Ever since June 2020, I have developed a deep level of anxiety when it comes to running. Ironically, this anxiety has nothing to do with splits or running fast; it simply comes from a desire to run pain-free. I spent the first half of 2020 on an emotional high from achieving my lifelong running dream, and the second half physically and emotionally struggling through chronic high-hamstring tendinopathy. As a result, almost all of 2021 and the first couple months of 2022, I spent NOT running so that I could try and let my body heal. Somehow in this span of time, I have developed a debilitating fear around injury and feeling like I will never be able to get back to running the way I used to. 

As a runner, we all know that it is normal to experience pains or niggles in training; it’s almost weird to not feel anything. But it is as if my brain has forgotten that this is part of what running is. Anytime I feel anything that is more than soreness, my brain goes into a panic that this will be another long-term issue that will force me to take months off. Part of me thinks the anxiety in itself is causing some of the random injuries that keep popping up.  Is my body so tense that it is causing my muscles to tighten up more than normal? Is my deep desire to get back to training causing me to make dumb mistakes? Is my body trying to tell me it’s had enough? The constant injury cycle has gotten to the point that I feel humiliated to answer my friends when they ask me how my running is going. I don’t want to lie and say it’s great, because it is far from it, but I also don’t want to be the constant ‘injured girl’ who everyone thinks is insane. 

There is a part of me that almost wishes I didn’t love running and training so much because it would be easier to hang up my shoes and just focus on my career and starting a family. I know in a few years, there will come a time when my fastest times are behind me, but right now there is still a piece of me that is not ready to give it up yet. Of course, all of this is muddled with the fact that there is a big piece of running that is tied to my identity and self-worth and struggling to love who I am without it. I do think that if I can find a way to stay healthy (any recommendations/advice are highly appreciated!) then I will be able to enjoy the process, even on the days when the workouts or races aren’t where I think they ‘should’ be. Right now, my biggest hurdle is getting past the panic that I feel anytime I feel anything and thinking that everything is going to turn into a long-term injury. 

I don’t have an answer to my current predicament. I have been trying to reflect on my values and what type of person I am aspiring to be. I wrote down that my family and friends matter to me, that I want to make this world a better place, and that I want to be the best person I can be. I wrote down that I want to be kind, inspiring, compassionate, and brave. None of these values or aspirations represent the ability to run fast so why do I want that so bad? Again, I’m not sure. I am going to keep trying to discover why it is that running matters so much to me, and I will keep hoping that I will soon find a way to be able to do what I love without the constant anxiety that it will be taken away from me. I’m not sure if sharing this will help anyone else going through a similar struggle, but I wanted to put it out to the world for the sheer possibility that it could. Keep believing, keep hoping, and keep striving. 

When I was in middle school and high school, I was a running phenom. Being really good at something at such a young age narrows your world. It seems like nothing else matters. I lost perspective on what running was. I thought that to be successful, I had to go all-in. I thought the grind was what was going to get me where I wanted to be. It turned out this obsessive nature is what led to my decision to not compete collegiately. For almost four years, I didn’t step foot on a track. I ran without a watch. Running was still a part of me, but it was not all of me. It was during this time when I stopped looking for external gratification from my running results that I finally discovered why I had fallen in love with running in the first place. 

Fast forward 10 years and here I am with the same thoughts I had as a teenage girl. In 2016, I started to train and compete competitively again, and my obsessive nature slowly creeped its way back into my life. For 4 years, I had one objective: to qualify for the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials. While this journey was filled with endless trials and tribulations, it ultimately led to my biggest achievement. On February 29, 2020, I toed the line with the nation’s best marathoners and experienced one of the most incredible memories of my life. It felt like a dream, but then… nothing changed. I had reached the pinnacle of what I had always viewed as successful, but I still had the same insecurities and doubts I always had. What now? What did I have to accomplish now to keep placating the deep feeling inside of me that I wasn’t enough? 

For some time after the Olympic Trials, I simply basked in that feeling of achievement, but then came the questions. What’s next? Would I try again in 2024? Could I do it again? Should I try? In the midst of all of this, a little thing called COVID-19 took over the world. Millions were fighting for their lives, losing their jobs, and people were simply trying to survive. I was so fortunate to have my family and those around me stay healthy, but there were so many who weren’t so lucky. This pandemic will be remembered as one of the most tragic time periods of all time, but as selfish and embarrassing as this sounds, having a global pandemic alleviated some of my own anxieties. If races were canceled, then there was no pressure to run them. 

Throughout the summer, I was running, but very minimally, attempting to give my body some necessary recovery, which is ironic, considering the fact that today marks 14 weeks without running. I started experiencing some hamstring and adductor issues in the summer but blamed them on all the marathons I had just done, expecting the niggles to go away on their own. I trained through the fall, reaching a new level of fitness. While I was in excruciating amounts of pain on a daily basis, the highs of running some of the fastest workouts I had ever run, kept me from stopping. Finally, in January, I decided to get an MRI. Not only did the results show that I had what looked like a stress reaction on my hamstring origin/attachment, but I also had severe tendinopathy. I have experienced high hamstring tendinopathy before, and while it was always a nuisance in the past, this time was different; it was debilitating. I still have moments where I cannot sit on the couch without an ice pack, I have a pillow I have to sit on when driving, and I just ordered a doughnut pillow for anytime I have to sit and do work. I have reached a new low! But all jokes aside, the past 14 weeks without running have been some of the hardest times of my life. There is a deep hole that I feel stuck in, a lack of hope and uncertainty about the future, and most of all, a constant, almost dull fear deep within, about whether running has been taking away from me forever. 

