Forever Summer

You think you’ve been desensitized to the violence and brush crimes off as other people’s misfortunes that would never happen to you. You do it out of self-preservation, because otherwise, how could you live? How could you walk out the door, without the fear that you’d die from being struck by a loose piece of scaffolding or a homeless man raping you on a run?

At Berlin, I learned that a marathon is a merciless distance. Race day didn’t care that I had trained through NYC’s worst heat wave - grinding out long runs during busy season and beating the sunrise to speed sessions. I had survived those 16 weeks by convincing myself a BQ was waiting at the end. So when my legs gave up at the ~32km mark, I was devastated.

But life goes on, and I watched and cheered my teammates through inspiring performances in Chicago and New York. They looked so strong, and most importantly, they looked like they were having so much fun.

Somewhere along the way, running became anxiety-inducing rather than my refuge.

The build to Philly was equal parts depressing and haphazard. 16+8 = 24 weeks of marathon training meant that I was mentally and physically exhausted. Plantar fasciitis flared up in my left foot, and I surrendered myself back to PT. I tried my best to keep racing plans under wraps, mostly to take off some of the pressure but also because I was embarrassed by my performance in Berlin.

Race day in Philly was chaotic. I had no idea how to dress for 24°F and 15mph winds, and I didn’t think I was properly trained for the hills (Berlin is famously flat). Things that have never happened before started happening: I lost a hairtie on a braid around mile 7, I had to stop for a portapotty break at mile 15, I dropped 1.5 gels on the course, and I lost my Vaseline before I hit the headwind on the river.

But despite it all, I realized I was actually having a lot of fun. The leaves were swirling, creating beautiful arcs through the air. The infamous Philly crowd showed up, braving the weather to cheer. I wasn’t tracking my total time and found out I ran in under 3:30 when I stopped my watch at the finish. And then the tears came.

It’s easy for me to say now that I would have been okay even if I didn’t BQ. I’m not actually sure if I would. But what I do know is that I have an amazing support system, made up of old friends, new friends, runners, and the less cardio-enthused. I wouldn’t have made it without you all, and so this one is for you.

Our hearts don’t always align with the visions we have for our lives; emotions aren’t always vessels of simple manipulation and, try as we might, we cannot make passionate love exist where it does not.

Suddenly, you want your space. If you had your way, you’d have space for all eternity. Every moment you spend with your partner feels forced and unnatural, so you spend more time alone because it makes you feel less guilty.

If you don’t spend time with your partner, you don’t feel as sad — and when you do spend time with him or her, it’s when you feel loneliest.

You feel vacant, avoiding his or her eyes because you fear they’ll be able to see the emptiness, the fading love evaporating like dew on summer grass. It slips away so quickly that you try desperately to hold on.

You want to love this person, you desperately want to love him or her, but you can’t.