On November 2, I watched video of Red Sox left fielder
Johnny Gomes placing the World Series trophy on the finish line of the Boston
Marathon. It was described by some as a moment symbolizing triumph in the wake
of tragedy, the uniting of victims of a horrible crime in celebration. I am
sure for many—though not all—it was a moment of healing.
My moment of healing, however, did not come until the next
day. As I wrote in this space earlier this year, as a Boston Marathon veteran,
the marathon bombings felt deeply personal to me. When I ran Boston in 2011,
the marathon course, and the sport of marathon, became a part of me. Since that
date, I have felt a need to reclaim the marathon for myself, to prove to myself
that the joy of marathoning had not changed and to feel like I was a part of
the resilience—and that is how I ended up on the morning of November 3, and the
foot of the Verrazano Bridge, determined to run 26.2.
Despite the chilly air and win, I loved running across the
Verrazano. The view of the city was amazing, and the energy of the runners even
better—we had all worked so hard to get that moment, and finally it was
happening. When we pulled into Brooklyn two miles later, I took out my
headphones and tried to take it all in. The crowd energy was incredible. I ran
up 4th Avenue screaming Boston Strong at every Red Sox hat I saw in
the crowd as I powered north.
I was finishing a strong first half of the race as I pulled
into Queens. Seeing my family in Queens gave me a great boost, and even better,
Natalia jumped in to run with me through what is said to be the hardest part of
the marathon, the slow uphill over the Queensboro Bridge. We hit Manhattan and
were greeted by incredible crowds. Sixteen miles down. Only 10 more to go.
At about Mile 18, my left foot started to hurt, my quads got
tired, and I became daunted by the fact that I still had 8 miles to go. I told
myself to just push through to Mile 21, where my family would be waiting. Breathe
deep, enjoy the sounds of the marathon, one foot in front of the other. Somehow
it worked, and seeing my family motivated me to have another good mile.
Until Mile 23. Fifth
Avenue toward Central Park is a gradual uphill, and though I ran this mile in
training, it was much harder when I already had 23 miles under my belt. My left
knee hurt on hills. My hips hurt. I had a toe that was killing me. I was
disappointed in myself for slowing down after my strong start. I wanted to be
done.
The scene on Central Park South. |
Somehow I slogged through, and soon there was the 25 mile
marker. So close. I picked the pace back up and was determined to finish strong.
Seeing Dave and my Dad on Central Park South motivated me to pick my knees up
high and keep running. 800 meters. 400 yards. 200 yards. I can see the finish
line. And before I knew it, I was there. I had finished the New York City
Marathon in 4:45:14, six minutes faster than my Boston time.
I tore out an Asics ad from the NYC Marathon program two
years ago: “First you feel like dying, then you feel reborn.” I could not think
of a better way to describe running a marathon. When the medal was put around
my neck, I felt like I stepped into a better version of myself. One that was
strong, wiser, and capable of overcoming anything.
At home that night, I kept thinking of ways I could have
done it better. I should do two 21-mile runs in training to work on pushing
through the 18-mile wall. I should work on having negative splits. On the tough
mile 23, I was actually disappointed in myself—I was running near the 4:30
pacer for much of the first half, and I could have finished in 4:40 if only I
had been able to better push through the walls. I am, however, extremely proud
of my finish—picking the pace back up at the end is not something I was able to
do as a runner two years ago.
I owe so many thanks to so many people for their love and
support throughout my training process, but few shout outs in particular are warranted:
to my parents, both for driving down to New York and for years of being my
number one fans; to my sister Sara, for trekking through four boroughs to see
me, to my Mexican sister from another mister, Natalia, for being the most
amazing cheerleader and training pacer, to Sophy, for organizing an amazing
post-marathon party, and to Dave, for, well, everything.
But most of all, I owe a thank you to the city of New York,
for giving me the opportunity to accomplish both a dream and some emotional
healing through running. The race reminded me that marathoning represents the
best of the human spirit—people pushing their bodies to achieve new feats,
determination and will triumphing over the physical, community uniting to cheer
on strangers as they perform these acts. I was truly blown away by the number
and energy of the spectators throughout the boroughs. NYC, you are now right
there with Boston, tattooed on my feet, and I will forever be grateful for this
experience.