Hey there.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who never ran. This girl did not like to run. She did not choose to run. Ever. And she would walk during gym class when it was time to run the mile. When she tried it was hard, and she quit every time. Athleticism wasn’t in her genes, and she made no effort to show up for herself. This girl could not understand why anyone would want to run and voluntarily put themselves through such torture. It was unfathomable. Untouchable. Unachievable. This girl was me.

This is pretty self explanatory right?? I could just leave this blog post at that and not write a word more, but I have SOOOOOO much to say about it. First of all, I’ve never considered myself a runner. I didn’t run in my adolescence, not in my early adulthood, not ever. I had run a couple of 5k’s throughout my early twenties, but never without stopping to walk and complain. My lungs were on fire, everything hurt and I swore never to do it again. And these 5k races were mostly to dress up in funky clothes and get a free beer at the end. There was never any dedication behind the activity of running. It was just something I saw people doing on the side of the road as I drove by. And they all looked miserable, like they were not having a good time. So again… why?

Now it sounds a little dramatic I know. And we all know how this story ends because hello; check the title. Girl goes from not running to running. Cool. So what? Who cares? Not a big deal. But I care, that’s who. It’s not easy to start something new and uncomfortable, not to mention extremely challenging. I was 29 years old when I truly committed to running regularly. One hot summer evening… just kidding. No, but really. It was actually one cold May morning when my wife, some family, and I signed up for some races. For me it was only the 5k of course. I was extremely out of shape. Using my post-baby fat as an excuse for far too long (about 2 years to be exact). But I was feeling excited about it since it was a group thing. This was the first 5k I ran fully without stopping. It felt so good to accomplish something, even if it was small. But this something small was big enough to light a fire inside of me. That was the day the runner inside of me was born.

After that 5k, I began running 5 days a week just like that. Small amounts and never more than 2-3 miles, but I was running. I downloaded a free training app for running and followed the runs, workouts, etc… I actually began TRAINING for another 5k I signed up for that was about 6 months out from that first one. It seems silly, but I was happy to be doing it. The running was the release I didn’t know I needed. Plus I was losing a little weight which was a bonus. I found myself getting so excited for the next 5k. I was planning the perfect outfit, religiously sticking to the plan on my app, and so on. And I ran it, even faster. I should also mention that my wife is an actual marathon runner (like wins awards and tortures herself for 26.2 miles). So her marathon was the day after the 5k, since it was a whole weekend of running and all that. Spectating her is something I LOVE to do. I love the energy of the race. I love seeing her come down the street and handing her gels or water. I love the thrill of speeding off to the next spectator checkpoint that I’ve carefully handpicked with my sweet map and human GPS skills. Sometimes it’s by car, sometimes it’s with my E-bike. She also runs so fast that I’ve got about 5-10 minutes tops at the next checkpoint before she gets there. One time she ran 3.5 miles faster than I could bike it to get to the finish because I had lot’s of traffic in my way (ha ha). Anyway, why is that relevant? Well, first it’s relevant because this post is about running and my wife is super cool and awesome. But she was also my inspiration for running. She has cheered me on every step of the way. And never once made me feel bad about that fact that I’m slow as shit compared to her. Anyways, professional marathon spectator over here. I’ve seen what people can do. The limits people can truly push themselves to. I’ve seen them want to cry and I’ve cheered them on. I’ve seen people limp to the finish line. I’ve also seen the energy of the other spectators. The support. The love. The laughter. The music. The NOISE. The humor. The water stops. The funny signs. Entire communities coming together to plan, build, and support these races. It gives me the chills. I once saw a post that someone said, “if you’re losing faith in humanity, go spectate a marathon.” Do it. You won’t regret it. The positivity that bleeds out of these events is unmatched. I can’t describe the feeling, so go see for yourself. Just be careful, you might get the running bug and want to try it out for yourself like I did.

So, after spending another marathon weekend with family, running, and watching my wife run her cool marathon and get yet another PR, I decided to sign up for that same 5k that I had done the first time. I wanted to truly prepare for it and compete against myself. Once again, I was getting all goofy and excited about it. I was in the midst of all the training and running, getting faster and going farther; when my wife said, “why don’t you upgrade to the half-marathon?” Basically my jaw dropped. She can’t be serious. 13.1 miles when the furthest I had ever run was 4 miles. It seemed impossible. We went back and forth about it for a while, but I eventually decided it was a good idea. Then I got REALLY excited. I was going to run a half-marathon?? Who did I think I was. I got serious. I was committed to this goal of completing a half-marathon. I steadily ramped up and became more confident in my abilities. I found my favorite running brands for shoes, shorts, etc.. It was so cool to actually watch myself make physical and mental changes. I was satisfied in this newfound hobby. Race day came and went in the blink of an eye. I was ready. I showed up and showed out. I was a runner. OFFICIALLY a runner. I can’t really explain this feeling, but if you’ve ever put your mind to something and put in the time and work even when you didn’t feel like showing up; and then there’s this victory moment when all of this hard work pays off, then you know what I mean.

