tears, and the energy that was gifted to me filled me with the strength to keep running even when my legs burned, and I wanted to quit.
I heard and saw friends I hadn’t even known would be there – reaching for my hand or jumping and screaming as I sailed by. Friends in Seattle were live tracking me on the marathon app, and I could feel the good juju they were sending from thousands of miles away.
Knowing my mom, dad, sister, and cousin would be waiting for me at mile 18 gave me a boost to run up and over both the Pulaski and Queensboro Bridges despite cramping calves and feet. Running through the Bronx and back into Manhattan, I could feel them pulling for me, sending me the energy to make it to mile 23 and later through the hills of Central Park.
I could feel their cheers and support before I ever saw their smiling faces.
Leading up to the New York City Marathon, I ran over six hundred miles which, as my Nonna pointed out, is nearly the entire length of Italy. When I look back on this year, the miles under my feet remain as some of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received from the universe.
From April through November I ran over a hundred training runs in every kind of environment. A coastal run in Wales, an early morning run through the streets of Lisbon, an oceanfront run in Los Angeles, high altitude runs in Olympic National Park and Whitefish, Montana, a riverfront run with a friend in Calgary, a 5K race through West Seattle neighborhoods, a half marathon race through the woods near North Bend, and countless urban (& hilly) runs through Seattle.
There is a certain magic that comes from early morning runs – whether stateside or abroad. Seeing a place on foot while locals and tourists alike are sleeping is an experience that cannot be matched, and I am eternally grateful for it. While it takes discipline to wake up and move, it is always, always worth it.
Early on in my training cycle, Nate and Khrystyna came over for dinner and suggested that I read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. I was so entranced by the story that I finished the entire book in one sitting – on a cross country flight back home to Jersey from Seattle.
Focusing on the theory that human beings are natural born runners, McDougall lured me into his stories of the Tarahumara tribe and their superhuman ability to run incredibly long distances.
His dialogue centers around the secrets that enable them to accomplish incredible feats. Most intriguing to me was McDougall’s theory that “the real secret of the Tarahumara [was that] they’d never forgotten what it felt like to love running.” McDougall had a point: “Remember? Back when you were a kid and you had to be yelled at to slow down? Every game you played, you played at top speed, sprinting like crazy as you kicked cans, freed all, and attacked jungle outposts in your neighbors’ backyards. Half the fun of doing anything was doing it at record pace.”
Growing up, I found joy in speed – whether it was playing football with boys at recess in elementary school, dribbling a soccer ball from the age of 5 and through high school, or as I cleared hurdles on a 400m race around the track – it wasn’t until my twenties that I had a strained relationship with running.
Spring 2018: The doctor spent a total of two minutes talking to me about my knee. I sat there, still trying to process his words. The pesky paper they make you sit on was sticking to the back of my legs as I sat motionless, the door slamming behind the orthopedist as he walked out, replaying the conversation in my head.
“Your X-ray shows no functional issues with your left knee so nothing to worry about for now. Just don’t run more than five miles and that fluid behind your knee will go away.”
Helpful. No explanation, no reason why I had a bump on my shin or why I constantly felt like someone was pressing two fingers behind my knee EVERY time I ran. A sensation I never felt in the months I trained leading up to the Houston Half Marathon earlier that year.
Summer 2018: By the time the summer rolled around, I had relocated to Seattle, and I was fed up and missed running. I lost faith in conventional doctors, so I started seeing a manual ligament therapist. While it helped relieve the pressure behind my knee – relief I hadn’t had in months – if I ran anything more than a couple miles the fluid would return, prompting another visit. My friend Eric had patiently listened to my praise for alternative medicine, but still encouraged me to see his physical therapist Neal.
Neal figured out that a weak quad muscle was putting unnecessary strain on a ligament in my knee. Quad strengthening exercises paired with gait analysis and running drills proved to be the magic combination. It may have been a circuitous route to recovery, but each step led me to where I wanted to end up – pain free and running again.
