If you’d have been there
If you’d have seen it
I betcha you would have done the same.
Mile 26. I could see the finish line ahead. I saw my friend Erin and stopped briefly to kiss her baby. And then, up onto the pavers next to the railings that were still bent from the storm.
And finally, oh my God finally, there is the finish line, there is Mom in her COACH hat with her camera, behind a barricade, as close as she could get to the finish line. I put whatever power I had left into my legs to cross that line. In the pictures Mom took of that moment, my eyes are closed, a bright smile of relief across my face.
I had done it. I had fucking done it. My time was 4:19:07, fifteen minutes faster than Philadelphia, nearly forty minutes faster than Chicago. I had set out to slay the marathon, and on that chilly, sunny, brilliant Jersey Shore day, I did it.
Of course I cried a little at the end, but happy tears. I staggered, punch-drunk, grasping that medal that had been placed around my neck, a pewter-colored circle with a spinning New Jersey in the middle. I pushed my way out of the guarded finish area, found Mom, and wrapped myself around her, burying my head into the soft folds of her winter coat, and heaved a sob. Not in anger or in pain (though that was surely coming), but because it was over. And I won. I beat the marathon.
“Oh my God, Jen. Jen. Jen. You did it. Look at you. You did it.”
The time would break no records. It wouldn’t even get me close to qualifying for the Boston Marathon. I finished in the middle of the pack. But none of that mattered. In running, the only markers you try to beat are you own, and I had done it.
I wish I could say that everything about my running life after that race was perfect, but running is rarely a perfect sport. After the marathon, Mom and I did a tour around Asbury Park: I had fries and a bloody mary at the Wonder Bar, then a shower (because I smelled so bad at the Wonder Bar I was worried about offending the other patrons) and a nap (because I couldn’t keep my eyes open after one drink), then a greasy cheeseburger at Tim McLoone’s, and then I was still up and able to play games at Silverball Pin Ball and eat a big fudge sundae topped with crème de menthe before falling into bed at 8:00 PM. TWO days later, though, I could barely walk. My foot had screamed at me during the race because I had nearly broken it—probably when I hit hard, freshly poured concrete late in the race in Ocean Grove in those shoes. While I had trained in them on my long runs, I hadn’t run on concrete in them, and either the underlying problem was already there and that jolt caused the injury, or the jolt did it on its own. I was in an air cast for most of the summer. The angst over not being able to run didn’t register with me, though, not like it had when I’d hurt my hip. The joy of having conquered the marathon hugged me until I could run again that fall.
Since I started running in 2006, the sport has changed—for the better, I’d say. It’s more inclusive now. Race sizes have swelled (the Broad Street Run added a lottery in 2013), but that’s because the concept of a stereotypical runner has been broken down. When Mom ran her first 5K at fifty-eight years old, no one told her she didn’t belong there. The sport is no longer an exclusive club for the young, skinny, lithe, and male. In 2014, U.S. 5Ks had 8.3 million finishers, according to Running USA. Women rule the sport. More and more people are jumping onto this bandwagon, and that’s not a bad thing.
After the New Jersey Marathon, I ran two more: Charlottesville, to see how I’d do on a hilly course (not well) and the New York City Marathon because, well, it’s New York, the largest marathon in the world.
But my running is different now. I’m not running away from anything, or toward anything. I run because I like it. I’m not trying to beat my body into a specific shape, or trying to run out my problems. Running is part of my life now, like writing and dog hair on my couch and clothes. It’s an important part of that life, but I’m not trying to break any personal records or even set new PRs every time I race. I just want to be out there, and be.
For so long, I thought that running was a Sisyphean task. With that race, on that day, when the medal of a spinning New Jersey was placed around my neck, I realized I was wrong. Through running, I am the phoenix, reborn. And I will keep turning to running, and being reborn, until I can run no more.
REFERENCES, RESOURCES, AND NOTES
Bowerman, William J. Jogging. New York: Putnam Pub Group, 1977.
Carr, David. The Night of the Gun. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2008.
Germano, Sara. “‘Barefoot’ Running Heads Into the Sunset,” Wall Street Journal, May 8, 2014.
Humphrey, Luke, and Hanson, Keith. Hansons Marathon Method: A Renegade Path to Your Fastest Marathon. Boulder: Velo Press, 2012.
Kislevitz, Gail Waesche, First Marathons: Personal Encounters with the 26.2-Mile Monster. Halcottsville, NY: 2006.
McDougall, Christopher. Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen. New York: Vintage Books, 2011.
“Running USA Annual Marathon Report.” Running USA, March 23, 2014. www.runningusa.org/marathon-report-2014?returnTo=annual-reports.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It seems like a cliché, but it’s true: I could not have written this book alone. I’d never have done it without a supporting cast.