After the race, I took a couple weeks off from running to let my body recover a bit. I was running 6 days a week for training and it was time to tone it down. When I did start lacing up those running shoes again, I was sort of running aimlessly. For fun. And it was fun. I didn’t have a rigid training plan that I needed to follow. No speed workouts expected of me. Just me and the world. It felt good. I was already signed up for another half-marathon about 6 months out (the same race weekend I talked about earlier; with the family and such). It wasn’t quite time to start training yet, and I knew it was something I could do because I’d just done it, so it was going to be cake right? Wrong. A half-assed burnt cake that’s still batter on the inside maybe. I got this great idea. Just like the grinch. An awful idea. A wonderful awful idea. Let’s upgrade my upcoming half-marathon to a FULL MARATHON! What the hell? Where did this idea come from and why was I even considering it?? I didn’t take much time to think about it, for fear that I would never follow through. So I told my wife, and a couple clicks and additional fees and Corrah was signed up for 26.2 miles of hell. What. The. Fu*k. Someone pinch me now, because this isn’t reality and I need to wake up.

It took me a few days for this realization of what I’d just done to set in. What have I done? I repeatedly told myself that I couldn’t do it and that this was an unattainable goal for myself. I’d watched enough marathons by this point and I’ve seen those people out there. They start to look rough after so long and it takes HOURS! Like multiple hours of running. I mean, so does the half-marathon I guess if you’re me. But still. Considering it took me 2:05 to run a half-marathon, you double that and then some because I’m obviously not going to be running as fast. Like 4+ hours of doing nothing but running? You’re kidding. You’re absolutely kidding. I went through this spiraling thoughts phase and essentially denial. It didn’t feel real. There’s no way I could do this. But you know what? I just started. I started training. My wife gave me a different (more hard-core) app (Runna) to create training plans instead of the free one I was using before. This app is more advanced and maybe above my running level, but whatever. It’s great and it works and I still use it today. I think my first run was 5 miles easy pace. I was like, okay we’re just getting right into this. What do you mean there’s no like 15 minute recovery runs or 2.5 mile easy runs?? I was immediately intimidated. The first workout I did was in the 85 degree sweltering heat. I. Kept. Going.

As I progressed with my training, I once again became confident like I had in my half-marathon training. The excitement resumed and started to override my fear. I told myself- people do this all the time. You’ll be just fine. I was in the very peak of my training in August (my race set for October), and I was injured. I got an ugly sprain in my left ankle. Now, I know a sprain might sound like no big deal, but it’s actually a huge deal in the running world- especially if it’s your ankle. A pretty dang important part of your ability to run. There were some big storms that rolled through my area the last couple days before I left for a morning run and there was a giant stick in the road. You know how this ends right?? Instead of doing the smart thing and stopping to step over the giant stick or walk around it, I decided to continue running and did this sort of hop, skip, and a jump thing over it. Obviously that didn’t end well. My left foot caught the stick and on my foot strike, my left ankle and foot turned completely inward. It was one of those injuries where you immediately know it’s bad. Did I stop? No, I kept running for another 3 miles. And not just any 3 miles, I turned down a path that turned out to be a lot of dirt terrain, uneven ground, and random hills. This poor choice is likely what led to my Grade 2 sprain. When I got home and realized that my ankle wasn’t just sore, I started to cry. I never in a million years thought I would be someone who would cry over a sprained ankle. But as a person with a medical background, I was fairly certain this meant I wouldn’t be running for a while.

I started with imaging of my ankle to make sure nothing was broken. Thank you Jesus! I began my journey of PT. I went to my first appointment feeling very optimistic. They could help me out, give me my exercises, and I could continue my marathon training. Wrong. I left the PT office in tears. No running for 4-6 weeks. It was the beginning of August, race is mid October, you do the math. The home stretch of my training was put to a halt just like that. For a SPRAINED FRICKEN ANKLE! I felt like I lost a limb. And in some weird way, I did. My limb was no longer useful to me in this time of my life. What the hell was I going to do? Scrap the marathon?? That would have been the safest choice over all, considering the severity of the sprain. But I was determined. I took those PT exercises and showed them who was boss. I went to PT 3x/week and continued with the exercises at home. I started racking up the miles on a road bike to keep my cardio up. This was all going well and I was doubtless about being able to run this marathon. One of my PT’s I started working with in late September sort of burst my bubble a little bit and told me it may not be a good idea to run the race. He did however approve me for a resume to run plan; which was heavily focused on fast-walking and slow running intervals. I did this for about a week or so, then I transitioned myself back to my original training plan. I was going to run this marathon damn it! After all the time and hard work that I’d put in, there was no way I was giving up now.

