When I decided to start training for a full marathon, I knew I was setting myself up for a very difficult task. The mileage I’d have to put in. The time I’d spend, not just running but preparing for my runs and recovering afterward. The long weekend runs that would interfere with my usual tendency to behave irresponsibly and stay up late on weekend nights. I knew it would be hard, but worth it.

Only as the race started drawing nearer did I actually start thinking about running the event itself and how hard that would be. I’d run up to 20 miles in training, and I knew the last 6.2 miles would be the hardest. I knew they would hurt and that they’d likely be the slowest 6.2 miles I had ever run. I was right about all of this, of course.

It doesn’t matter how much you know about something intellectually, though, until you actually do it. I wouldn’t really know how hard the race would be until I was in the thick of it, in the middle of the hardest and most painful miles, telling myself I had to keep going.



The night before the race, Clarabella, Brunbec and I went out for pizza at this lovely little place near our hotel, where I proceeded to carb-load in style. I got in bed early and tried, fruitlessly, to fall asleep. I’m not sure when I drifted off, but I think I only had a few hours sleep total — I’m a terrible insomniac when I’m anticipating something the next day. I spent some time visualizing my run and trying to plant positive thoughts and images in my mental garden for the tough miles.

In the morning, I got up, brewed some terrible hotel-room coffee, and ate my usual pre-run breakfast (PB toast, banana). I slimed my feet up with tons of body glide — blisters have never been a problem for me and I attribute that to my use of the pervy-sounding blister and chafe preventive — and wriggled into my tights and such. Clarabella walked me to the start, which was right outside our hotel, and waited with me.

I lined up with the folks who expected to run between 4:45-5:00, a time I thought was a solid prediction based on my long training runs, and I waited for the gun to start. We heard “The Star Spangled Banner,” the cannon went BOOM!, and as I crossed the starting line, the Black-Eyed Peas “Let’s Get it Started” blasted through the crowd. The race was on.

For the first half, I clicked off one 10:30 mile after another, keeping my pace steady and easy. I’d been having some trouble with my left leg in the weeks leading up to the race. A tight hamstring and sore back of the knee kept me swimming a lot instead of running. Once I had completed my 20-mile run, the last important long run on the plan, I was fine with cross training. I worried, though, that the pain and tightness in that leg might come back during the race. I was determined not to push it.

To my surprise, my left leg was fine! Unfortunately, at mile five or so, I noticed my right IT band tightening and causing an annoying pain in my right knee. (Description here.) For the first half of the race, occasionally stopping to stretch it out helped and I was able to keep going fine. After mile 15 or 16, however, I was in plenty of pain. If this had been a training run, I would have had to stop. I had ten more miles of my marathon to go, though. There was no way I was stopping.

I slowed my running pace to an easier 11:00 mile and took a short walking break every mile or so, trying to take it easy and stretching when I needed to. I saw the groups of people I’d been running near getting farther and farther away from me. Every time I had to walk or stretch, I’d lose the person I’d been following. It started to feel a little lonely.

Around mile 17 or 18, my spirits were lifted when I saw a high school cross-country team lined up on the route in a sort of gauntlet, giving high-fives to everyone who passed between them. They were screaming and cheering encouragement as we runners passed through, and you had better believe I high-fived every single one of those kids. They made my day. Thank you, XC team, wherever you are!

There was no real moment of hitting the proverbial wall at mile 20 — I think I had already hit that wall when the stretching stopped helping my IT band. I was already slow and hurting and the 6.2 “new miles” weren’t any worse than the last 4-5 miles I’d run. I just knew I was that much closer to getting to the finish line and seeing my friends waiting there for me.

Along with Clarabella and Brunbec, my friend Golightly and her fiancé P. were there. I started thinking about them and focused on how badly I wanted to get to them.

I thought about how Golightly was the person who, just over 2 years ago, decided she wanted to start the Couch-to-5K training program and suggested to me that I come check out the on-campus gym with her. At that point, I was so overweight and out of shape that I hadn’t run a mile in years and had no conscious plan for getting myself in shape or losing weight at all. If she hadn’t asked me to check out the gym with her, I have no idea if or when I ever would have gotten back into fitness. Not only did we check it out, but we started going to workout and do C25K together three times a week and we both ran in a 5K race together the next fall. That little question of hers pushed me to change my life.

I thought about Brunbec, who is one of my biggest supporters and has seemingly endless patience for listening to me prattle on about food, fitness, running, and anything else I have on my mind. She has been my race sherpa countless times and has also run three 5K races with me — the Covered Bridges 5K where I was first able to run the entire distance, the Art Run 5K where I knocked 6 minutes off my PR, and the Forest Preserve 5K which was my first trail run. She’s going to train for her first half marathon this winter and I can finally repay the favor and be her race sherpa.

I thought about Clarabella, who has been one of my very best friends for over 14 years now and has been with me through thick and thin, both literally and figuratively. She will listen to anything I have to say, always gives the best advice, and never judges. She also always has a magical stockpile of vegan food whenever I come see her despite the fact that she and her family are omnivores. Last Thanksgiving, she took her grandmother’s classic family recipe for a cheesy vegetable casserole and veganized it just for me. Her grandmother’s recipe, you guys. And oh yeah, it was delicious. She’s also run three 5K races with me: The Watermelon Carnival 5K twice, which was my very first 5K ever and then where I set my current PR, and the Double Decker 5K. I rely on her support a lot and I always know I can count on her.

These three women were waiting for me at the finish line of this race and I knew I had to get there. At 25.2 miles into the race, they had a special “One Mile to Go” sign and cheering section. It was so wonderful to hear the volunteers there telling us how close we were to the finish. At that point I got a little choked up thinking about the fact that I was running the final mile of my marathon. I was so close and I knew I could do it. I thought about me two years ago — the me who had yet to check out a gym or try to start running again and who was so overweight and unfit that she got winded climbing the stairs out of the parking lot at work. Me back then would never believe what I was doing now, I felt sure of it.

I never, ever would have imagined myself to be a marathon runner — not even back in the days of high school and college when I ran just to get out of the house and it never seemed difficult or like a big deal at all. I think I had to go through the process of getting fat and out of shape and then getting back in shape again to be able to see that I’d be up to this challenge. If I’d never had to come back from that bad, unhealthy place, I don’t know that I’d have had the confidence to try. But there I was.

I never saw a more beautiful stretch of road than the last 385 yards before the finish line. When I got close I could hear my friends cheering for me and I gave them a huge grin and a wave.



As I crossed the first timing mat, the announcer called out my name and city and a random spectator and I had a “War Eagle Moment.” A few steps later and I was across the line.



My time was 5:11:30, a bit slower than I had expected, but I was still so happy and relieved — I couldn’t believe I was done! We picked up my post-race snacks and headed up to the hotel room for lunch (Golightly and P. had brought us sandwiches) and I stretched, used the foam roller, had my ice bath, and ate. That was the single most delicious sandwich I have ever had.

The rest of the day included champagne, truffles, a delicious dinner out, and karaoke. But I will save all of that fun for another post.



As of now, my knee still hurts a bit. I am currently walking around like a 90-year-old grandma crossed with a newborn baby giraffe and — in what is a completely new type of problem for me to have — I have a blister on my left middle toe that is so big it looks like my toe is growing a new toe, possibly a fancy toe with its own heartbeat and nervous system. In every other way, however, I have never felt better.