Even though I could run without pain, I wasn’t entirely convinced I could ever run a marathon. When I turned 23, it was one of the things I decided I wanted to do that year but nagging injuries had made me doubt my body could handle the training. For the first time in two years, I started dreaming about it again.
During one of my PT sessions I asked Neal if he had any recommendations for a run coach. At the time, I had no concrete plans of running any marathon. I had entered the lottery for the New York City Marathon on a whim, but realistically the odds were against me – there is only an 8% chance of getting into the marathon via lottery. I had promised myself that if I ran a marathon, I would be serious about training and go all-in.
He suggested Michele at P3 running, who I would later work in the months leading up to the marathon. Even though I was pain free, feeling like a “runner” again still took months, and sometimes I still don’t feel like a runner. Even when I was consistently running 35+ mile weeks, I still never thought of myself as a runner.
At a friend’s birthday party, someone asked me “So you’re like a big runner, right?” My first instinct was to blow it off, no, no not really, but when I thought about it, I guess training for a marathon did make me a “big runner.”
So often, I dismissed being a “runner” since I had not been consistent and in my own mind, didn’t seem to fit the mold of who a runner is. Even when I joined track in high school, it was more the social aspect that drew me to it. Ask any of my track coaches my famous words “I run track to make friends!”
It turns out some things don’t change. While my relationship with running has changed tremendously, as has my faith in what my mind and body can do, running remains a way for me to connect. Even more than physical and mental gains, I still find the most magic in the shared experience of running.
While I trained and raced alongside strangers, the best runs and races were beside friends. Running alongside a friend make the long runs feel a little shorter, and each repeat on the track a little more fun. Even the word “competition” is derived from the Latin word “competere” which means “to come together to seek.”
The reason we race isn’t so much to beat each other… but to be with each other – Christopher McDougall, Born to Run
Who knew all the blessings that came my way thanks to a winning lottery entry and 600 miles of road time under my feet.
New York, thank you for reminding me that I have a strong mind. Thank you for showing me that when it gets hard, I can dig deep. More than anything, thank you for keeping me humble.
To friends and family near and far who called, texted, FaceTimed, and messaged me in the days leading up to the race, ran with me before work meetings, encouraged me to enter the lottery, kept me in their thoughts and prayers – I am so grateful and feel so blessed to love each of you!
Mom, thank you for creating the most stress-free pre-race experience imaginable, making me frittata and superhero muffins from my favorite cookbook, and always choosing to support me and my crazy ideas.
Dad, thank you for reminding me time and time again how proud you are of me, and what a big accomplishment running the marathon is.
Alessandra, thank you for always encouraging me to follow my heart and being my biggest cheerleader day in and day out.
Jenn, thank you for loving me like a sister and bringing your infectious cheer to the race (& those pink roses!)
Amy, thank you for being my running buddy and making all those long runs my favorite memories from this summer… can’t wait to BQ with you!
Colleen, thank you for being as crazy as me to think a girls’ weekend + a half marathon is a fun idea and for encouraging me throughout the training cycle – CAN YOU BELIEVE WE DID IT?
Eric, thank you for encouraging me to see a physical therapist and reminding me before race day that I was the most prepared I could be and to have faith in my training.
John, thank you for helping me crush a fast 5K, running early track workouts with me, and not letting me forget that running a marathon does make me crazy.
Chichi, thank you for adorning my nails with the coolest miniature New York City masterpieces. Looking down at my nails at the starting line made me smile so big – gold glitter was definitely the move. We’ll have to start thinking what my Berlin nails should look like!
Neal, thank you for teaching me proper running form, curing my running ailments, always telling me the truth & reminding me that yes, I’m actually fine!
Michele, thank you for keeping my honest with my paces and workouts, for keeping me injury free, and of course for guiding me to marathon #1!
To my legs and feet – THANK YOU for enduring all that pain so I could feel the rush of achieving a goal! Here’s to hoping Berlin 2020 doesn’t hurt quite as badly 🙂