Thanks to my agent Mackenzie Brady who looked at a two-page pitch and saw this book inside, and then tirelessly fought for that book to come to fruition. Thanks to my editor, Stephanie Knapp, for helping me see what I wanted to say and pushing when she needed to get a better book out of me. Your guidance has been invaluable. Kudos, too, to the whole Seal Press team for shepherding this through to become the beautiful book that you hold today. You ladies rock.
To Erin Graves, who read the first essays that formed the bones of what this book would be. To my readers Brian Eastwood and Amy Hill Hearth. You read the early drafts of this book in exchange for nothing but my gratitude, and you will have it forever. The book is better because of you both. To Andy Cliver, Dan McQuade, and Liz Yaeger, who let me read parts of the book out loud to make sure I got the wording and pacing right. To everyone who answered tiny little questions to make sure the book is as accurate as possible: Jen DeDecker, Glenn Fleishman, Kristen Graham, Gretchen Williams and Jack Wright. To my support crew of Nathan Baker, Caren Chesler, Jen Gertel, Garrick Goh, Leah Ingram, Gerard and Jill Pescatore, Amy Z. Quinn, Marc Steiner and William Stokes, who let me talk about this book far more than what must have been interesting or tolerable. To the women of the Atomic Engineers, who told me not to give up on this idea. I am so thankful to you all.
To New Jersey Marathon race director Joe Gigas, who drove me over the 2013 marathon course while in the home stretch of getting ready for the 2015 marathon. Any errors along the way through those Jersey Shore towns are mine. You’ll be back on the boardwalks so
on, Joe. I know it.
To the South Jersey running community, especially Dave Welsh of the Running Companies of South Jersey, and the members of the South Jersey Athletic Club. You guys not only helped me feel like a real runner when I was starting out, but have been supportive of my writing career, and of this book.
To my family, for putting up with this very weird thing that I do. To Dad especially, who is my biggest fan and loudest cheerleader. Thank you so much for being there for me, not only now, but for telling me I wasn’t crazy when I quit my job in 2005 to chase a dream. And to Mom, who, while I wrote this book, let me come over her house and yell, “I don’t want to do this anymore!” after which she’d hug me, tell me it would be fine, and suggest going to Club Diner. BLT on wheat toast with mayo, a side of fries, and a side of ranch dressing. Hold the coleslaw.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© MARC STEINER
Jen A. Miller is a veteran freelance journalist whose work has appeared in the New York Times, Runner’s World, Running Times, Salon, and The Guardian. She also writes a weekly running column for the Philadelphia Inquirer. She lives in Collingswood, New Jersey.
Selected Titles from Seal Press
For more than thirty years, Seal Press has published groundbreaking books. By women. For women.
Run Like A Girl: How Strong Women Make Happy Lives, by Mina Samuels. $16.95, 978-1-58005-345-7. Run Like A Girl explores how the confidence and strength that sports help to build makes women stronger and better prepared for life’s many challenges. In this inspiring book, Mina Samuels uses the personal stories of women and girls of all ages and backgrounds—as well as her own—to take a broad look at the power sports have to help us overcome obstacles in all arenas of life.
Super You: Release Your Inner Superhero, by Emily V. Gordon. $16.00, 978-1-58005-575-8. Super You is a fun, friendly, and unabashedly geeky guide to becoming the superhero of your own extraordinary life. With activities in every chapter to help identify each person’s superpowers and personal kryptonite—and weapons against it—Super You is the perfect sidekick for every growing hero, empowering everyday people to transform into the most kick-ass versions of themselves.
Fast Girl: Don’t Brake Until You See the Face of God and Other Good Advice from the Racetrack, by Ingrid Steffensen. $17.00, 978-1-58005-412-6. Fast-paced and fun, Fast Girl is the quirky, real-life chronicle of how one woman stepped outside her comfort zone, shrugged off the shackles of suburban conformity, and changed her entire perspective on life through the unlikeliest of means: racecar driving.
Gorge: My Journey Up Kilimanjaro at 300 Pounds, by Kara Richardson Whitely. $17.00, 978-1-58005-559-8. Kara’s difficult but inspiring trek speaks to every woman who has struggled with her self-image or felt that food was controlling her life. Honest and unforgettable, Kara’s journey is one of intense passion, endurance, and self-acceptance. In Gorge, Kara shows that big women can do big things.
What You Can When You Can: Healthy Living On Your Terms, by Carla Birberb and Roni Noone, $16, 978-1-58005-573-4. What You Can When You Can (#wycwyc) is a book, a movement, a mindset, and a lifestyle—one that harnesses the power of small steps to let you achieve your health and fitness goals on YOUR terms. The #wycwyc (pronounced “wickwick”) philosophy applies to anything and everything that contributes to a healthy, happy life: nutrition, exercise, physical and mental rejuvenation, and so much more.
The Nonrunner’s Marathon Guide for Women: Get off Your Butt and On with Your Training, by Dawn Dais. $17.00, 978-1-58005-431-7. The Nonrunner’s Marathon Guide for Women is a fun training manual for women who don’t believe that running is their biological destiny but who dream of crossing the finish line nonetheless.
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