Why I am running the Philadelphia Marathon

When I learned I had to have thyroid surgery in May, I initially assumed that a fall marathon was off the table. Surely recovery would take too long and there wouldn’t be enough time for adequate training. But then my coach-at-the time suggested I might be able to fit in a late fall marathon. Driving the hospital for surgery, I discussed racing plans on the phone with High Power Running Mentor #1. That turns out to be an amazing distraction technique and also an excellent way to toss a grappling hook of hope into the future.  HPRM#1 normally opposes my habit of frequent marathons but he also thought a fall race wasn’t a crazy idea. I started to think about CIM. Obviously, recovery has turned out to be much more complicated than expected. But by mid-summer, it seemed that running easy miles was going better than running faster miles. Marathons love easy miles. Then CIM sold out. But Aidan’s girlfriend goes to school in Philadelphia. He could fly into Philly for Thanksgiving and we could pick the two of them up and drive them home. Was it a giant coincidence that the Philadelphia marathon is the very weekend we planned to go fetch the college kids? I’ll let readers draw their own conclusions.

Back in August when we made this plan, it was hard to say how things would look in November. I certainly hoped that I would be done dealing with calcium and voice issues by now, which I am not. But back in August, I was also really scared. That’s when the marathon called to me most clearly. I don’t always subscribe to the old adage “Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.” But in this case, it fits. Given that it was extremely hard to predict how training would go, train for the thing you love the most. For me, that’s the marathon.

By early September, training started to fall into place. I’m loving working with Coach Maverick. I love the routine of marathon training. I’ve loved fall long runs with friends through the gorgeous New England autumn. One of my main goals for the training cycle was to re-establish a regular training routine post-surgery. No matter what happens at the race, I’ve accomplished that. More than any training cycle in a long time, this one has been about process. I’ve trained almost entirely by effort, barely looking at my watch, just showing up every day and doing the work. I’m hugely grateful that this turned out to be possible.

You can run without racing. But a race provides some direction. It gives a purpose to the training. It’s true that the race is the celebration of the training, but in this case, it’s more than that. I’ve thought a lot about the first marathon training cycle after my epic bout with plantar fasciitis. That was my first marathon with Coach Mick. Like now, I ran every run based on effort rather than pace. Like now, some long runs were ventures into the unknown more than they usually are because I didn’t know how my body would hold up. Like now, I made it to the starting line, which is never a guarantee.

This training cycle also reminds me of my first research trip abroad after Rose was born. The entire family went to Berlin so I could do field work. Aidan was four and a half and Rose was just five months old. The plan was that Mervus and I would both work while the kids napped. I am not sure that either of us got a lot of work done. But I proved to myself (and my department? Other political scientists?) that I could still do field work, even with two children. In many ways the trip was ridiculous. But I’ve never regretted going. More than anything else, I needed to know that I could still do research abroad.

That’s a lot of what this marathon is about. I need to know that I can run 26.2 miles without a thyroid. Unless something very weird happens, I am going to make it to the starting line on Sunday morning. I am also really good at getting to the finish line though that is never a guarantee either. I’ve run a couple of exceptionally hot marathons. This one is going to be the coldest yet. It might or might not be marked by severe cramping due to calcium deficiency. The marathon is a very long race with a lot of opportunity for the wheels to come off the bus.

I am running the Philadelphia marathon to prove that I can do it – to prove it to myself and to the numerous doctors supervising my care. It’s more than a bit audacious. It has not yet been six months since surgery. When I made this plan, I did not know what a big deal that was going to be. The past few months have been marked by a lot of fear and not a small amount of despair. But there’s also a little bit of iron that lives inside me and that bit of iron is still very much there.

When I thought the plantar fasciitis might take me away from running forever, I got up each morning and looked at my workout clothes and thought about whether it was worth it to cross train or not. Every single day, it was worth it, because I wanted to get back to running.

When I cramped so severely at the end of the 22 miler in West Hartford earlier this month, I thought about turning back early. But I didn’t. I ran 22 miles even though the last few were incredibly painful.

When the insurance company called twice during my 20 miler, I fielded the calls and finished the run.

Sometimes you just run because it’s on the plan. Because following the plan brings order to disorder. Because I can’t control my health, which is one of the most frustrating things I have ever encountered in my life. Because it’s terrifying to think how close I might have come to having a condition that can be incapacitating. Because I am going to have to work every day to get my voice back to normal – damaged through absolutely no fault of my own. These really bad things have happened to me and I can’t control them. I can control showing up and doing the work.

On a podcast I heard a professional runner talk about being able to control effort and attitude. I like that. That’s no different for a professional runner or for me. Ultimately even Kipchoge can only control effort and attitude.

Coach Maverick told me last week that I was showing strength and grit, but I misremembered that as grace and grit. I like that even better. In a lot of ways, strength is easier than grace. I have a lot of grit. I’ve showed that many times. I’m also really strong. But this experience is helping me find grace. What does that mean? It means discovering a deep well of kindness within myself, kindness for myself and for others. I am not perfect and I do not always manage this. Just ask Mervus. But to run simply because I can. Because sometimes, often, the world is terrible, more terrible than we could imagine. But learning to run through the terrible helps us overcome it.

So, that’s why I am running the Philadelphia marathon. To prove to myself and others that I can do it. For the chance to practice controlling effort and attitude. To demonstrate strength and grit, but most of all grace. As the City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia turns out to be the absolutely most perfect place to run a marathon.