My first (and so far only) marathon was about a year and a half ago, but I still think about it all the time. Ask any runner about their first marathon and they’ll surely remember it. They’ll remember the weather, the people, the training, the adrenaline, the pain, and that victorious feeling of crossing the finish line after hours of pounding the pavement. Running 26.2 miles for the first time isn’t something we just forget. 

People run marathons for all different reasons. To prove that they can do it, to improve their fitness, to raise money for a charity, to earn bragging rights, to meet new people/be part of a community, etc. For me, I just always knew that toeing the line for 26.2 would be in my future. Since I was a kid it was never a “maybe someday” thing…. It was just an obvious part of my future.

Running has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Actually, it was a part of my life before I was old enough to form memories.

My parents and grandparents were all runners and I was pushed by them in jogging strollers as an infant. They’d take me along to races and other running events when I was too young to even walk or talk. Running culture was just a part of our lives.

Our family history of running began with my maternal grandfather and my father. My grandfather, who I’ll write more about in a separate post, began running when he was in his 40s to get in shape. He then went on to run 20 marathons and became one of the best master’s runners in New York’s capital region. He’s a huge inspiration for me and probably the reason why I fell in love with the sport. My father has always been an athlete and picked up running at a younger age. He actually met my grandfather (who later introduced him to my mom) through a running group. He’s run a handful of marathons, and was very involved in the running community where I grew up.

My maternal grandmother and my mother were both runners as well. My grandmother ran three marathons (all three were New York) and my mother ran one marathon and countless shorter road races. A couple of rockstar women if you ask me. I have vivid memories of being really young, sitting on the bleachers at the track with my older sister cheering my mom on as she ran lap after lap. I wanted to be just like her one day (I still do).

Once we were old enough, my sisters and I were all participating in local kids races that were typically pre-events to a much longer race that our parents and/or grandparents would be running in. I have so many memories of having a bib number pinned to my shirt, running alongside other kids, and then having a cookie handed to me and a medal hung around my neck. It was the coolest feeling and the medal was a great memento for show-and-tell at preschool.

The atmosphere at races was so special, and while getting to “compete” as a kid was exciting I think that what really gave me the running bug was seeing my parents and grandparents running the “big person races.” I wanted to be crossing that line with hundreds of people and having post-race conversations about “that huge hill at mile 2” or “that epic sprint to the finish line.”

As I mentioned, my two sisters and I were all involved in running as children. But while they went on to fall in love with other sports I clung to running. I joined a running club in our town when I was in elementary school, participated in intramural cross country in middle school, competed for my high school beginning in 8th grade, ran division I in college, and obviously still run today.

The marathon was always the ultimate running goal, ever since I was racing to the finish line for that cookie and participation medal. And when I was 25 I finally decided to give it a go. My fiancé, James (who was my boyfriend at the time), is also a runner and inspired me to sign up. He was never competitive in the sport like me, but he found a love for running after college. He has run 10 marathons and several trail races (a handful of ultras in there). He much prefers trail running, so we made a deal that I would do a trail race with him if he’d do a road marathon with me. We signed up for the 2019 Wineglass Marathon in Corning, NY.

The training was tough… Mostly because I was not in a great headspace. I was still thinking about burning calories and running as hard as possible, and I was putting the pressure on myself to perform when the big day came. I would dread my long run every week, knowing that it would be painful. I was doing my training completely on my own and felt burnt out over a month before it was time to taper.

I was “following” a training plan that James had put together. As I mentioned he does not come from a competitive running background, but he had run the 26.2 so many times before and is a physical therapist who has a whole lot of knowledge on exercise science. The training plan looked like this…

• 3 days of running each week
  • a short run which was always a fartlek (speed workout)
  • a medium-length run
  • a long run
• 2 days of strength training
  • A lot of body weight exercises and stretches
• 2 “chill” days (rest days)

While I convinced myself that I was following this well thought out and tested training plan, in actuality mine looked a bit more like this…

• 3 days of running
  • pushing myself on each of them, making sure my pace was always below 6:50 per mile
• 2 days of strength training
  • all of the body weight and stretching exercises
  • 35 minutes hard on the elliptical (had to get cardio in somehow!)
• 2 “not chill” days (days of either biking at the gym, more elliptical, or several workout videos)

I was pushing myself every single day, because I needed to. Because I was still addicted to exercise.

As the marathon was approaching I was overcome with anxiety. It was all I could think about.

Will I make it to the finish line? Will I qualify for Boston? Will I be in pain? Will I disappoint my family? Will I disappoint myself? Do I even want to do this?

I can remember wishing I could move the marathon up a few weeks because I just wanted it to be over.

Ready or not, the day of the marathon finally approached. Come back next week to find out how it went in part II of my marathon story.