This injury is just not progressing in the way I had expected and/or hoped, even after taking guidance and instructions from (various) experts. I need to load the tendon, but it’s a fine line between loading and repairing and over-loading/going two steps back – and it’s not an easy injury to read in that way. There currently seems to be no concrete pattern of progress which is partly why it’s such a struggle. Alongside this is a constant wondering of who I am when I’m not a runner? I must find a way to separate my identity from what I do. When you tie your identity too closely to what you do, anytime you fail at that thing, you will take it as a failure of yourself. It won’t be “I failed at running,”’ it will be “I am a failure.” 

Here are my takeaways. We have all survived 100% of the hard things that have happened to us. Each of the moments, memories, things that have happened in our lives, have helped to shape us into who we are now. Yes, many of these moments have been tough, but without these moments, we would not have experienced some of our greatest joys either. There is power in understanding that pain is part of the process and failing is part of the journey. Choosing the easy road doesn’t lead to growth, it leads to mediocrity. It’s not about avoiding the struggle; it’s about developing the ability to thrive in it. Don’t look too fondly at the glory days and think that they hold some secret to success. Focus on what you can do at the moment to get better, not what worked or didn’t work in the past. Don’t force things. There will be some tremendous highs and some depressing lows. You’ll question everything, and at times, things will seem meaningless. You can’t shove your way to success, instead you have to do the work to put yourself in the position to succeed and see what happens.

One of my good friends recently said to me, running is awesome, but it isn’t everything. Yes, running is something that I am passionate about, but it is not who I am. I am really trying to refocus my energy on all that I am without running. Perspective is crucial. Nobody really cares how fast or slow I run in circles or from point A to point B. The only people who truly care will be there even if I fail at all of those things. Each one of us has a unique potential and purpose; far too often we look at other people and make their approval the standard we feel compelled to meet, and as a result, squander our very existence and purpose. I have the opportunity to live each day as best as I can and trust that this comeback will simply be another chapter in the saga. One thing is for certain, when I lay my head to rest, I will have one hell of a story to tell.

It has been 4 weeks since I raced at the 2020 USA Olympic Trials Marathon and the time between now and then seems like eons ago. It seems trivial to even talk about my race considering everything the world is facing right now. There are people out there fighting for their lives and most people’s day-to-day lives have been completely upended. The uncertainty is what seems the scariest to me right now, but I find comfort in the thought that this will not be our forever. Now more than ever, we need to come together and be there for one another. 

While this is all scary and unprecedented, there are always silver linings. We have the opportunity to spend more time with our loved ones, more time finding the beauty in nature, and more time to reflect on what we are grateful for. Focus on these things and remember that you are stronger than you think. And if you need some distraction from what’s going on, read on 🙂

While my race itself feels like a lifetime ago, my emotions and thoughts are still at the top of my mind. Crossing the finish line at the trials was a moment that I dreamed of every single day for the past 4 years. Throughout those 4 years, I did everything in my power to make myself a better athlete, runner, and person. I encountered countless setbacks and failures, and many times, felt broken, both physically and emotionally. But I think that without those obstacles, I wouldn’t be who I am today. On February 29, I didn’t line up with hopes of making an Olympic team, I lined up with a grateful mindset that I had simply earned my spot on the start line, to compete in the same race as the best marathoners in the country. I looked around and saw runners I’ve idolized for decades and soaked in the feeling that I was among them. I feel so humbled and honored to have been a part of such a monumental race. I spent the past four years dedicating myself to the pursuit of this one goal. All of my choices revolved around what would increase my chances of getting on that line. Lots of people couldn’t comprehend why I would choose to sacrifice so much for one day, one race, one moment. I have found that it is the chase of big goals that makes me feel most alive and I have had the privilege of doing that for the past four years. 

Back in 2016, I signed up to run the Philadelphia Marathon in hopes of breaking 3 hours. I finished in 2:56, setting a new personal best by over 11 minutes. I was ecstatic, but as most runners know, once you reach the top of one mountain, it seems like you always see a taller one to climb. I slowly convinced myself that qualifying for the 2020 Olympic Trials wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities; I only had to pr by 11 more minutes 😂! I had recently moved to Winston-Salem, North Carolina where I joined my boyfriend who had just been hired as the women’s distance head coach at High Point University. In the first week that I moved, I met a local runner named Donnie Cowart. I didn’t know much about him and I remember finding out from someone else (he is way too humble to talk about himself) that he had just finished 8th at the 2016 Olympic Trials in the Steeplechase and had also finished 4th in 2012! He was taking some time off from training, which ended up working in my favor because he did a lot of my runs leading up to the Philadelphia Marathon with me. His relentless positivity was contagious, and I was constantly inspired by his attitude towards running and life. I think a lot of my success from the Philadelphia Marathon came from being around him and soaking in his belief that I was capable of whatever I set my mind to. If you haven’t already guessed, I soon asked him to coach me, and I have had the privilege of working with him ever since. 

