Oh my gosh, you guys. We did it. I did it.

I think I realized in the days leading up to the race that I never really believed I would make it to race day. I thought for sure I would get hurt or chicken out or something would happen, and I wouldn’t finish, and then it would forever be something I felt shame about. I can preemptively feel the shame right now just thinking about it. But that’s not what this post is about! It happened! I made it! Amazing!

First of all, the special people I was with at the starting line (and through the whole race in one extraordinary case!), all from different parts of my life and all running for Cal’s to support Ben (Go Team Ben!) made the morning extra meaningful. I cried when I saw Matt and the boys at mile 8. I have a goofy grin on my face in every photo from every spot along the course because I was just enjoying the overwhelming feelings that were carrying me along. I hardly knew where I was on the course at any given moment. It was all sound and movement that was a lot to take in at once. I can remember lots of funny signs, lots of signs that were less funny after seeing them for the 10th time, some signs that inspired me, and so so so many signs and sights that showed all of the love that surrounded the event.

There were some moments in this race that could’ve only been meaningful in Chicago. First, every neighborhood came out in force to show their own unique pride. Then, at the starting line, that song that they played to introduce the starting line-up of the Jordan-era Bulls (maybe they still play it? I don’t know – someone confirm…) came on, and a literal communal gasp emitted from the crowd. It was incredible. Apparently that song is by the Alan Parsons Project. I never knew. And also, people were giving out shots of Malort, which I found kind of gross, but it seemed like a very Chicago thing to have out there.

If you know me or have read much of my stuff, you may have noticed I tend to think hard about (read: overthink) things in terms of purpose. Part of what kept me from wanting to endeavor into this marathon-running world in the past was the question of purpose. I mean, I could never win. It would be really physically taxing. I’m not particularly good at distance running. It takes up a ton of time, something I’m always looking to find more of for myself. But when the possibility of running for Cal’s came up, there was no longer a question of purpose. Raising the money felt like an honor, and running the race was the duty tied to it, the promise I made.

Then as training went on, and of course during the race itself, my purpose grew and spread and multiplied. At the heart of it all, I was running because I wanted to, because I could, because of the people around me. I would get a little charge just from saying aloud the increasing distances I was covering each week, but that only carried me so far. It was about being in community with others, and I felt that in so many different ways, from the Cal’s group to my main running buddy, to my sister in another part of the country, to Matt’s cousin putting out an awesome podcast that built its own following, to the mass of humanity that began and ended the race this past Sunday morning.

I think I’ve gotten somewhat cynical about human beings of late. Things were pretty sad in our house for a while, which led me to see the worst in most things. And then with the state of politics, the human-made climate crisis, all kinds of wars and difficult issues around the world, and my own inclination towards anxiety, it has been easier for my little brain to just expect the worst from everyone, fair or not. But it was impossible to not feel hopeful about the human spirit at the Chicago Marathon this past Sunday. There were so many thousands of people lining the streets (not to mention the 47,000 runners on the course that day) solely there to cheer, to spread love and joy, to encourage people they knew but also so many people they didn’t know. I was cheered on by a grown man in a hotdog suit, and I’ll never forget it.

Maybe this marathon didn’t solve any problems, but it did restore some of my faith in people, and who knows what that restored faith could help me, or any of the thousands of other people who were there, to go on to do. I don’t know if I’ll run another marathon yet. I do know that being cynical and disconnected does not make me feel good, and being hopeful and connected does, so whatever I do going forward, I’m going to keep those things in my focus. I think running this marathon may have changed me a bit, and I’m going to let it stick.