Forgive the length of this post. As the title states, this is about a journey that just ended. And to describe what it truly means, I feel as if I need to share it all – and it’s a marathon!
Twelve years ago – at the time in my life when this fitness journey was not yet a year in the making – I went out on the first Sunday in November to watch tens of thousands of runners take to the streets to run the New York City Marathon. I was one of approximately two million people cheering them on. It was that day that I decided I wanted to run the marathon too – someday. And so, this journey began. Now, after years of struggle, progress, failure, dedication, doubt, belief, heartbreak, and joy . . . I did it! The journey is over.
Rarely have I set any long-term goals during my larger fitness journey. For me, everything was about the process. “Win the day” has been my goal. One that is all about the process – not the outcome. But then I somehow got it in me that running the New York City Marathon would be the ultimate accomplishment. It took until now, having crossed the finish line, to understand why that was.
What made the marathon so important to me?
Simply, I wanted to be a different person. I started my fitness journey when I was at my lowest. I let my health and fitness deteriorate over several years, and it all felt like a locomotive moving in the wrong direction. It felt impossible to turn around, and I had begun to accept my seemingly inevitable decline. Even doing what I loved such as playing golf came at a cost, as my body ached for days. Moving – even to walk to and from the subway – was strenuous, painful, and exhausting. I felt defeated. But, as I wrote about previously, I gave it all one last shot with a personal trainer, and that first session changed my life.
But before it all changed, there was a glimmer of hope. Maybe it was the first time I did a squat without needing a chair for support. Maybe it was seeing the weight increase on my deadlifts. Or perhaps it was the first time in a very long time when the number on the scale went down. Most likely, it took all three because seeing myself change made me realize I could change. So, on Marathon Sunday of 2014, inspired by the fact that more than 50,000 others could do this, I began to dream about doing it myself. Still, I was nowhere near ready.
The process – “Win the Day”
The dream started before I ever dared to try running. My trainer explained that it would put too much strain on my body earlier in the process, but nearly a year into it, I was ready to give it a shot. I’ve written about those days before, as my first blog post on running was titled, Learning to Lose – My Running Journey. That title said everything about how running went in the early days. It was a struggle and ultimately became too much for my body to handle. The only way to ever run the marathon was to first give up running and get my body right. Once again, this is where “Win the Day”was everything.
From late 2015 to 2023, running never crossed my mind. The dream of running the marathon remained, but only as a dream. Each day, I simply asked myself, “did I do what I was supposed to do today?” The question involved more than just fitness, but it had nothing to do with the goal of running the marathon. It was about health, work, and life. When the answer was no, I’d learn from it. When it was yes, I felt grateful.
Gratitude for that progress became an addiction. “Win the day” became my mantra. It was everything I aimed for, and it was changing me – both in my body and my mind. The ability to do more redefined what winning each day meant. It meant I had to do more to win. The addiction meant I wanted to. But “more” did not mean run a marathon. It just meant trying to be better each day.
I became so focused on the process that I didn’t even realize the marathon was in reach when it first was. But it was not just because of my focus. No doubt, my past failure at making running a part of this journey played its part in how long it took me to get back at it. I still didn’t believe I could run a marathon. But again, on another first Sunday in November – this time in 2023 – I was inspired by all those inside the barriers who took on the streets of the New York City Marathon. I was ready to give it another try.
My happy place . . .
This time around, I had success with running. I ran faster, farther, and more comfortably. Without even thinking about the marathon for years, I had become the person I dreamed of becoming. My transformation showed on the outside, but the physical changes paled in comparison to what changed inside of me. I became confident, motivated, and fearless. I was happy – with how I looked, how I felt, and who I had become. And Central Park – where I did most of my runs – was my happy place.
In truth, the park was the arena that hosted the highest highs and lowest lows. In 2015, it was a 15K run in the park where I discovered running was too painful for my body. Last year it was where I tore my hamstring five days before I was to run the marathon. But each of those moments and more turned into joy. They were part of the process that has made this journey so rewarding, and that process largely took place in the park. Nearly all my triumphs happened there – the first run I ever did, the first race I ran, each longer distance I conquered, every setback I overcame, and so many other days I won. So much of what went into changing me happened in Central Park.