I continued to work with my PT until the week before the marathon. He said by that point it would be okay to run it, but heavily emphasized running slow, potentially doing 5 on 5 off, and listening to my body carefully. It was exciting to hear it from him, even though I already had my mind set on doing it anyway. Another choice (poor one) I made 2 weeks before the marathon was to run 21 miles for a training run. Because of the injury, I’d only gone 16 miles on foot. I needed to get that 2 in front so I could be prepared. Okay lets be honest, no one prepares you for the last 6 miles of a marathon. That’s why most training plans only go up to 22 miles for the longest run. Anyways- this action is not recommended. At the 2 weeks before a marathon mark, you’re supposed to be tapering down. But I was doing all kinds of naughty things anyway so what the hell!

I ran this training run with my brother-in-law who was also signed up for the marathon and it went decently well. We hit about mile 16 and he started having knee pain so we walked. At that moment, the beginning of walking; is when my ankle started to hurt. So we continued on to do a little walk/running for the duration of the run. Afterwards, my ankle was swollen and painful, but nothing I couldn’t handle at this point. I’d done it. I’d gone over the 20 mile mark with minimal pain afterwards, and my cardio fitness was still with me, even after not running for about a month and a half. I was ecstatic at the end, and this is when I knew I was ready.

MARATHON DAY!

I could bore you more with silly details about training and carbo loading, but I won’t do that. So I’m just going to say, I continued running, kept my confidence, and ate a shit load of carbs for the 3 days leading up to the race. So, anyways… It’s race day morning and my wife and I are driving to the start line. I don’t think I mentioned that she was also running the marathon, but to people who know her, know that it’s no surprise because she just runs all the marathons. She will go on to line up at the front, while I will go on to line up around the 3/4 mark of the sea of people. Opalite by Taylor Swift is playing, naturally. I’m a Swiftie and maybe there will be more on that later (likely). Because of the message delivered by that song, everything is feeling right with the world. Or at least in my “I’m incredibly nervous and about to get on the start line for a marathon and when the gun goes off, I have to run for 26.2 miles and there’s no turning back” world. And if you don’t know that song, I suggest you listen to it or Google what it means. It’s pretty powerful when you’re about to do the thing you set out to do.

We get to the start line and do all the things you’re supposed to do like use the porta-potty, stretch, warm up, die from anxiety, ya know the norm. Family is taking pictures, wishing you luck, and so on. I’m standing in the start line listening to the National Anthem and tears start to form in my eyes. For every reason imaginable. For 1, looking around at this sea of people and having this realization that we are all about to embark on this incredibly challenging journey together. From all walks of life, fitness levels, and running speeds. It’s a community. There’s connection. There’s a buzz in the air. People are smiling, wishing one another good luck. Befriending strangers. And later on, down at mile 17 when you want to quit, these are the same people pulling you back up, encouraging you, waiting for you. It’s incredible. I had never been on this side of the start line. Like I said, I like to consider myself a professional spectator. I usually bring my wife to the start line and ditch before the race starts so I can make it to mile 5. You’d be surprised how difficult and how long it can take to get to these mile markers with all the road closures. Usually I’m on my E-bike, which makes it exponentially easier; but in a car, it takes a bit longer. Good thing for the built in GPS in my brain.

Okay, anyway where was I… start line, National Anthem, crying. I also start to think of myself. The person who stands here right now on the start line of a marathon. It didn’t feel real. It was that surreal floating above yourself and watching yourself feeling. The person I was and always had been could never run a marathon. I’ll likely have many future posts about my life experiences and adversity that I have faced, but not here. Not now. There’s no room for that here, because this is a damn celebratory post about the badass woman I’ve become. I was REALLY doing it. Like really really. The previous year during this marathon weekend, I was liking up for the 5k. I went from 5k to 26.2 in 365. Someday I’m gonna get a cool tattoo that represents those numbers because hell yeah. And some still might be saying, yeah whatever, no big deal. Anyone can do 5k to 26.2 in 365. That may be true, but not just anyone would choose to do this and invest in themselves. Since becoming a runner, I’ve acquired a newfound annoyance of people when they say “I wish I could do that” or “I could never do that.” Wishing isn’t going to make it happen, and also yes you can do that. It just takes a lot of time, work, and commitment. And those are things that people are unwilling to do. One of the running motivation playlists l listen to while running (because I want someone to yell at me and tell me to keep going), it talks about how everyone wants to be the champion. Everyone wants to stand up on the podium and hold up the trophy. But no one wants to put in the blood, sweat, and tears it takes to get there. And that really resonated with me.

