Alright, fine. I'll run a marathon.

Among lots of other firsts, 2023 was the year I decided to run my first half-marathon.

Actually, I didn’t just decide to run it, I did run it. On my birthday in November, I completed my first Philadelphia Half-Marathon—and I did it in average time, which for me was outstanding. The question is whether I actually enjoyed running 13.1 miles, and the answer is a resounding…sort of?

Having played roller derby for about a decade, I’d been used to the type of challenging physical exertion that left me feeling beaten up and depleted. I love to be exorcised by exercise, if you will. When I left roller derby, I was excited to try other things, so I took up fencing. And although fencing is one of my favorite activities, I find that I’m only physically engaged for a few minutes at a time. It’s great exercise, but it doesn’t last long. My body craves the kind of endorphins released over long periods.

It craves endurance.

Running, as you can imagine, is a bit more endurance-y than fencing. It’s also more affordable, and more flexible, timewise. It doesn’t require a club or an opponent or a weapon. Just you, some decent sneakers, and a playlist you can stick with for a few hours. I found myself gravitating towards running when I needed to step away from my computer—from work and writing. That became often enough to start a fairly decent running practice.

After a few months, running and writing became symbiotic.

Starting out small, I would run for twenty minutes, then add more time. Eventually, by the spring, I got to two hours of running, which seemed impossible in January. In the Spring, I ran the Broad Street Run, a reasonable ten miles through the city of Philadelphia. I came out of the race completely converted—long distance running wasn’t only something I could do, it was something I seemingly liked to do.

And I’ve found that in these moments of running for long stretches of time, I do some of my best thinking—or, not thinking, to be even more accurate and meditative. Running is clearing for my anxieties; it stills the swirling gunk in my brain and keeps me focused. Ultimately, what I love about distance runs isn’t just the run itself, but the stamina and discipline it builds in my life while I’m training.

This summer, I created a practice where I woke up early, wrote several pages on my latest book, worked my day job, went for an afternoon run, and felt functional and present for dinner with my kids. Everything felt so clear and structured. And, according to my running app, I’ve logged over 300 miles in 2023. This seems wildly impossible—though I’m sure my GPS is telling the truth. It just wasn’t something I ever expected myself to be able to do a year ago.

Anyway, back to this half-marathon in November. Did I like running the thirteen miles? Not these thirteen miles, with hills that pushed my endurance—and, indeed, my mental fortitude—much further than the leisurely Broad Street Run.

For the first seven miles, I kept a record pace, which made me feel hopeful—I got this! But, when I got to mile eight, the hills on the course started getting steeper and more prominent. My pace hit a wall, along with my pride. Dear god, what did I do?

The final third of the course was literally an uphill battle in every way. A man running next to me turned to his partner, exclaiming, “Why did they save all the hills for the end of the course? This is bullshit.” I agreed.

And, until I got to mile twelve, I really didn’t know if I was going to finish. When I did, I stumbled off the course and into a cab with gratitude—praying for a hot shower and a glass of red wine. Having finished the run, I was proud of everything I’d accomplished and convinced that was all I had in me.

You did it, I thought. You wanted to run a half-marathon and you did! Case closed.

Only, then, days later, I kept wondering about all of the folks running the full marathon the next day, with another full 13.1 miles ahead of them. Starting the course all over again after reaching the end of it seemed cruel and intense. Being twice as dehydrated, twice as tired. My brain continued to do the math. I couldn’t run another 13.1 miles after that…right?

But this is how it starts. From having spoken with a few friends in the endurance running community it’s par for the course—this argument. If you finished the half, why not just do the whole? Do you really want to be on your deathbed, thinking, “Why didn’t I just run the whole damned thing?”

In my heart, I know the real benefit here isn’t even the marathon itself, but the time spent training. All of the ideas and focus I can find when it’s just me and the pavement. The muscles built, the blood pressure lowered, the stress reduced. All so helpful to everything else in my life.

Ergo, a month after running my first half-marathon, it’s pretty much settled. I’m going to run a marathon in 2024. And it’s going to suck. I know this for sure. What I don’t quite know yet is how I’m going to get there, where it’ll take me, and what the practice of running will bring along the way. This, I guess, is a story for next year.

Meanwhile, I’m going to take the last few days of 2023 to sit on the couch and cough up some good vibes for my future self. She’s gonna need all the luck she can get.