Before I started this journey, I enjoyed visiting the park on a beautiful day. Once I became a runner, I owned it. Every spring, at the first sight of warm weather, I welcomed the new crowds of runners who joined in. As summer approached, those crowds picked up as many began training for their marathons. And after the leaves changed colors in late fall and the cold weather began, fewer of us remained as we ran the mostly empty loop. I loved each season. The busy months made me feel like I was one small part of something big. The quiet ones made me believe I was extraordinary. But one person above all made this my happiest place.
Sarah . . .
One of the most inspiring sights of the marathon is to see those who have overcome disabilities take on this awesome challenge. Many are part of Achilles International – a group whose mission is to “break down barriers to race start lines and empower the disability community to cross the finish line.” Witnessing Achilles athletes run or wheel their way through the streets inspires me and reinforces my belief in what each of us can accomplish. But on marathon day, I watch in amazement, often wondering who each person is. What are they like? And then one of those runners became the light of my journey.
I first spotted Sarah wearing one of her trademark Achilles shirts on one of my hill-repeat runs as I made my way up and down Harlem Hill over several intervals. She was the happiest person I’ve ever seen running there. Every time I passed her, her smile made my own bigger. We began giving each other high-fives with excitement. We never actually stopped to meet each other that day, something I regretted until spotting her on my very next run. That time, I slowed down and ran with Sarah. It was the beginning of a friendship that grew as we trained together these past two years. We often spotted each other in the park by chance. Then it became by design, as I scheduled my runs around meeting Sarah – often at the Achilles practice on Saturdays where a community of inspiring athletes meet to go out and train with their guides.
Sarah – who just completed her 13th New York City Marathon (and 15th marathon overall including Boston and Philadelphia) – was featured on The Kelly Clarkson Show, where she said she has two favorite things about running the marathon: the friends she’s made through Achilles and . . . the medals! I’m grateful to have become one of those friends. Now, it was time to go for the medal.
A lesson learned the hard way . . .
Training for this year’s marathon turned out to be a two-year process. I did everything but run the race last year having injured myself the week of the marathon. It turns out (which I already knew deep down at the time) that last year’s heartbreak made me a far better athlete than I would have been had I crossed the 2025 marathon finish line. I was sidelined for six weeks before my hamstring improved enough to run again, but once it was healed, my process for training for this year’s marathon began – in the coldest New York winter I had experienced during my 19 years in the city.
What I mostly learned from my injury is that training is about more than just getting my runs in. A year ago, as I religiously completed four runs each week on my training plan, I believed my body felt like it was training for a marathon. As the mileage increased, so did the soreness I felt. I experienced a few injuries along the way, ranging from a torn labrum to a cracked tooth when I fell and hit my face on the pavement. But I still didn’t appreciate how primed my body was to break.
Going out for a short, easy run the Tuesday before last year’s marathon, I still hoped that what soreness lingered through my tapering phase of training would resolve by marathon Sunday. It was headed that way – I thought – but just not enough. I tripped over a step I could not see while running in the dark, and though I didn’t fall, my hamstring popped. I knew right then that last year’s dream was over. To say I had mixed emotions would be an understatement.
I was devastated. I had made reaching the finish line everything. My process-oriented mindset of “win the day” had faded into a goal based on an outcome I failed to reach. To make matters worse, I realized after it was all over that I had made the outcome about more than it ever was supposed to be. I bought into the belief that I needed to shoot for a time goal even though I had never before thought about anything other than running 26.2 miles to the finish line. Somehow, the simple dream of becoming someone who runs the New York City Marathon had turned into a mission to run it as fast as I could. My failure last year was never about the injury. It was about losing sight of what my true goal was. It was never about a time. It wasn’t even about the finish line.
One positive side of the emotional roller coaster after my injury was that I looked back on the past 20 weeks knowing that I had, in fact, trained to run a marathon. This dream has been about becoming a different person. I had done that long before last year’s training began. And then I lost sight of it altogether. But reflecting on the process I had just gone through made me realize that I did it. I didn’t need a medal to show me that I had changed. Still, I wanted that medal. In fact, somehow, I believed that I needed it.
