Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 19, 2013
Let’s rewind a bit—before I decided to tackle a marathon, my most significant running experience was during a fourth-grade jog-a-thon, where I managed a whopping two laps before calling it a day. While adding “run a marathon” to my bucket list might not sound as thrilling as swimming with dolphins or playing darts with a travel map, it was a monumental leap for someone who celebrated passing geology in college! So, as I approached my 40s, I figured it was time to shake things up.
With 10 months to prepare, I embarked on what turned out to be the most challenging physical adventure of my life. There was no backing out—I was determined not to be the one who dropped out. Our training intensified week by week, and soon we found ourselves meeting at the crack of dawn, running in sweltering 90-degree heat until well into the afternoon. We shed pounds, sculpted calf muscles, and honed our upper arms—all fueled by suspicious electrolyte gels, iced mochas, and a suspiciously high number of peanut M&Ms.
In the midst of this, my family life took a back seat as my commitment to this goal deepened. We laughed, cried, and shared everything from marital struggles to embarrassing secrets. The bond we forged during those grueling hours was incredible—like a sisterhood built on sweat and determination. Meanwhile, my marriage was unraveling, and focusing on the marathon became my coping mechanism during this chaotic time. It was the only thing that brought clarity to my life.
When marathon day finally arrived, I was filled with a mix of excitement and dread. It was a bittersweet moment; I knew this would be the last time I trained with my running buddies, and I could almost hear the echoes of our shared laughter over chafing and blisters fading into the distance. The race itself was a test of willpower: yes, I cried, yes, I thought about quitting, yes, I ran out of water—and yes, my toenails turned a lovely shade of black.
But I pushed through. I crossed the finish line hand in hand with the friends who had become my chosen family. We celebrated with hugs, shots, and shiny medals—then I promptly lost my lunch.
Completing the marathon was nothing short of transformative. It didn’t fix my problems, but it unveiled a strength I never knew I possessed. In the midst of a dark chapter in my life, running gave me a sense of empowerment and independence that I desperately needed. As I stepped into my 40s, I emerged stronger and more self-assured. I finally understood what it felt like to truly believe in myself. It was the perfect way to embrace this new phase of life, and despite the challenges, I’ll always be grateful for the journey that allowed my true spirit to shine.
I can’t think of a more precious gift than that.
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