At the beginning of 2017, after working with Donnie for not even three months, I set a 5k personal best. I was gearing up for a big half marathon in July, and was so excited for what I thought I could accomplish. Unfortunately, I got a little carried away with my training, and wasn’t communicating fully with my coach about how I was feeling, which led to me getting diagnosed with a sacral stress fracture in April. Up to that point, I was one of those runners who had never really been injured. I had maybe taken a week off here and there for a niggle or two, but nothing significant had ever really impacted me. That stress fracture was the beginning of an almost 2 year span of not being able to stay healthy. From torn quads and tendons to strained hamstrings and adductors, I was a complete wreck. I didn’t run a race longer than a 10k in 2017 and was in a pretty dark place emotionally. By the beginning of 2018, I had a few months of solid training and decided to race a half marathon. I surprised myself and ended up setting another PR by over 4 minutes. I was thrilled, but injury came knocking on my door once again. By that point, we had discovered the secret of cross-training so I started spending a majority of my time on the ElliptiGo and in the pool. I finally got healthy by the time summer rolled around and we decided to go for my first Olympic Trials Qualifier (OTQ) attempt at the California International Marathon (CIM) in December of 2018. About three weeks out from the race, I did a tune up half marathon and, yup you guessed it, strained my hamstring. In the last couple weeks leading into the marathon I probably ran a total of 15 miles and had no idea if I would even be able to finish the race. Race morning was perfect, with temperatures in the low 40’s and zero wind. Once we started, I felt amazing and came through the halfway point about 30 seconds under qualifying pace. About a mile later, my left foot started feeling weird and by mile 18, I felt like every step I took, I was breaking my ankle. I somehow willed myself to finish that race, but missed the qualifier, running a 2:50. In those final 12 miles I managed to tear the peroneal tendon in my left foot (long story short, make sure you practice running in your race shoes)! I had to take almost 8 weeks off of running, but by the end of February was slowly starting to get back into the swing of things. We decided we were going to give it another shot in June at the Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota. 

While I stayed injury-free in my build-up for Grandmas, most of my training was done in the heat, and it took a toll on me physically. It was a struggle to hit the prescribed paces on my workouts, and I went into the race without the full confidence that I could run under 2:45. By 10k into the race, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. The pace felt far from relaxed, I was hot, and I couldn’t seem to get enough fluids in me. I thought I could still muster a PR, but I ended up missing it by 7 seconds. I failed…again. We still had one more shot. We decided to sign up for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon in November and CIM in December as a backup, just in case something popped up in our build-up. Sure enough, about 5 weeks out from Indianapolis, I had one of the best long runs I had ever had, but tweaked my adductor in the last couple miles. We scrapped our original plan and decided to take the extra 4 weeks we would have for CIM, to go in healthy and in the best position possible to break 2:45. 

Before the start of CIM 2019, I stood on the start line with the most confidence I have ever had before a race. In my buildup, I ran the fastest workouts I had ever run with the most mileage under my belt. I truly believed this was going to be my race. In a marathon, the first half of the race should not feel hard, and as I passed the 10 mile mark, my quads felt tight and I knew something was off. By halfway, I was already off goal pace and my quads were getting more painful with each step. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, but knew my goal was slipping away by the second. I finally stopped and cried at mile 21 knowing the dream was dead. Those final miles were a death march and I finished ten minutes slower than my goal. I thought that my marathon journey had come to an end. As I mentioned earlier, Donnie is one of the most positive people I have ever met, and he convinced me that he still thought I could do it. Spoiler alert: this was the first of 3 marathons that I would run in a span of 3 months. If it weren’t for him, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that I would not have qualified for the Olympic Marathon Trials. We had 6 weeks left until the qualifying window closed, and we were going to give it one last shot. 

Due to the damage my body had endured at CIM, I only ran a total of 103 miles in the 6 weeks leading up to my next race. Instead of running, I spent hours and hours sweating on the ElliptiGo and staring at the bottom of the black line in the pool. The Houston Marathon was already sold out, which was a flat race with a lot of fast women, so my only other feasible option was a tiny marathon in Warner Robins, Georgia: The Aviation Marathon. As race day approached, I felt I had about a 5% shot of qualifying. I had raced the worst marathon of my running career 6 weeks prior and knew that it was going to take everything within my power for me to break 2:45. 

Donnie decided he would pace me for the first 20 miles, so I had the comfort of knowing he was going to be right there with me. Our first few miles were slow and I was already thinking too far ahead. Once we started speeding up, I started to worry about how long I could maintain our pace, but Donnie kept reminding me to just “be in the moment,” and focus on one mile at a time. We hit our fastest split of the day at mile 10, and from there, it was like an angel was pushing me along. We were running close to 6 minute pace and I felt great. But the marathon is a grind and by the time mile 20 rolled around, I had really started to hurt. At that point, it was clear that I was struggling, and Donnie turned to me and said he was going to stay with me until the finish (HE IS A SAINT). Without his encouragement and presence that last 10k, I really don’t think I would have made it. I also kept thinking about someone who I had just lost, Andy Tamer, my boyfriend’s father, who was one of the best people I have ever known. Somehow, I did it. I qualified for the Olympic Marathon Trials the day before the window closed with only 5 seconds to spare. Those first, few moments after the race are hard to put into words. To share that moment with someone who believed in me enough to run a freakin’ marathon with me was one of the best feelings in the world and I will treasure that day and that moment forever. 

