Celebration Lap
I think the milestone of completing a marathon is so huge that sometimes it can bury all the smaller moments that lead up to it. As I’ve done my training, through the shorter runs where I feel on top of the world, and the longer runs where I start to ask myself why in the world I chose to do this, I’ve been keeping some notes of the little things so far that have been a memorable part of the journey. I hope they make you smile like they made me smile.
The runner who passed me on the bike path one day who said “keep your head up!!” Initially, I was a little irritated at the unwarranted advice. Then I passed him again a few miles later after turning around. “Yes, you’re doing it!!” he cheered, two hands raised excitedly in the air. My rolled eyes turned into a smile.
Running in a downpour as the alleged hurricane hit. I set out to run 4 miles that morning, thinking I’d get rained out, and instead decided to embrace the storm and finish out my scheduled long run. Every other psychopathic runner I passed gave a smile or a nod. 14 miles later I was drenched to the bone and done with my longest run to date.
Every dog I get to see when I’m out for a jog — there’s definitely been hundreds at this point but every single one was the best dog ever (as they all are).
Doing a long run through Seattle. Right before my trip, I lost my tuxedo cat Dexter and was struggling with some grief. Being unfamiliar with the area, I accidentally took a route in the first half that took me up some treacherous hills. My phone was dying, my headphones were dying, and I was rushing to make it back before nightfall. Ready to absolutely give up and call an uber, I first tried to find an alternate route for the way back. As I started my run back, a single tuxedo cat crossed the street in front of me, looked me right in the eyeballs, and continued on. The only cat I saw on the entire trip.
Exploring my city. As distances get longer, I’m able to pick a new landmark to run to, passing through neighborhoods along the way. I notice details I never would have if I was in my car.
Testing the boundaries of my arachnophobia running down a path in Marina Del Rey I realized was filled with spider webs on both sides. Choosing to take that route anyways the next time.
Hitting a PR at the Dodgers 5K, and then seeing my partner cross the finish line at his first race ever.
The soft smiles exchanged with other runners wearing vests on the path. The kind of glances that communicate “we’re in this together” even when running in opposite directions.
The Sandy Hook Promise team — I feel so honored to train alongside a group of people who have been impacted by gun violence on some level but have decided to take action. It is so easy to be hopeless when faced with tragedy over and over, but it’s a superpower to turn devastation into optimism. I am endlessly inspired. I read this quote recently that really resonated: “Philosopher Cornell West teaches that in order to become a ‘prisoner of hope,’ we must ‘wrestle with despair.’ Hope is a product of witness, of being in the mess. Hope is not the product of being a spectator.” That’s exactly what the team is: a collection of people choosing to do the hard work of bringing about change even when its not glamorous.
A sunset run I spent listening to Lana and watching pelicans take turns diving into the ocean silhouetted against the sun.
Connecting with runners online. I have learned so much about the sport from people I’ve “met” through Instagram and Tiktok. From training tips, to recommendations on gus and waffles and all other types of gear, to mantras that help get me through longer miles, I am sometimes grateful to live in the digital age.
The ears of my friends and family: the vast majority of my loved ones could not care less about running, but they continue to entertain my musings about how to carb load, zone 2 training, all the new and old blisters that appear on my feet, and what model of shoe I plan to buy next. It is such a gift to be surrounded by people who will support you even if they probably don’t quite understand you. I hope that I can offer the same to all my loved ones with their passions.
Every donation I’ve gotten from a stranger.
Every donation I’ve gotten from a friend.
The single tear that rolled down my face on mile 17 of my 18 mile long run — the farthest run of my life at that time — and not being able to tell if it was from the pain in both of my achilles or because holy shit I am really doing something I never thought I could ever do.
Only a couple more runs until 26.2. Thank you, as always, for following along on this journey. Thank you even more for helping me raise more than $4,000 and counting. You concretely saved lives by doing so. Now let’s do a celebration lap through NYC!