The work you put in to have the ability to run the marathon is silent. You do this in your day to day life, it becomes almost this mundane thing that you’re doing. No one to hold you accountable but you. Sure, you could skip your long run or your speed workouts. Who would ever know. No one. No one would ever know. But you would know. Your body would know. Your body keeps score of all of these training runs. That’s what prepares you. It’s not about the marathon. The marathon is just the victory lap. The impressive part is showing up for yourself every single day and doing the damn thing. The impressive part is getting out there and completing your run even when you’re tired, when you don’t feel like it, or when it’s raining or windy. Trust me, I did a 12 mile training run in pouring rain, and when the rain finally stopped; it was 85 degrees and humid. But that is probably one of my most memorable runs and it built so many things up in me and taught me a lot. Like, your shoes WILL get soaked and weigh about 10 pounds so that’s fun Also.. someone please tell me why we decided to measure in miles or kilometers based on the distance?? Because it doesn’t have to make sense that’s why.

Okay, again, where was I? Start line. Let’s just get to the part where the gun goes off. The gun goes off, everyone goes wild, and away we go. I’m running the damn marathon and I still don’t truly believe that I’m running a marathon. 2 miles in, I ditched my long-sleeve. It was probably about 48 degrees, but I overheat quickly and I knew the temperature would rise. We’re coming in over the rolling hills, it’s fall so the leaves are beautiful. It’s 7 am and the sun is shining perfectly on these trees. This is an image I will keep in my mind forever. It was absolutely beautiful. And that was when it set in. At that very moment, I realized how beautiful all of this is. I accepted that I was indeed running a marathon. Everyone here was. And that’s just what we were choosing to do this morning. All of our individual training plans coming together for one big group activity. Sure, it’s competitive (more at the front), but it’s like this family. If you fall down, the person behind you isn’t going to keep goin and zoom past you like “haha, I’m in the lead.” Well, again, maybe at the front they’re more ruthless because their rankings matter, but back where I was in the 4:30, people aren’t out here competing. We’re simply average just trying to finish.

Around mile 3, my ankle started SCREAMING in pain. Oh shit. I’m done. If it’s hurting at mile 3, there’s no way I’m keeping on for another 23. I actually texted my grandma while I was running and asked her to bring me some ibuprofen to her spectator checkpoint. I’m lucky she did, but that wasn’t until mile 10. Aside from my pain, the next 7 miles went fairly well. Around mile 8.5 the pain was getting to me and I was feeling a little bit defeated. Mile 10 came and I saw my people. My in-laws, my mom, my child, and my good boi chiweenie guy. He’s the best spectator of all. He gets very excited and barks and howls. But also standing with them, was my wife. The first thing I said to her was “did you finish already?” Which is sort of funny because she’s fast, but not world record-breaking fast. I think that was like an hour and a half(ish), maybe a little more. She said, “no, I’m going to run the rest of the race with you.” I was in shock. WTF did she just say? She can run a mile like 4 minutes faster than I can. And she was the lead female. She forfeited her race for me? I was grateful. I took my wife and my ibuprofen and away I went.

Around the halfway point I was starting to break down a little. We walked for a bit and continued on. As some kind of sick joke from the course designers, there was a straight hill for 1.5 miles at MILE 20. There was a guy with a car in the middle of the road to block traffic, and he says, “you’re halfway up and there’s water at the top!” I wanted to smack him. Halfway!?? What the hell do you mean halfway?? I’ve been running up this hill forever. We caught up with my brother-in-law near the top of this hill, and we all continued on together for the duration of the race. Mile 23 is where I was really struggling. My mentals had completely broken down, and I was pretty rough. I’ll include some pictures for your enjoyment. I looked like I’d been run over, died and put in a casket, then shocked back to life and dunked in the water. Dramatic, but still. My wife was encouraging me and I was not being kind by this point. I kept telling her to shut up and that she wasn’t helping. But in hindsight, she was.

We were about 2 miles away from the finish and my wife reminded me that I can run 2 miles in my sleep. These are the most painful 2 miles I’d ever run. She told me to send it once we saw that glorious word- FINISH. And I didn’t. I couldn’t. Looking back now, I wish I would have, but in that moment, I felt like I had nothing left to just sprint through that finish line. So I continued on at my pace. But I did it. I crossed that finish line. I FRICKEN DID IT! The girl who couldn’t even run 1.5 years before this. I ran a fricken marathon. I went to the curb, sat down, and chugged water. I did it and my family was there so see it and cheer my on. This is sort of the end of my story, because there’s not much that happens after this. I took my time to recover and all that, but it’s nothing in comparison to what I’d just done. It’s not just that I ran a marathon. It’s so much more. It’s that I 100% completely dove in and invested myself, and I watched it first-handedly pay off, and that’s the biggest accomplishment of all.

Talk soon,

Corrah