Run Before You Walk

On November 2011, I was finishing my first semester at Drexel University, and I decided to celebrate with a group of friends, eating brunch at a restaurant near Locust Square. We were eating like nonstop like it was the Last Supper, just enjoying the moment that classes were over. As we walked out, we heard a lot of commotion near the walking path of Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

We walked over to see what was the hype and came up to the fence blocking the parkway. I leaned myself forward past the blockade to see what was going on. Then, out of nowhere, something came in like a lightning bolt and nearly struck me in the head if it weren't for my friend pulling me back to the sidelines. I looked the other way to see what nearly hit me, and then I saw them.

Marathon runners were sprinting by their last breath like it was the Olympics. I was awed by their determination from their eyes when they finally crossed the finish line. Once on the other side, some of them were gasping for air so much they collapsed on the ground, trying to catch their breath back.

Some of these runners were not even bred or trained for long-distance running, but yet they chose to do it because it means something to them. All of them hold a reason to run: a cause, someone they care about, challenging themselves, etc. Completing a full marathon is one of the hardest accomplishments a person can achieve.

In all my life, I have always wondered what it felt like to have the experience running in a full marathon. At times on a Sunday, when I would run errands in the city, I would peek over to the runners, racing on the road that closed down for the races. I saw people, of all ages, of all genders, and of all diversities competing in one arena.

I want that accomplishment under my belt. I want to take on that challenge, as I never ran more than a mile consecutively in my whole life.

I remember running my very first marathon on November 2016, one of the coldest mornings I ever encountered. The sun was barely up, and I was barely awake.

I was barely, yet very aware that I was standing in front of the starting line in my corral. As the countdown reached its last seconds, my fear kicked in, and suddenly I was gasping for air. There was so time to go to the sidelines or move back from the runners' crowd. Once the start gun fired, everything just turned white.

Before I know it, I was running without realizing. I suddenly held fear and I regretted my decision right after I took my first step. But there was no time to feel sorry for me. There was no time for regret not training enough. There was no time to think. I just ran.

For the first 6 miles, I just ran like a machine and thought of nothing else. Next thing I know, my right thigh felt like it snapped and I almost fell down to the ground. My entire bottom left leg was completely in pain with cramps, and the pain did not stop. It was the end of mile 7, and I was barely hanging on, limping towards the checkpoint. During that moment, I have been thinking about what I should do. Then I thought about why I wanted to do this in the first place, to surpass my limit. There was nothing more I wanted.

I straightened my leg, limped as hard as I could, and kept walking. I knew if I looked back and quit then on my first marathon, I would've regretted it my whole life. As I kept walking, I noticed my leg started to feel better, so I immediately took the chance and started running once more.

It was mile 20, and my leg started cramping up again. But yet I did not stop. I dragged half my leg forward, not stopping once. My eyes were closed for the next 5 miles, keeping the pain within, trying my best not to scream.

It was mile 26, the last full mile. I was beyond tired, and I was in complete pain. Never in my life, have I fought for something this hard in my life. I knew right away my physical body could not handle the stress to run a full marathon, but yet I wanted to prove myself wrong. Then I couldn't take the pain anymore, and just sprint with my eyes closed, and my mind blank. Then the rest was a blur.

Four years later, when I was walking around the city, I was crossing the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. But then I stopped abruptly and gazed right down the middle of the scenic boulevard running all the way down to the heart of Philadelphia. I remember that day as the longest 5 hours of my life. I would never forget the day I got my first marathon finisher medal. From that day forward, I didn't stop running.

I always remind myself since that day, that if I ever get surrounded by fear, the best way to conquer it is to run towards the fear.