As incredible as that feeling was, the realization that I had to run another marathon in 6 weeks was a bit daunting. This would be my third marathon in a span of three months. Would I be able to do it? Would I be able to stay healthy? And if my coach and I were were able to accomplish that, would I be able to stay fit enough to race against the 500 fastest women marathoners in the country? We got back in the pool a few days after the race, and it was quickly back to the grind. As boring as all those hours in the smelly chlorine were, I kept envisioning all the other qualifiers who were out there pushing themselves and I knew I had to do the same. My coach had already created a blueprint of how to run back-to-back marathons 6 weeks apart, so we stuck to the plan, making day to day adjustments based on how my body felt. I had a minor peroneal tendon issue that held my running back a bit, but overall, it was pretty smooth sailing. We got in about 3 marathon specific workouts, and before we knew it, we were less than 10 days out from the race of my life. My hamstrings were more sore than normal, but I tried to stay positive and focus on the fact that we had achieved our number one priority: getting to the start line healthy. 

In total, 511 women qualified for the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials, more than double than any other year, and only 465 were able to make it to the start line. When you are pushing your body every day to its limit, staying healthy is half the battle, and I am SO GRATEFUL that my body was able to handle everything I threw its way. In the past year, I have made leaps and bounds when it comes to my nutrition. In our sport, disordered eating is rampant, and I am sad to say, I have suffered from it a quite deal. I don’t think it is something that is talked about enough and is an issue that impacts almost every female runner I’ve come into contact with. While I am far from perfect now, I have finally found a way to fuel my body properly and it has rewarded me with my best running performances and my longest bout of injury-free running in the past 4 years.

A couple days before the race, my coach and I drove to Atlanta and arrived at the hotel that was swarming with elite runners. Everywhere I looked, I saw fast men and women. To say it was intimidating is an understatement. Luckily, Donnie has some Olympic Trials experience of his own, and he kept us away from the masses as much as possible. He said something that stuck with me throughout the weekend. He told me that it doesn’t matter what’s happening on the outside, it’s what’s happening on the inside: What is your mind thinking? Are you calm? Are your muscles and tendons and bones in tact? Are your heart and lungs well-trained? You can’t see any of that stuff on the outside, and anytime I started to compare myself with other women, I came back to that notion. I had earned my spot there. I belonged. This was everything I had trained for and I wasn’t going to let a game of comparison spoil my experience.

Out of the 465 women who started the race, I was seeded 457th. As scary as that was, I just told myself what my coach had finally solidified in my mind “you belong”. I placed myself in the back of the pack, smiled, looked around, and thought of everyone in my life who helped me to get to where I was. The race started and we all took off, storming down Peachtree Street, a sea of ambition, determination, the result of so much hard work. My ears were ringing from the roars of the crowds, and that first loop, I soaked in every second. I was literally living my dream. I vividly remember seeing my family at mile 8, my dad jumping up and down with a look of pride I can’t describe, my mom and boyfriend’s mom, Liza, holding a giant sign that said ‘GO ADRIANA’ yelling at the top of their lungs, and my brother looking at his little sister, with such admiration and love. I remember seeing Donnie, running ALL OVER THE COURSE, reminding me to fight, to grind, to focus on the task at hand and remember to take it one mile at a time. I saw old friends who I grew up running with and new friends who have all inspired and supported me throughout my journey. The wind in that race felt like hurricane gusts and the hills looked like mountains, but through it all, I never stopped fighting. In those last few agonizing miles, as I was running at a comically slow pace, I kept reminding myself that it is the struggle that is the most beautiful. It is in our darkest moments when we find what we’re truly made of, and as I sprinted home those final 200 meters, as much pain as I was in, I think it was one of the best moments of my entire life. I had raced against the fastest women in the country and had finished 280th. My time was nothing to write home about, but on that day, on that course, in those conditions, time was irrelevant. What was important was the way I raced, the way I fought, the way I never succumbed to the pain. At the end of the day, what more can we ask of ourselves?

A lot of people are now asking me “what’s next?” Honestly, I am simply trying to embrace this moment and not take it for granted. These kinds of accomplishments don’t come around often and I don’t want to jump to the next thing without appreciating this feeling for all that it is worth. It’s hard not to have high hopes and new goals, but for now, I am taking some mandatory and necessary recovery time that I think both my mind and body will thank me for in the long run. Who knows what lies ahead, but I do know one thing. I know that chasing big dreams is what makes me feel the most alive and I can only hope that I have the opportunity to continue to do what sets my soul on fire.

“So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable.”