Doing hard things . . .
This year, there were no time goals. It was all about finishing and . . . getting the medal. That seems much simpler, right? Well, even the simplest of missions can be incredibly taxing when the mind enters the equation.
I started training this year inspired. I was inspired by cheering on Sarah from the sidelines last year. I was confident that I now knew what it was like to train for a marathon. And I was motivated to overcome my injury. I relished every winter run in sub-zero wind chill during the empty days in the park. Once again, I was among the elite. But as the injury faded into the past and the park filled up in the spring and summer months, I found myself struggling – not physically, but mentally.
My body was in perfect shape. I never missed a strength training session aimed at making it bulletproof. The physical act of running was no problem, but enjoying it was. By early summer, each time I went out to run, I didn’t want to be there. Somehow, I had lost my love of running. I couldn’t get my head around the prospect of spending another four months training. Part of me just felt like this all should have been over already. I had expected to have moved on to other goals by now – like climbing El Capitan. Yet, I was left with having to put my efforts into doing exactly what I had already done once before – training for the marathon. From late June until mid-August, I spent most of my runs wondering whether I should call it off this year. Even as I told myself that each run got me one step closer to the finish line, I wondered if I just needed a break. But then something happened.
It started with a conversation I had with a friend as I was getting ready to move to Florida – possibly another reason everything felt harder this time around. Our talk was not about the marathon, but about how my life ahead in Florida caring for my aging parents wasn’t going to be easy. And then I said, “Thankfully, this journey I’ve been on has taught me how to do hard things.”
The very next day, as I went out for my run and again said, “I don’t want to be here,” I had an epiphany. “I love doing hard things!” That was on August 20, and with that one thought, everything changed. I had flipped the switch and loved every step of every run after that.
Doing even harder things . . .
A week later, I moved to Florida. I embraced my new life with all its challenges, not the least of which was training in the extreme heat and humidity I was now facing. By the time the sun came up, the heat index was often near 100. I woke up my first morning after the move and went on a short, five-mile run. It was one of the two hardest runs I did during this year’s training. I wasn’t prepared for just how taxing the heat would be. My usual pace was impossible. I had never needed water on a five-mile run before that day. I wondered if I would be able to train down here. But I loved that I was now doing something even harder!
I adjusted to the Florida heat by preparing for it. Although I had avoided running in the dark ever since tearing my hamstring while running in it, it was time to take out my headlamp (which I didn’t have on last year’s tragic run) and face that fear. I began waking up at 3 AM on my long-run days so that I could do most of my run when it was coolest (or at least less hot) before the sun came up. I ran slower. I drank more electrolytes. And I rejoiced in everything it took to overcome this added challenge – the toughest of which came on my 20-mile training run.
20 miles is the longest run before race day. It is the peak of training. Last year, it was one of my easiest runs, as I went out so carefully, afraid of something I had never done before. But while 20 miles was now something I had already experienced, doing it on one of the hottest days of training was not. When I stepped outside at 5 AM to start my run, the heat index was 91. It hit me immediately. It took everything I had learned from training to make it through the run – pacing, hydration, and focus. I was also aware that completing the 20-mile run was not the goal. When the daily process of winning the day became tied to a larger outcome, I had to keep checking in with myself to make sure I was okay to continue. Once I realized I could keep going, as hard as it was, I knew that winning this day meant facing the mental challenge of pushing myself when things got really demanding. That, I believed, was what would prepare me for the toughest moments on race day.
I finished that run as the heat index reached 99. It was the farthest I could run that day. I learned from the mental grind it took to get through my hardest run of the year, but I also walked away understanding that there is a point at which I might reach my limit. Had the plan been anything longer in that heat and humidity, I would have stopped. Winning the day meant understanding it all. It was about the place this run had in my journey. Sometimes that means pushing through. Other times, it means stopping. The constant is that winning the day is not about doing better; it is about doing what I can to become better.
A dream come true . . .
