This week I was talking with a colleague about my build up for Philadelphia Marathon.
She asked: “Oh, so marathoning… this is a thing you do?”
I surprised myself with the force and conviction of my response:
“Yes. I’m a marathoner. It’s part of my identity.”
I hadn’t felt this way for a while. Not for the last 2-3 years.
Here it was, rushing back. This is who I am.
This road back to feeling this way was long. Like really, really long.
Cancelled races from the pandemic were just the beginning.
Then I got Covid.
I took time off to recover, but maybe not enough.
Coming back slowly it was like my lungs and heart didn’t belong to me.
Months passed waiting for a “return to normal.”
I couldn’t tell if it was lingering Covid symptoms, lost fitness, or both.
(It was probably both).
I’d make a little progress with my cardiovascular system, then get a flare up of recurring foot pain.
I took time off.
I did a lot of yoga and strength.
I ran trails and kept it short.
I tried to find joy in running again and not judge where I was.
I turned off automatic sync to Strava to remove any pressure from myself.
Then I ran a really cold half marathon with lackluster training and no time goal.
It sucked—I wasn’t warmed up enough and strained my calf.
It triggered recurring foot pain that lasted almost a full year.
I took more time off running.
I did daily rehab work.
When I finally got back out there, 3-4 mile runs felt so difficult and long.
I made enough progress to feel training might be possible again.
I signed up a a full marathon and crossed my fingers.
I had some good days, but more bad ones than good.
My work schedule was challenging.
Once my runs got beyond 12 or 13 miles, my pace fell off a cliff.
Every single long run felt like a battle.
I willed myself through the training cycle, just enough to show up and finish the thing.
It also sucked.
At that start line I was so conflicted.
I didn’t want to do it, but wouldn’t let myself DNS.
It was a suffer fest from the gun.
I was finding no joy, but wanting it all the same.
I’d tried all the things I’d suggest to athletes I coach:
Take time off.
Forget about pace.
Run routes I liked.
Run with others.
Do things besides running.
etc etc etc.
No matter what I tried, the clouds would not part.
I wondered if it was time to throw in the towel, but I couldn’t stop wanting it.
The feeling of gliding through a long run.
The boundless energy when you’re trained up for a marathon and just have ten miles.
Feeling fast and light.
The rush of emotion of a marathon finish.
The desire never went away, even when I wasn’t able to stack the training together.
I kept showing up, trying things.
Finally something clicked.
I splurged on Normatec Legs.
Icing my foot and post-run recovery in the Normatec boots appeared to be the magic combo.
At long last: weeks strung together with pain-free running.
I recommitted to my training.
I signed up for Philly Marathon, hoping this would be the comeback race.
My training wasn’t perfect, but I was through the moon to hit 40 and 50 mile weeks again.
Especially when not long ago, a 20 mile week felt like a stretch.
Days out from the race, the thought of the long miles ahead elicited zero dread.
Just a marathoner, excited for the start line, ready to go long.