As I sit here and reflect over what has transpired in the past couple months, I am blown away by the range of emotions that I have experienced. I have gone through some of the lowest lows and highest highs of my life. At the beginning of December, I raced the CIM marathon and ran the slowest marathon I have run in over 3 years. I was devastated. I had come off the best training I had ever done, and can honestly say it was the most disappointing performance of my running career. I thought that my marathon journey had come to an end. I came to the conclusion that I needed a break from not only the physical toll of training, but also the emotional distress that it was causing deep within my soul. While I sat in the airport the day after my race, I got a text from my coach that said something to the extent that technically the Olympic Trials window was still open so we could give it one last shot. As soon as I read it, I felt the little flicker of fire that I thought had burned out, slowly reignite. Lucky for me, I had someone in my corner who believed in me more than I believed in myself.

For the next few weeks, my coach and professional runner himself, Donnie Cowart, and I took my training day by day. There were lots of hours spent cross-training to make sure I was able to keep my aerobic fitness up, but also making sure I was letting my legs recover from the damage it had endured during the marathon. It took me a solid two weeks before I could even get off the toilet without holding onto something (sorry for the TMI 😂). Running was simply out of the question. As I swam and aqua-jogged for hours on end, my mind always went back to the feeling I had after that race.. the feeling of disappointment, devastation, sadness, embarrassment. As awful as those feelings were, they were what drove me to press on. I knew I was capable of more and I had one final opportunity to prove it to myself.

After emailing the Houston Marathon and determining that there was no way to be accepted into the elite field (the application window had already closed), my coach and I did our own research and found what we believed was our best option. In a town neither of us had ever heard of, there was a tiny marathon that was both USATF Certified and USATF Sanctioned, was relatively flat, and was driving distance away. So just like that, we registered for the Aviation Marathon in Warner Robins, GA where total marathon participants, including us, was a whopping 55!

We slowly began to add running in the third and fourth week, but my mileage was still extremely low (as in less than 20 miles a week). I was only running when doing workouts and EVERYTHING ELSE was in the pool or on the elliptigo. Things were going fine, it was the beginning of a new year, and I was excited to see where this was all going to go…

And then, on Monday, January 6, in one instant, my life shattered. One of the greatest people I have ever known passed away completely unexpectedly. This man was the love of my life’s father, Andy Tamer. He was unlike any person I have ever known. He accepted all people, he never judged or complained, and he exuded love and kindness to everyone he came across. His impeccable character and nonjudgmental views are traits that I will always admire and strive to live my life by. I am still struggling to come to terms with the idea that I will never be able to see him again, but I decided that the best way to honor him is to live like him. His sons, Remy and Dylan, have the same heart and character that he had, and his wife Liza has awed me with her strength and resiliency. Life is so fragile. Things really can change in an instant. I will never understand why it happened, but at the end of the day, Andy has given me the strength and love that will allow me to keep going. Not a day will go by without me thinking of him, and that is exactly what will push me to become the best version of myself.

For the next few days, everything was a daze. I don’t remember much, but I do remember that my runs were by far the best part of my day. Donnie was doing all my workouts with me and for that hour or so of the day it felt like I could finally breathe again. My heart would stop aching for a brief moment and I savored it. It was as if the world was telling me that running wasn’t only about splits and times, but it was also about healing and finding a space to simply be. Running became my safe haven and allowed me to find peace, even if it was for only a tiny part of my day.

Soon enough, race week was upon us and on Thursday morning, Donnie and I drove 7 hours to Warner Robins, Georgia to give this dream of mine one last shot. While I was hesitant about how small the race was going to be, I think it actually played to my advantage. I didn’t have a huge expo to go to (you couldn’t pick up your packet until the day of the race), I had no other runners to compare to (except for middle-aged men with water belts), and being with my coach throughout the whole weekend brought me a sense of calm that I have never felt prior to a race.

Before I knew it, the gun went off and it was just me and Donnie…well actually there were a couple guys who went out like maniacs, but after mile 2, neither of them were to be seen again. It was a perfect day to race- cloudy and mid 40s, my favorite racing weather. I remember the first couple miles felt great, but Donnie soon turned to me and said, “We need to pick it up a little.” I tried not to panic and just stayed relaxed. I knew all I needed to do was stay with Donnie. Little by little, we started clicking off the miles, but by mile 7 my mind had started to wander to that place that we all go to in a marathon, how many miles do I have left? It was too soon for that and I knew it. Donnie was wearing a long sleeve shirt and on the back it said “Stay in the Moment”. I clung to that statement and tried to do just that. I simply focused on running one mile at a time. Maybe I’ll drop at mile 8…maybe one more, just get to mile 9. And then when we hit mile 10, Donnie turned around and yelled “We’re back in it! We can do this!” We had run our fastest mile of the day and his eyes lit up so bright that I can still vividly recall the look on his face. It was that extra burst of energy that I clung onto for the next 8 miles. If a 5:45 mile split wasn’t enough, (I think the mile markers were a bit off😏) I looked over and realized Donnie had taken his long-sleeve off and was wearing a t-shirt that read FLORIDA. He pounded his chest and yelled, “We can do this, AP!” When I looked at the back of his shirt, I almost cried. In big, bold letters, at the top of the shirt, it read ANDY TAMER. He also had different, little quotes written out like “one mile at a time” and “be willing to be uncomfortable”. He went as far as to ask some of my closest friends to say something and he had those sayings written above their names. For the rest of the race, I did not take my eyes off of the back of that shirt.

