I signed up for the Providence Marathon with one goal in mind: to qualify for Boston. It was a big ambition, and we had a few friends joining us for the adventure.
There were multiple race distances, and my friend Christine was running her first half marathon, which added to the excitement of the day.
Despite my enthusiasm, I was nervous. I had just run my first ultra marathon the week before, and I wasn’t sure how my body would hold up. Kim, ever the supportive partner, promised to pace me and help me achieve my Boston qualifying time. Back then, a five-minute cushion on your qualifying time practically guaranteed entry—a far cry from how competitive it’s become now. All I needed to do was maintain a nine-minute mile pace, and I’d be golden.

The race started, and the first few miles felt strong—maybe even a bit too fast. I kept repeating to myself, “All I need to run is a nine-minute mile,” trying to keep my focus steady. For a while, everything seemed to be going according to plan.
Then, around mile 18, I began to feel pain in my upper back. I didn’t mention it to Kim right away because I knew that once I acknowledged the pain, it would start to consume me. Mental toughness is everything in a marathon, and I was desperately trying to hang on.
But by mile 20, the pain became unbearable, and I finally broke down. I started walking and crying, overwhelmed by the physical and emotional toll of the race.
A kind woman stopped to ask if I was okay, but I reassured her I would be fine. Kim stayed by my side, walking with me and offering words of encouragement. He handed me Honey Stinger waffles to refuel, but I was so nauseous that it took everything I had just to swallow them.

Then, as I was trudging along, I saw my friend Marcie ahead. She was struggling too. In that moment, my perspective shifted. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a runner fighting my own battle; I became a coach. I pushed through my pain to help her reach the finish line, offering the support and encouragement she needed.
When I finally crossed the finish line, I was filled with a mix of emotions. I hadn’t qualified for Boston, and the disappointment was sharp. But at the same time, there was a sense of pride in finishing despite the challenges and in helping Marcie when she needed it most. Providence may not have gone as planned, but it taught me resilience and the power of camaraderie on the road.
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