If someone told me in high school that I would be competing in marathons and triathlons, I would have laughed in their face. I used to hate running. There was a time when I was the only one of my sisters (there are 5 of us) who didn’t run. But running quite literally runs in my veins and by the time I was a senior in college, I was running every day.
In July of 2009, my father passed away unexpectedly of a stroke. In 2011, when the National Stroke Association put together a team to run the Los Angeles Marathon to raise money for stroke awareness, I knew I had found the perfect opportunity. What better way to run my first marathon than to dedicate it to my father?
So I found a beginner marathon training program online, laced up my shoes and hoped that my temperamental IT band would endure the beat down that was to come. Since I had no idea what to expect, I just figured I would try to finish in under four hours.
Anyone who ran that race will tell you that it was more like swimming for 26.2 miles than running due to the pouring rain. It was just a light drizzle at the starting line at Dodger Stadium but by the time I reached the 20 mile mark, I was stepping through ankle deep puddles. I had energy gels stashed in an arm band but my hands were too cold and void of any dexterity to open them. The wind had almost knocked my feet out from under me on several occasions while crossing certain intersections. Come mile 23, everything hurt. My drenched socks had chaffed my heels and caused blood to seep through my sneakers. My left IT band was screaming at me and my right hip developed a stabbing pain with every step. I thought to myself “I’m never doing this again. I will finish this race and cross it off my bucket list.” But all of that pain seemed irrelevant when I crossed the finish line in 3 hours, 34 minutes and 12 seconds, crushing my sub-four hour goal and qualifying me for the Boston Marathon. Once across the finish line, my first thought was “holy crap, gimme another one!!” And just like that, I was hooked.