There were no spectators allowed on the course because the race takes place on an Air Force Base, so the only people I saw were other runners (half marathoners on their first loop) and volunteers. There was one specific group of women volunteers at a water station who cheered so loud that I wanted to stop and give them all the biggest hug. Any energy out on that course was needed and I soaked it in. We started dropping time left and right and part of me didn’t believe it when he yelled out some of our splits. How were we running 6:02 this mile, 5:58 that mile, how did the pace feel so relaxed? We had finally found the groove. We reached mile 18 at faster than goal pace and it was at that moment that I truly believed the dream was within reach. My right quad was beginning to tighten up, but I just kept focusing on the back of Donnie’s shirt. He told me to just get to mile 20. That’s all I had to do. So I soldiered on.

By the time mile 20 hit, both of my quads were locked up, but I knew that I had suffered before and I was willing to do it again. I do not remember much of the last 10k, but I do remember moments when I looked at Donnie’s face and thought, he still believes in me. I remember thinking of Remy and my family and how much they have given to allow me to pursue this dream. But mostly, I remember repeating the words Andy Tamer, Andy Tamer, Andy Tamer, over and over and over again. What would he do? Would he complain? Would he give in to the pain? He was so tough and I know he would have kept pushing. And so I carried on with as much determination as I could muster. When we got to mile 26, I remember Donnie yelled “Lose the gloves!”, “THIS IS IT!”, “YOU HAVE TO GO!” I took my gloves off, put my head down, and moved my legs as fast as I humanly could. With 100 meters to go, I saw the clock ticking 2:44:38…39…40… was this really happening!? 

When I finally crossed the line at 2:44:55, I was in complete and utter disbelief. I had just qualified for the 2020 US Olympic Marathon Trials, 36 hours before the window closed, with only 5 seconds to spare. It felt like a dream. The moment that I turned around and saw Donnie’s face is a moment that I will treasure for the rest of my life. We gave each other the biggest hug (I’m still bitter that nobody was able to capture it on camera), but that moment and that feeling will stay with me forever. Without him, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t believed in me, if he hadn’t stuck with me through all the injuries, all the setbacks, all the things that life threw our way, I would not be able to say that I am an Olympic Trials Qualifier. Because of him, I achieved a lifelong dream and I am so grateful and honored to call him not only my coach, but also one of my best friends.

With my next marathon being 4 weeks away now, my coach and I have to be creative and flexible again when it comes to training. I have little niggles here and there from the race, and the main priority is going into Atlanta healthy and ready to race. As athletes, I think we have a tendency to constantly look ahead and set new goals, rather than soak in those rare moments when we achieve our greatest feats. While I am ecstatic to be competing in one month with the best marathoners in the US, I think it is vital to appreciate the moment I am in and embrace the feeling of utter joy and fulfillment that has come from achieving this long-standing dream. I feel both honored and humbled to simply be a part of the Olympic Trials experience. To have the opportunity to stand on the start line with runners who I have idolized for decades is truly a dream come true.

I recently read that when we have a dream, we cannot let anything stand in our way. At the end of the day, it doesn’t come down to who has the most talent, it comes down to who is willing to make choices that others are not willing to make. When you set high ambitions for yourself, all your choices matter. The hard things over the easy or comfortable becomes routine. The discipline and dedication to your one goal becomes all-consuming and most people don’t understand, but I have found that I have fallen in love with the journey and pursuit of new goals. It is in the chase toward big dreams where I feel most alive. As my coach says, small dreams don’t move mountains, and I can’t wait to keep scaling new heights.

One month ago I raced the CIM Marathon, and in this time my emotions have ranged from devastation and disappointment to acceptance, forgiveness and ultimately, gratitude. Before the start, I stood on the line with the most confidence I have ever had before a race. I can honestly say that in my 10-week build, I ran my fastest workouts with the most mileage under my belt. I truly believed this was going to be my race. But in a marathon, nothing is guaranteed; sometimes the inexplicable happens and all you can do is try your best to accept it and move forward. As I passed the 10 mile mark, my quads felt tight and I knew something was wrong. By halfway, I was already off goal pace and my quads were getting more painful with each step. I saw my boyfriend a few miles later and told him I was done. I stopped…and then I started again. This couldn’t be the end. Mile 20 came and went and each moment I kept falling further and further into despair. All the training, all the sacrifice, all the hours spent dedicated to the pursuit of this one goal and here it was, all slipping away. At mile 21, I stopped, cried, held my boyfriend’s hand and asked him what to do. He told me to finish, he knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t. And so I started again. Those final 16 miles were a death march and when I took the final turn and saw the finish, I was consumed by a sadness so deep it is hard to put into words. It doesn’t matter that I ran faster and longer in training, what matters is what you do race day, and unfortunately it just wasn’t in the cards for me. I don’t expect the disappointment to subside anytime soon, but I have come to terms with it and am moving forward. I am more than a number on a clock and I have so much to be grateful for. While I dreamed of coming home with an Olympic Trials Qualifier, I choose to accept the outcome, forgive myself and focus on the abundance of love around me. Life doesn’t always turn out the way we hope, but sometimes it is the things we least expect and that hurt the most that end up teaching us the most about ourselves. Life is about the journey, not the destination and I can’t wait to see all that awaits for me. ✨