Alas, it was time to run the marathon. The week leading up to race day was emotional. I spent it reflecting on all it took to get there. As each day passed, the reflection magnified. In one way, I carried the burden of what it meant to change who I was over the past 13 years as I faced the one thing standing between me and the medal – getting to the finish line. On the other hand, as I stood before the Verrazzano Bridge ready to fulfill my dream, I knew I had already won by reaching the starting line. I had always imagined I would cry when finishing the race, but I never realized that the most emotional part of the day would be the start.
After it began, most of my race went by in a flash. No, not because I ran a fast time, as I finished in 5:40:09. Rather, it was because I was locked in. I ran the perfect race. I did all that I had planned, from starting slowly and settling into an easy pace to even having enough left after 18 miles to speed up. I spent much of the marathon in a zone that made each 13-minute mile feel like it went by in 3 minutes. But I was sure to snap out of it each time I approached the parts of the race that truly made my day – my friends! I planned to see as many who came to cheer me on as I could. Some lived on the route, and others came from over an hour away. It brought me joy to experience the end of this journey with so many who supported me through it all. It reminded me of what Sarah always told me about the marathon: “It’s a party run!”
It also made me realize that, while I was racing towards the finish line and the medal ahead, my dream was to run the New York City Marathon, and I was doing it! The only part that was missing was that I would likely miss Sarah. She started over two hours earlier than I did and would probably finish before me. Except that Sarah’s race was being featured on MS Now, as Stephanie Ruhle – who had never run more than 3 miles before – joined Sarah for the entire 26.2-mile party run. And as fate would have it, when I approached mile 23, I heard someone yell, “Go Achilles!” I turned to join in the cheer and realized it was for Sarah! I found my friend during the race, and we ran together for a bit as we approached our happy place, Central Park, for the finish.
A reminder of what the dream is about . . .
I was grateful to be running my perfect race. Everything I did leading up to it made it possible, but no matter how one prepares, nothing is ever guaranteed. Everyone’s race day is different, and many do not go as expected. I ran among people who got injured and who became ill. I couldn’t help but wonder if they planned to finish or whether that was the end of their day. Either way, I believed they had won by making it out there. Most, like me after last year’s injury, would have another opportunity to get the medal someday. But tragically, one of my fellow marathoners will never have that chance. Rachel Apa, a 24-year-old former college athlete, collapsed at mile 24 and died after apparently suffering from rhabdomyolysis.
Reading about Rachel’s death two days after the marathon altered the meaning of my race. When I crossed the finish line, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. As I said, I thought I would cry, but instead, I shouted out, “F@ck yeah!!!” The outcome of getting the medal had become a burden. Everything I set out to become by being a marathon runner had already happened before I ever finished the race. Rachel’s passing is the strongest reminder that the outcome is never what matters most.
Yes, I got the medal, and I will cherish it forever. Not because it is a reminder of crossing the finish line, but rather because it is the symbol of what it took to become a marathon runner. To become the person who stood before the Verrazzano Bridge, already changed. To go from being at my lowest to achieving what seemed impossible back then. No, not finishing the marathon. Not even running it. But the achievement of working each day to become better and turn my life around. If anything, the medal is a reminder to keep trying to win each day going forward.
The end of a journey . . .
I reached my dream of running the New York City Marathon, and even with all the joy, gratitude, and relief that I feel, there’s also a sadness about it. For me, it took becoming addicted to the journey – to the struggle of achieving my goal. Now that I did it, that journey is over.
But it would be wrong to consider this mission accomplished when the journey was always about something much bigger. It started with a need to change who I was before I ever believed I could. Through it all, I learned not to limit myself to only doing what I believe is possible. If I waited until I believed it, I may never have tried – not just at running the marathon but at changing who I was. Belief can come later in the process, and chances are, once it has, you’ve already won. I sure did long before this year’s marathon. On this journey, I won by trying; by embracing the challenge to do hard things; by never giving up after heartbreak or failure; by making friends; and by finding joy. That journey to keep getting better in life continues long after the end of this one.
Aaron
PS: For the shorter, social media version of where this journey began and how far it’s come, check out this Instagram post, entitled, Dear 2013 Aaron . . .