Rewind the clock to mid-2022; running wasn’t even on my radar. I would've said there’s as likely a chance the sun doesn’t rise as me running a marathon. To that point in my life, recreational running was something I scoffed at. I’ve been an athlete my whole life and grew up playing competitive sports, so running has always been part of my training, but I rarely ever ran for fun. I tried to give running a go during the doldrums of the Covid lockdown in NYC, but I never progressed past a couple of miles and never found consistency. Most of my working out centered around a mix of strength training, HIIT, yoga, and a phase of ripping the Peloton.

Fast forward to the week before Thanksgiving that year, and a random conversation I overheard at a party about zone 2 training led me deep down into a rabbit hole I never intended to explore. When I went back home a few days later to spend Thanksgiving with my family, I got lost in the sauce for the better part of three days, learning everything I could about this mystical modality of training I’d never heard of. Convinced that I needed to start doing this, I meticulously planned out my workout schedule for the next few weeks with the aim of hitting 120 minutes of zone 2.

My initial goals were to supplement strength training, improve cardiovascular health, burn more fat, and enjoy long-term longevity benefits. I had a Peloton in my apartment, so I planned to do most of my zone 2 on the bike. For anyone who’s spent time doing Zone 2 on a stationary bike, it quickly becomes incredibly boring. So, I decided to experiment with mixing in some zone 2 runs. To stay in zone 2, I was moving at a snail’s pace at nothing more than a very casual jog. Having spent the better part of the last decade focused on high-intensity workouts and trying to optimize my time, I found these runs were the complete opposite of what I was used to.

Nonetheless, I stuck with it for the next few weeks and enjoyed the runs more, especially as I could (very) slowly start increasing my pace. My zone 2 time started to invert, with runs eclipsing the bike. Then, during the first week of 2023, a random scroll on Instagram led to the catalyst that kicked things into a new dimension.

I saw a post from Bandit Running about a group run from their new store in Greenpoint, which was right down the street from my apartment. I signed up on Eventbrite and convinced myself I would go, but then…I didn’t. I justified it with all the excuses: I wouldn’t know anyone there, it was cold, and I’m not a runner.

A few days later, I saw a post for the next run and signed up again. Despite my efforts to rationalize not going, I leaned into the discomfort and forced myself to head to the Bandit store on Saturday morning. Looking back on that decision 18 months later, it became the catalyst that pushed running from a curiosity to a full-blown obsession.

I immediately made friends during the run and got exposed to the NYC running community. I was hooked. I went back week after week and saw the progression of what became Greenpoint Runners go from about 10 people to hundreds showing up every Saturday morning. I met more people, started slowly improving, and then thoughts started to creep in on signing up for a race. As I talked with other runners training for marathons, halves, and 10ks, I confronted the hurdle of “Why not me?”.

As someone who’s competitive by nature, running offered the opportunity to scratch an itch I hadn’t scratched in years. I could consistently improve, compete against myself, and then toe the line and compete against others.

I signed up for my first 10K in March 2023 and started my first “training block.” I was starting to mix in speed work and tempo. I had no idea what any of this meant, but I was eager to learn. So I put in the work—hours and hours of reading about running philosophy and physiology. My body was starting to adapt, and I wanted to understand what was happening.

I was having fun and enjoying the process of consistently improving. A few weeks into training for the 10k, Instagram kept serving me targeted ads for the Brooklyn Half. After days of mental sparring, I decided to sign up—it was time to commit.

The 10K came, and it was time to toe the line. My HR rocketed, and I went out too fast, but eventually, I found my rhythm. I crossed the finish line ahead of schedule and clocked 44:54 for my first race. The runner’s high took over, and I couldn’t wait to race again.

I went back to work for the next month of training and experienced the full spectrum of emotions. From the elation of eclipsing 10 miles for the first time to the despair of my first running injury, which almost derailed my training.

April 23rd arrived, and it was time to run 13.1 miles. It was 45 degrees and a freezing downpour, but vibes were through the roof. The race itself had its ups and downs, but I finished ahead of my target time and was stoked. My immediate thoughts were, “That was miserable. I never want to do that again. I can’t wait to do that again.” It was the most grueling 1:40 minutes of my life, and I couldn’t imagine doubling that for a full marathon.

Yet, a couple of weeks passed, and I couldn’t stop thinking about going the full distance. My mentality shifted, and I realized it was all in the training. If I did the work, my body would adapt, and I could do it.

I started researching races and eventually landed on the Philadelphia Marathon, which was two weeks after the NYC Marathon. This meant I could train with my new running friends who were doing NYC. I signed up, and it was time to level up.

