On October 16^th, I ran my first marathon. In Detroit, on my streets, in my town, with my people.  This was to be my marathon.

I had trained relentlessly, religiously. Squeezing as many miles as possible into the early morning hours so as not to interfere with my life. Truth be told, it infiltrated everything. If I wasn’t running, I was thinking about running and if I wasn’t thinking about running I was thinking about what I was eating and not eating so I could run, or I was thinking about the sleep I needed so I could run, or I was changing my plans and adjusting my schedule so I could run or be ready to run.  I began to suck at being a mom, a friend, a wife, an executive.  But in my mind I justified this as being short lived, a bit of sacrifice that would be paid back 100x over when I crossed that finish line with my people there cheering for me.

The Detroit Marathon came and it was horrible.  It was not at all the race I had envisioned, not even close. I had done everything right to ensure the best possible outcome and it was not even close.   I was deflated, demoralized and just plain angry. You only get one first. There is no rewind or take backs. You get what you get.  And what I got sucked. There were reasons outside my control that made that day a horrible day for a marathon, but those didn’t matter to me. I had done the work, I had sacrificed over and over. That should have meant something, but it didn’t.  In my head it was simple math.  A+B=C.  Yet, that’s not at all how it turned out and I was mad as hell.  There was no grace to this at all. Not an ounce.  I was broken.  My heart was broken. My spirit was broken and my body was broken. This was my marathon, but It wasn’t.

I didn’t want to run again.  Not one step, not one mile. I was done.   Yet, three weeks later I was going to do just that and not just one mile, 26.2 miles, another marathon.  And it wasn’t just any  marathon, it was the NYC marathon, the biggest marathon in the world and I was running for charity on behalf of a friend and her son who both live life beautifully in the shadow of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy.  The weight of this laid heavy on me.  I didn’t want to run. Not at all. I kept this tight inside.  I had so many people question my motivation, question my sanity, tell me I didn’t have to go, tell me I didn’t have to finish.  I blocked all of it.  To let it in  would have given it a place to reside and I couldn’t allow that.  I had said yes to this and I couldn’t back away.  I was angry and resentful, but I had said yes to this. Grace wasn’t residing here, not at all. 

All the while people were loading their praise on me for what I was about to do.  Marveling at my selflessness and sacrifice.  Little did they know I was seething inside.  What a fraud. I kept brushing their words aside not giving credence to what they were saying.   I didn’t want to do this amazing thing.  I just didn’t and what was worse, I didn’t think I could.  That was the thought that troubled me the most. What if I just can’t?  What if I go and try to do this thing and I fail?  It was too much. 

 I was tired, my life was in chaos after weeks of neglect, my body ached and my brain hurt from too much thinking .  In those short three weeks, I was supposed to be taking care of myself; eating, sleeping, stretching, rolling, soaking.  If I was given a grade for my Detroit Marathon preparation it would have been a solid A .  For NYC, I was barely holding on to a C.  Each day was a struggle – I would do some of what I was supposed to do and a whole lot of not doing what I was supposed to do.    The only thing that was constant was the running. Three days after the Detroit Marathon, with blistered toes and a weary body, I started to run again.  I had said yes to this and I couldn’t back down.

I woke up on November 5^th, the morning of the NYC marathon, full of dread. I stood in the shower and finally let out some of what I had barricaded inside.  I could not pull myself together but I also didn’t want anyone to see me falling apart.   Doing so would have required me to explain what I was feeling and I just couldn’t do that.  I couldn’t say it out loud.  So I tucked it all away.  I got on the subway- dressed in my throw away clothes, clutching my bag of fuel and water feeling a bit like a child being sent away to somewhere she didn’t want to go.  I got to the Staten Island Ferry and my fellow GP Runners were there. We hugged and took pictures and hugged some more.  When it was time to leave our support crew I felt like I was leaving my safe place, cutting the cord.  The reality of the day and what I had in front of me hit me with full force and I started to cry, and by cry, I mean sob.  This was it. No turning back. I had said yes to this.

I had 6 fellow runners with me.  They had chosen this race, covered 100’s of miles together, and created a special bond as they prepared for NYC.  I felt a bit like an outsider. They had set goals for themselves, trained relentlessly, they had a plan. I was just there to try to get through and I felt a little embarrassed by this notion. I let it get into my head that my journey that day was somehow going to be less than theirs, I would be slower, maybe not finishing at all.  I allowed this worry to twist my insides about.  

They graciously widened their circle for me.   Getting on and off the Ferry and getting to the bus that takes you to the starting line was a bit daunting. We banded together, holding onto one another like children on a field trip –ensuring no one was left behind or lost. We shared our food and water our body glide and our salt tablets and Imodium…. and a whole lot of laughter.  Somewhere along the way, we named ourselves the New York 7.  Sitting on the bus in a quiet moment I thought about a message that I had received that morning from my friend that I was running for. Her words of encouragement included this phrase; “You have grace on your side”.  I’ll admit, when I read it, I wasn’t sure what that meant.  But in that moment, I  looked around at these women, this group of people that just days ago I barely knew,  mothers, wives, partners, professionals, strong, funny, smart, beautiful, mighty….Their energy percolating and bubbling spilling over on me. I looked at these women, the New York 7, and I caught a glimpse of grace.

We got off the bus, two of the women rushing to make it to their start.
And then we were 5. The other girls bustled me into the corral with them so that we could all start together. And then it was our turn and I watched these remarkable ladies as they faded away. And then I was 1.   For the next 26.2 miles I ran alone. But not alone at all. I was high fived by 100’s of tiny hands from beautiful faced little children. Spectator after spectator looked me right in the eye and encouraged me. I said thank you a 100 times over to the NYPD and the volunteers who were tireless with their smiles and `cheering. I was swept away by it all and the miles flew by. I caught a glimpse of grace and then I caught it again and again.  In my head I kept repeating, grace and love and grit will you carry you through.  The grit was up to me, but the grace and love flowed from so many directions, the crowd,   from the people on that course whose struggle was far more challenging than mine, from the countless people that had messaged me to wish me good luck and the countless others that I knew were tracking my progress. That grace washed over me again and again. 

At miles 7, 18, 22 I was met with an outpouring of love from my amazing support crew. Mile 23 got hard….but I held tight to my intention that I wasn’t going to quit and I finally allowed it to seep in that if I continued to push on I would probably beat my Detroit time. Entering Central Park was surreal and beautiful. I had virtually nothing left in the tank.  l saw my two friends with 800 meters to go and my sister and nephew with the finish line in my sight. I caught a glimpse of grace; tank refilled.  

Crossing that line was one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve ever had. I stopped for a moment and looked at the finish line behind me, at the 100’s of faces around me; exhilarated, exhausted, triumphant, smiling, crying and I caught a glimpse of grace.    

 Sometimes the journey that chooses you gives you much more than the journey you choose for yourself and the gifts that you receive along the way are far greater than the ones you had hoped for; grace and humility.  These were my gifts. 

 This was my marathon.

P.S. – I suppose I should mention that I beat my Detroit Marathon time by 25 minutes.

The New York &

The New York 7 and our support

My amazing support crew

With my sister and nephew

Almost done