I ran a marathon last week, and it was as hard as you would think

Often times, we let life pass by, going about our daily activities—we wake up, go to work or class, come home, go to the gym, get dinner and work some more. We rarely take time to think about doing something unordinary. We become so comfortable with our way of life, we do not think to try something new. We rarely push ourselves outside of our comfort zone. Until April 3rd, I too, had never looked to push my boundaries.

What is the hardest thing you have ever done? Was it reading a hard book? Interviewing for an important job? Cooking for a huge family event?

Running a marathon was by far the hardest thing I have ever done.

I began training soon after winter break, but quickly realized there were a few issues with training while at Wake Forest.

First, making time for long runs became increasingly harder as the semester went on. The double-digit mileage would take much more than just an hour. Secondly, there really are not many places to run in Winston. After running through the trails, the Graylyn, the surrounding neighborhoods, downtown and the mall, I quickly realized how small Winston really was. Third, running on the road is lonely and very boring.

I trained until April 1st, when I left Wake Forest to spend the weekend with my sister Maura and run the marathon. The All American Marathon took place at 7 AM at Fort Bragg in Fayetteville, North Carolina, the home to thousands of service men and women.

Through her studies at Duke University, Maura had a close friend, Gil, who lived on Fort Bragg and who would run with us while Caitlin, another friend, would run the half marathon.

Our alarms rang at 5:45 AM and Tara, Caitlin and Gil picked us up from the hotel. In the car ride, Caitlin asked me, “Have you ever run a half marathon?” to which I innocently and honestly responded, “Nope, just a 5k once in high school.” To me, this did not seem weird but to everyone else, it came as a shock.
They joked that I embodied the mentality Go Big or Go Home.

As we were on an army base, there was a sense of pride. People ran with shirts and pictures to honor their family members and friends who were killed in combat. Some individuals ran holding the American flag. For the first time, I understood what it meant to be a proud American. This pride boosted my adrenaline and I began the race strong.

I went into the race positive, not looking to go fast but to simply finish the race. This mentality remained until mile seven when I realized I had been and was going to continue running against the wind. Yet, everyone running around me was encouraging and I kept going. Along the road, active army members cheered. At mile nine, however, I lost my breath and started to cry.

I was winded. I had tears rolling down my face. Not because I was out of breath. Not because I was tired. But because of the overwhelming sense of American pride.

At mile nine, entering into Fort Bragg from the highway, active service members lined one side of the road with, what seemed to be an endless amount of American flags. On the right side, the grass was lined with pictures fallen soldiers. People stopped to take pictures. And in that moment, I felt that pride and I put my head down, kept running and reminded myself I was running for these fallen soldiers. For the men and women who lost their lives. I would run and I would finish in honor of them.

Mile 11. Mile 18. Mile 20. These were the miles where I hit that imaginary wall. I hit that wall where I did not think I could run anymore and I cried. I could not see the end. My foot began to give out and I wanted to give up. Yet, I looked around me. I saw the airport. I saw the shooting range. I saw the ropes course. I saw the service men. I continued.

The last six miles were a test. But when I turned the final corner, I saw my sister and I saw the mile 26 flag. I saw the finish line. I saw the Marines. I saw the Army men and women. I knew I had done it.

Although the following days were filled with pain, soreness, and an inability to walk, the runners pride and high hit me. Tuesday, I felt accomplished. I had overcome my biggest challenge.

What I take from my first marathon is not only the medal, the bib and the sweatshirt, but the pride I feel as an American.

In every physical, mental and emotional way the pain existed – but it was temporary. The wall I faced. The defeat I felt. The desire to quit. Those were all trivial in reality. What mattered was I crossed the finish line and was given my medal. Crossing the finish line meant I succeeded in overcoming the hardest thing I have ever experienced.

And that, those moments, will remain with me for forever.