This feels like it is my most vulnerable post yet. I am not sure exactly why, but be gentle.
I am currently recovering from an overuse injury, or maybe a series of overuse injuries which have forced me to back off my training. All summer I sat with the pain before finally succumbing after the school year began, and my recovery and sleep hours took a nose dive. I pride myself on pushing through pain, but it was affecting my gait, which stressed other parts of my body, including my knee. I was finally forced to ask for help. I had been working with an athletic trainer who had me strengthening my weak areas, an acupuncturist, who was able to give me relief, but I did finally reach out to a running coach who specialized in injuries and returning to running pain free. I stumbled onto a group of coaches who specialize in rehab for runners. Matthew Boyd, a physiotherapist and running coach was there with a plan, and I began to work with Hannah, one of the coaches, to return to running pain free. I began a walk run program designed by my coaches via the Final Surge App. My coach would upload my workouts to the app and I would link the workouts to my training plan in my Coros.
Over the course of the last few months I have been slowly adding on mileage again, completing run / walk intervals, and strength training to add muscle to weak areas. As the weeks went by I began to find that my pain diminished and I was experiencing hope for the first time. Hope that I would be able finally to run a marathon pain free.
That hope was soon dashed after I ran an 11 miler (when I would have been completing a 20.) The pain crept back in, my body rebelling, and my internal narrative began to tank. I began to use phrases like, “will probably walk the whole thing,” and “this will be my slowest time yet” when asked about the upcoming race. That internal dialogue was negative, cruel, and utilized that lingering hope and excitement as a weapon of war. I was fighting my own body and my own self.
In all reality, the pain was nothing compared to its former iteration. I had a solid race plan in place, had practiced fueling, and had completed this race seven previous times. I had consistently run, had a solid base and a fifteen miler in the books a few months earlier. The only one in danger of not finishing this race was my ego. I vacillated between hope and fear, positivity and negativity, landing much more often on negativity. This would be my 16th marathon since I ran in Hartford that October day in 2010. I know that mindset is just as important as running, hydration, carb loading, strength training, and recovery. I was in trouble if I kept downplaying my preparedness (and slight obsessive need to run this race every year.) So, because I use writing as a means of processing the world, I used it to process my need to speak down to myself about my ability to perform in my upcoming marathon. I wrote a letter in my journal to my future marathon-running self. It is below unedited with only a parenthesis to clarify:
I know you are nervous. I know you are scared. You have worked for this while also treating your body with kindness, and you took the time to care for that body. You decreased the strain so that you could heal. You pushed yourself within reason. You completed every run that you were physically able to do – all at the same time as working 50 hours a week with very little time off. You worried about your father and the state of the world. You learned new ways of doing work. You attempted to balance personal and professional life while you trained and rehabilitated your body. You taught yoga and coached children to run. You welcomed friends into your home and you cared for your living situation in your own way (this means I kept my own closets a mess!) You meditated and wrote and napped and folded clothes. As you stand on the start line at the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, you are a delightful mixture of ingredients, emotions, stresses, delights, work and rest. You are capable of allowing yourself to feel, and then take that first step, with the knowledge that neither illness nor injury kept you from training. Today, as either might arise, you can persevere. You can be vulnerable, cry in front of strangers, be proud of yourself and comfort yourself. Take the step – complete the circle / the cycle, the journey to Central Park that you began during that first week in July, 2025.
This entry, along with another transforming experience with acupuncture, possibly changed the trajectory of my marathon day experience. I woke up feeling ready to make the trek to Staten Island, while in previous years I had toyed with just packing up and going home. I was able to eat more of a breakfast before the race and let go of how I looked with my pockets stuffed with gels.
The race was far from perfect. I smiled. I scowled. I complained. I experienced pain. I wanted to give up and I wanted to stay. In other words, the typical marathon. I finished. I inhaled the energy of the crowd. I chatted with my fellow runners, spoke Italian with a few, tapped power up signs, and high – fived children. I took the candy offered, laughed at spectator signs, enjoyed the distinct energy of each of the boroughs and suffered as I .came down the incline of the Queensboro Bridge. I wore frog eyes the entire time in honor of the Portland frog, and asked for help tying my shoe. I bent over to help an older man who had tripped and fallen, and offered kind words to others when I needed them myself. I was able to step out of my own way for moments at a time, able to let my ego take the first swing knowing that the punch would not hurt as much because I was in NYC, being part of a world record (most finishers in a marathon at 59, 226 finishers) and Eliud Kipchoge’s last professional race.
Each video I watch today, each post I read, each photograph I download, is a gentle reminder of the gratitude and love I have for the people of NY in all of their partying, protesting, cheering glory. I return each year for the challenge and pain, for the magic and joy that envelop me when I make my way along the same roads as our running heroes, completing the same miles as Des, Sara, Helen, Kara, Molly, and Emily. At the same race that Fred Lebow, a Holocaust survivor, began in 1950’s. It is these streets that I ran exactly one week ago today, and it is to these streets that I hope to return in 2026. The pain has all but faded and the medal has found a home with the seven others hanging on a peg on my wall filled with racing paraphernalia.
Below is my emotional marathon journey in pictures (and music!)
Laura Smith Writer 
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