One Year a Marathoner

Yesterday was a big day for me. Or, more accurately, a year ago yesterday was a big day for me. On January 18th, 2014 at 12:51pm, I crossed the finish line of my first marathon. I was instantly and forever changed.

If that sounds dramatic, maybe you aren't a runner?

I didn't start running to run a marathon. I started running to maybe one day run a 5k. Maybe. I never dreamed I'd run a marathon. I mean that in the most literal sense - I really never thought I'd run a marathon, because a marathon was something I never thought about at all. A few months after I started running, I thought maybe I'd eventually run a half marathon, but a full was never, ever, ever in the picture. Never part of the plan. Never something I had any delusions of doing.

And yet somehow I found myself on an unseasonably cold South Carolina day, 26.2 years old, running through the city where I was born toward a finish line I never thought I'd see. It's hard to believe it's been a year - sometimes it feels like yesterday, other times it feels like an eternity. There's something about those 26.2 miles that makes a marathon so much more than a race, so much more than a distance covered on foot. 26.2 miles is a long way. It's hours of war waging between the body and mind. It's excruciating. It's exhilarating.

For all the non-dreaming I did about my first marathon, I could never have dreamed of a more perfect experience. My training was magical. The race itself was everything I imagined it would be. It was a gorgeous (albeit windy) day, I paced myself beautifully, and I was just…happy. Tired, sure, but happy. Looking back on that day, that's what I remember: happiness.

I remember waking up the morning of the race to find all my nerves suddenly calmed, because the day I had been anticipating for months had finally arrived.

I remember finding out that morning that my dad would be joining me for the first 10 miles as he ran the half.

I remember the way the sun, barely risen, looked as we ran along the Charleston Harbor through the historic Battery.

I remember leaving my dad just past the 10 mile marker, saying our goodbyes with tears in our eyes and knowing how proud he was of me.

I remember seeing my family for the first time at mile 18, holding signs with my name on them and cheering for me.

I remember mile 25.5, so close to the end that I could actually hear the race announcer in the distance, when a man standing on the side of the road looked me straight in the eye, nodded, and told me, "Well done."

I remember crossing the finish line, incredulous and relieved and proud that I had actually done it, and suddenly being bombarded with hugs from people I love.

I want to remember every single detail of that day and those surrounding it, the good and the bad (and oh, there were bad). But when I look back, the overwhelming memories I have are the good ones. The joy, the pride, the happiness. Things that I can take with me for the rest of my life. Because no matter what else I do in life, this I can carry with me forever: I am a marathoner.