“Life brings you to your knees. It brings you lower than you think you can go. But if you stand back up and move forward, if you go a little farther, you will always find love.” – Shelby Houlihan

I woke up this morning with an ache in my heart. As I stood on the start line of Grandmas Marathon, I told myself that no matter how bad it hurt, I could endure it. By 10k into the race, I knew it wasn’t going to be my day. While I could still hit the intended pace, it felt far from relaxed. I was hot and drinking/dumping water on my head at every water stop, yet still couldn’t seem to get enough fluids in me. By halfway, I knew the Olympic Trials standard wasn’t in the cards, but I thought I could still manage a PR. I didn’t- I missed it by 9 seconds. When racing a marathon, the stars have to align to achieve a big goal, and unfortunately, yesterday just wasn’t my day. Before the race, my friend told me to define myself not by the outcome of the race, but instead by how I raced. When I crossed the line after 2 hours, 50 minutes and 46 seconds, I knew I gave it everything I had on the day. All I can do is learn from this experience the best I can and come back stronger. I will live to fight another day. For now, I am focusing on how lucky I am to be surrounded by such unconditional love and support. I am alive, I am healthy, and I will be back.

“It’s okay to struggle, but it’s not okay to give up on yourself.” – @bravelikegabe

I recently read somewhere that “like success, failure is many things to many people. With a positive mental attitude, failure is a learning experience, a rung on the ladder, a plateau at which to get your thoughts in order and prepare to try again.” 

Last Sunday, I failed BIG TIME. I was looking forward to racing and was hoping to gain some confidence with about 10 weeks to go until my next marathon attempt.  I thought I had a PR in me, and ironically ended up running the slowest half marathon I have run in over 8 years. From mile 2, I knew something was off. I thought about dropping out almost every mile and thanks to my boyfriend, who spur of the moment decided to run with me, I ended up gritting it out to the finish. I survived that race by telling myself that I was going to drop out once I got to mile 4…and then mile 5…and then 6…all the way to mile 13.1. I had to convince myself that I was simply out on a run because if I told myself to get back in race mode, I would immediately panic and start running even slower than before. When I finally rounded the track to see the clock, part of me didn’t even want to cross the line because I was so embarrassed by my lackluster performance. I averaged a pace that I tend to run many of my longer training runs in. What the hell happened?! To be honest, I’m still not sure. I can sit here and make excuses about how hot and humid it was, how everyone ran sub-par performances, how I hadn’t been feeling great the past couple weeks, but excuses will not change the outcome of that day. 

Objectively, last Sunday I failed; but that failure does not define me. What defines me is how I use this failure to grow. The thing that I’m finally realizing (it only took me 30 years) is that failure and success are not separate entities. In theory, they may be on the opposite ends of the spectrum, but in reality, to succeed, you must learn to fail. It is not about how many times you get rejected or fall down; it is about how many times you get back up and keep on going. If you have a dream, fight for it. While I wish I could erase last Sunday’s performance from my memory, I have decided to use it as a lesson in learning how to fail and focusing instead on the fact that success is not final and failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue on that counts.

• 

In 3 days, I will be heading to Charlottesville to toe the line for the first time since the infamous California International Marathon in early December.  Although this is far from a goal race, the excitement and stomach butterflies are still creeping up on me, and for some reason the urge to keep checking the race course to see if it looks any less hilly the 30^thtime around keeps popping up. To be honest, the fact that the course is so challenging is actually a comfort to me because it removes some of the pressure I put on myself to hit certain splits and allows me to be more at peace simply running by effort. But let’s be real, I still have a certain time in mind that I feel I should be able to hit and thinking about past workouts and paces, it scares the sh$t out of me!  I just finished 5 weeks at between 80-85 miles per week (which is my peak mileage ever), and not surprisingly, my body is feeling far from sharp. There is a constant battle between my confidence and self-doubt as I try to hang on through the tough, grueling workouts and look at my watch only to find that I somehow can’t hit the prescribed paces. There is that familiar burn in my legs and ache in my lungs as I round the track that is a friendly reminder that there’s a reason why I’m a marathoner and not a miler :). Lately, even easy runs tend to be a struggle, but as I sit here and type this, I realize that this is actually a good thing!! This means that I am building up the miles of training and intensity in workouts that will get me to the start line ready to run significantly faster than I have been running in training!

There is something that happens on race day that is hard to describe and seems as close to magic as anything I’ve ever experienced. The pace comes so naturally that it is hard not to take a double-take when looking at your splits. You finally feel like your dreams are within reach. All those endless hours of effort you have put in are finally adding up to something. 

However, with all that being said, NOT ALL RACES FEEL LIKE THIS. This coming Saturday, I am definitely not expecting to feel this so-called ‘magic’. I am not coming in tapered and the hills don’t seem to be going anywhere (last time I checked the course they were unfortunately still there). 