The next two months were devoted to base training and delving into a black hole of marathon training research. As an over-optimizer, I spent way too much time mapping out my training and building a weekly spreadsheet leading up to race day in November. Around this time, Bandit announced The Program, a 16-week training program with ASICS for the NYC Marathon.

Joining this was a no-brainer for me, and it ended up being a godsend. I had a detailed training plan outlining every run over the training block and access to coaches for questions. There was also a weekly group long run on Saturdays I could join.

Several months of training soon flew by. Along the way, I evolved as a person, both mentally and physically. My habits, rituals, routine, and approach to challenges changed forever. I fell in love with the motto “Do hard things.”

Race day was approaching, and I was feeling great. I felt strong through multiple 20+ mile training runs and avoided any setbacks from injuries. I was ready to do the damn thing. November 19th arrived, and it was time to run 26.2.

Like all marathons (I have come to learn), there are many ups and downs. The marathon is a cruel beast—an unforgiving distance with no place to hide. If there's any weakness in your training, it will be exploited. I was no exception. I ran the first half too fast, and thinking I could sustain my pace (and maybe negative split), I kept pushing. By mile 18, things caught up with me, and the final 8 miles were a suffer-fest. I hit the wall and gave it my all to keep running.

I finished in 3:27:28, which was a bit disappointing based on my training and level of fitness, but in retrospect, it’s a time I’m proud of achieving. It wasn't exactly the race I planned, but I had raced and finished a marathon. I did something that was entirely inconceivable less than a year ago. As Lenny Pepperbottom would say, that’s pretty neat.

After the post-race high wore off, I knew I wanted to do it again. Despite the accomplishment of finishing, I was confident I had more to give. I wanted to avoid hitting the wall and finish 26.2 strong. It was time to get back to work.

I circled April 28th as my revenge date and signed up for the Eugene Marathon. I also decided to start working with a coach to take the next step and really dial in my training.

Things were stacking up for a great training block on paper, but it never panned out that way on the pavement. On my first run post-Philly, I felt a stabbing pain on the outside of my right knee. I learned from Dr. Google that it was IT band syndrome. Despite an obsessive effort to rehab, and in retrospect, likely overdoing it, the next two months saw no progress. After finally seeing a PT and getting a cortisone shot, things started to improve.

I felt good enough to make a real go at Eugene. With my coach's help, we put together a 12-week training block leading into the race. I got into the best aerobic shape of my life but couldn't fully overcome my injury. It was an up-and-down training block that never quite reached the mileage I had planned for and only resulted in one 20-mile run.

Nonetheless, I pushed through training and got to race week feeling pretty good about things. There were question marks on whether my IT band would hold up, but I was ready to give it a go.

At 7 a.m. on the 28th, I set off for my second crack at the marathon. I managed the initial nerves and excitement of the first few miles and settled into a nice groove. I felt comfortable with my pace, and my body felt good. I felt aerobically strong, and my HR was right where I wanted it.

The next few miles were more of the same until mile 16. Then, my IT band flared up, and my legs started feeling heavy. Things started going south. I pushed through for another mile, but by 17, I had to stop and walk. I tried to get back into a groove but couldn’t make it happen. The rest of the race would be a grueling grind of stop-and-start running. By mile 22, a PR was completely off the table, and with that, I accepted the fact that it wasn’t my day. I did my best to have fun for the last few miles as I hobbled towards the finish.

The energy in Hayward Field was electric as I entered the track for the final 200 meters and crossed the finish line. A rush of emotion overcame me, and I took a few minutes to catch my breath and reflect on what had just happened.

While things didn’t go my way, I was proud of my effort to finish the race and, even more so, of the work I had done to get to the starting line. During the training block, there were many times when it would have been easier to give up and call things off. In hindsight, it might have been the smartest thing to do for my body, but the experience was worth it, and I grew as a person.

In the coming days, I kept replaying the race in my mind and couldn’t help but think what could have been if I had been healthy. Despite my injury and sub-par training, I had made big strides with my fitness. According to my coach, I was “a few weeks away from 3:15 shape.”

Now, more than anything else, this was fuel for the fire—the marathon still had my number. With no immediate race on the horizon, I was ready to focus on recovery and getting healthy.

I now had time to reflect on the past 16 months. While I caught glimpses of it along the way, it was now clear how much I've evolved as a person. This evolution has not just been about becoming a runner; it has been about redefining my capabilities when I fully commit to a challenge. Each mile run through downpours and heat waves, every pre-dawn wake-up to run in the freezing cold, and all the setbacks have fortified my mental resilience.

Through this journey of becoming a runner, I’ve discovered a new sense of inner peace that comes from chasing what seems just out of reach.