Where it all started

 

The first marathon I ran was in June of 2001, only weeks after I graduated from college.   One of  my best friends and former college roommate asked me recently what made me start running marathons, because she remembers me not being much of a runner at all in college.  I was a bit taken aback by that question, because I have always considered myself to be a runner; I finished my first 10K in the 7^th grade, then went on to a decent cross country and track and field career in high school, but then I remembered my liquid priorities in college, and even though I did run fairly often, and worked out at the gym, I was far from what I once was, and light years away from what I would become.  Still, the reason I started running marathons was because of my friend Hillary Jackson. 

Hillary was another one of our roommates, and one of my best friends.  Since the moment I met her in our freshman dorm she was a strong, and consistent runner, but stepping up to the marathon was a big deal even for her, and she handled it with the respect it deserved.  She never missed her long runs, or all of the mini ones in between, and was ready to roll on race day.  Sadly, I was not. 

It was cold, and drizzly on race morning, as all of my roommates piled into the car partially asleep and still slightly drunk from the night before as we roared the engine, and headed to Denver. When we parked at our first spectating spot and saw Hill run past us screaming with glee per usual, and flailing her arms at us which we high fived with pride, something clicked inside of me as adrenaline flushed through my body nearly pushing out the toxins from the night before, but not quite.  The rest of the morning was a bit foggy as I was battling the worst hangover of my young 21 year old life, but watching and cheering for Hillary, drenched, I vowed to run a marathon one day, too.  Hillary was pretty sore, and sluggish the next couple of days, but still a walking inspiration, err running inspiration for me.  Thanks, Hill.