I recently read the book, Endure, by Alex Hutchinson, and he defines endurance as the struggle to continue against a mounting desire to stop. This definition explains so simply what the challenge of racing is all about. When I am out there running for hours and everything hurts, but yet I keep fighting, that is what gives me my edge.  All those miles I have put in and workouts that have made me doubt if I could survive, have given me a mental toughness, or endurance, that allows me to push on, no matter the circumstances. Regardless of whether I am tapered or not, it is this reminder that gives me the confidence to know that I can endure whatever happens on race day.

10 days have passed since I crossed the finish line of the California International Marathon (CIM) in 2 hours 50 minutes and 39 seconds. Yes, this was a PR. But no, I am not even close to satisfied. My heart still aches when I get in bed at night and it hits me like a load of bricks when I open my eyes in the morning. I know you should never take a PR for granted- especially when racing a marathon! I have come to learn that PR’s are few and hard to come by. But still, I can’t get rid of this hurt that is currently living deep within my soul. This ache is not from wondering if I could have gone faster- by looking at my splits it is quite clear that running faster was out of the question. The ache comes from the “What if’s?” What if I hadn’t strained my hamstring less than 3 weeks before the race? What if I had been able to run more than 15 miles in the final couple weeks leading up to race day? What if I hadn’t worn the shoes that I had only trained in once? What if the shoes hadn’t torn my feet to shreds. What if? What if? It makes no difference, yet I can’t stop wondering. 

After over a week had passed and I still couldn’t walk without severe pain in my feet, I decided to go see a doctor. The good news: no stress fracture. The bad news: it turns out that in those last 12 grueling miles, as I limped my way to the finish line, I managed to severely damage the peroneal tendon in my left foot. This is the ‘stability’ tendon of your foot that starts on your low calf, goes around the outside of your ankle, and across the outside of the top of your foot. Due to the fact that every single step felt like I was tearing my plantar fascia, I must have been compensating by running (or hobbling) on the outside of my foot. If you were to ask me to try and run 5 steps right now, I would literally fall flat on my face from the excruciating pain I feel shooting through my foot. Apparently the severity of the injury can vary, so the doctor was unable to give me a healing timeline. It is hard to determine the extent to which damage was done, but it could be 8-10 weeks before I can run again. Simply writing this brings tears to my eyes. I know that my body needs time to heal and recover; it was screaming for it 2 weeks ago before I even raced, in the message of a strained hamstring. I understand that to get back to hard training and pursue this goal again, I need a hard reset of my body. Yet this understanding doesn’t make the pain in my heart ache any less.

Somehow in the past two years, I have managed to make running my entire life, instead of just a large part of it. Running is and always has been the one constant in my life. Throughout everything, it has been a place where I find not only comfort, but also self-worth. Running brings me so much joy, but the anxiety of facing injury after injury leaves me feeling like my world is crashing down. I have SO MUCH to be grateful for- I have an incredible support system, my family and friends are all healthy, I have a roof over my head and warm food to eat- yet I still cannot find happiness. I know it is entirely on me to choose to be happy, but I feel like running is so closely tied to who I am that when it is taken from me, I find it hard to function.

After a tough conversation with my brother, I came to the hard realization that I have to find who I am without running, not because it won’t always be a part of my life, but because it is not healthy nor sustainable for it to be my entire life. In this sport, when training at a high level, there is such a physical toll placed on the body that injuries are inevitable. The only way to get through the lows and survive the rollercoaster of emotions is to have a life outside of running. In the past two years I have had more injuries than I have had in my entire life; I have had a sacral stress fracture, torn both quads, strained both hamstrings, dealt with SI joint issues, suffered from chronic tendonopathy in my upper hamstring, and severely damaged the peroneal tendon in my foot. It is clear that my body is trying to tell me something and it is time that I listen.

The issue at the CIM marathon had nothing to do with my fitness level; it was my body. I think I endured more pain in those last 12 miles than in any other race of my entire running career, but not one iota of that pain was aerobic. My fitness was there; my legs simply could not keep up with my lungs. I truly believe that I was fit enough to run sub 2:45, but at the end of the day, none of that matters. Who cares if the engine is highly functioning, but the tires get flat or break down? I need an intense mechanical up-keep on my body whether I like it or not.

As much as I hate not being able to run, I must find a way to come to terms with it for the time being. My body has gone to war these past two years and it is now time to return home. The mark of a true champion is not how they respond when they are at the top, but when adversity strikes. It is the losses, the injuries, the setbacks, the failures that make us resilient and build our character. If there is anything I have learned in these past two years it is that the struggle is a part of the process. Success is far from linear. As long as you don’t give up and keep pushing forward, no matter how hopeless things may seem, you will make it. It is vital to remember that sometimes a failed outcome can be a lesson on the path to success, not the end game. Success is about putting everything you have on the line for a goal and not being afraid to fail. For the next few weeks, I am forcing myself to focus on recovery and getting my body back to normal. I still have one year to qualify for the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials and believe me when I say that the fire inside me is burning brighter than ever. I trust that when the time is right, the fire will ignite, and it will propel me forward in glorious pursuit of my dreams.