I ran a freakin' marathon!

There are few things I've ever done in my own life that I find impressive. Most things that I seem to accomplish are by happenstance or what I think is the right or fair thing to do. Its rare that I find my accomplishments remarkable.


Sunday was not that day. On Novemeber 1, 2009, I ran my first marathon. I am tearing up as I write this. :)


To some its 26.2 miles, big deal. To me it was something I said I would do, and I factored training for it into every week of my life since I first thought up the idea. I lived and breathed the idea that on November 1, 2009 I would wake up too early, board a bus bound for Staten Island (a far flung borough of NYC's five) and run all the way to Central Park. When November 1 dawned, I was ready -- mostly.


The week before the big race I had to go to Philadelphia for work to run a program at Wharton. If I was a trainee that would have been one thing. But I was the person with the credit card and responsible for picking up the nightly entertainment. There was no going to bed before 1AM during my time in Philly, and the final night our Global Chairman kept us all out until 3AM. When I arrived back to the city on Thursday I was exhausted. I drank too much. Played too much. And ultimately, was in no shape to run a marathon.


Friday my marathon prep was thwarted with a friend who needed help with final arrangements as he proposed to his girlfriend. (as a friend there is just no way you can say no) But I did make it to bed by midnight.


Saturday I had errands to run in preparation, carbs to eat, tshirts to find, registration cards to hand in. Plus, it was Halloween, the single day you DONT want to be living downtown in Manhattan. Every ghoul and goblin was out to get me that night. But I found myself asleep close to 10PM, after sorting out the time-change-semi-drama upon realizing I don't own an alarm clock.


The next morning I was ready. I woke up ready. Was in a cab for the Staten Island bus at 5:45AM, and was seated on said bus at 6:15AM.

The ride to Staten Island resembled scenes from Batman Returns. We were the only motors allowed on the road, like we were dangerous criminals being swept out to Staten Island. Yes, my imagination gets way ahead of me at times!

The weather is cold and damp. There are people camped out in sleeping bags. The smell of BenGay is in the air. Bagels are being handed out by the dozen, as is water and powerbars.

I find my coral, check my bag with UPS and head to the starting line. I can't believe I am going to do this.

When the gun does off, and Frank Sinatra starts singing "New York, New York", I know this is my race. And despite a twisted knee and a stop at First Aid and a few tears from running through the pain, it was just that.

I was amazed at the support of the crowd, the enthusiasm of the runners, and the beauty of my city. I ran my little heart out, screwed up knee and all. When I hit Central Park, I refound my stride, and when I saw the 400 meters to go sign... then 300... then 200... then 100... I raised my arms in victory as I fell across the finish line. I did it!

What an amazing feeling.

Then last week I was walking with a friend and he commented that he is a little intimidated about hanging out with a "woman who runs marathons". And I thought it was an odd thing to say and wondered who he was talking about... and then I realized he was talking about me.

I DID run a freakin' marathon. And yes, I am just a little bit impressed with myself. : )