How Running a Marathon Became My Most Powerful Design Challenge

In my early 20s, I had a clear vision: I would run a marathon someday.

Growing up, I admired the photos of my parents crossing finish lines, and I imagined my own picture hanging right next to theirs. To me, running a marathon represented more than just a physical feat—it was a powerful life goal that demanded focus, persistence, and determination. It felt like the perfect challenge to push my limits and show myself just how far I could go.

I signed up for the New York City Marathon eight years ago, but an injury during training halted my plans. And when I became a mom, it seemed like my dream was fading further out of reach. Yet, as the years passed, I met a mom in her 40s who had just crossed the finish line of her first marathon. She reminded me that it’s never too late to chase down a dream, no matter where life has taken you.

Last year, something clicked. Along with a few close friends, I joined the New York Junior League’s marathon team, eager to raise funds and run for a cause close to my heart. We entered the lottery, and all three of us secured spots on the team. The moment the training schedule arrived in July 2024, my excitement was matched only by my nerves.

At first, I couldn’t shake the doubts. What if I got injured again? What if I shared this big goal with my friends and family and didn’t fulfill it? What if I was too far out of “running shape” to handle the intense training schedule?

But instead of letting these worries hold me back, they motivated me.

I committed to the training plan with laser focus. No long run was missed, no milestone skipped.

Over the next four months, I watched my body respond to the training. I felt stronger than I had in years, and more than that, I felt alive. The long runs became my time to connect with myself—listening to audiobooks, podcasts, and, most importantly, my own thoughts. I had moments of guilt, of feeling selfish for spending so much time away from my family. But as the miles piled up, I realized that this wasn’t just about me. I was showing my kids how to set a goal, pursue it, and achieve something bigger than themselves.

The night before the marathon, we stayed at a friend’s family house just a few minutes from the start line in Staten Island. We gathered over a plate of homemade spaghetti and brownies, chatting and laughing as if we were back in our college dorms. The excitement in the air was palpable, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging in this community of women who were about to take on the same challenge.

On race day, the weather was perfect—56 degrees and sunny. I started the race with my best friend, Caroline Dean. We decided we had no expectations for running together, and after the first few miles, we organically separated as our own rhythms took over.

The energy of New York City was electrifying. Each mile was a new chapter in a story I was writing with my body.

At mile 7, I ran into the arms of my friend Lauren Turner, who cheered me on with an outstretched hug. Mile 13 brought a reunion with my friends Vivek, Shaili, and their sons, followed by a wave to the Arnold family at the sidelines. I couldn’t stop smiling.

As I crossed the 59th Street Bridge and entered Manhattan, the crowds grew even louder, their energy lifting me with every step. Around mile 18, I saw the New York Junior League cheer station, and moments later, I spotted my husband Brian, my kids Henry and Edie, and my parents. The joy of seeing them all was overwhelming, and I stopped to hug them, tears filling my eyes.

Running up 1st Avenue and into the Bronx, I felt a rush of emotions, but the real turning point came as I neared the final stretch. When I entered Central Park at mile 24, my body started to feel the toll of the miles. Pain crept in, but I was determined to finish. I told myself,

"One more mile. You’ve come this far—you have one last push in you."

At mile 25, I dug deep. The body aches, the fatigue, the doubts—they all faded as I tuned into the adrenaline and the emotional energy of the moment. I ran the final stretch of the race with everything I had left. As I crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 2 minutes, an overwhelming sense of accomplishment washed over me.

At 37 years old, with two kids, a full-time job, and a busy life, I had run a marathon. I had done something I had dreamed about for years. I had transformed myself, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I proved to myself that if I set my mind to something, I can do it—and so can you.

Training for this marathon was like designing a space.

It required vision, planning, and a willingness to embrace the process. Just like in design, there were moments of doubt, of questioning whether I could make it work. But as I moved through the training, each piece of the puzzle came together. The finish line wasn’t just the end of a race—it was the culmination of everything I had worked for, of every step I had taken to unlock my full potential.

And in the end, I learned the most important lesson of all: the journey itself is where the real transformation happens. We are all capable of more than we think.

The question is: Are we willing to push through the challenges to make it happen?

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