If we’ve talked in the last year, you probably know I’m in marathon training. For almost a year, I’ve maintained a weekly 40-mile-plus training schedule. It’s something I’m consistent about because I love the hobby. I don’t run for physical gains or for a team. I do it all for the personal challenge. I could have the worst week of my life, and yet, my body will provide a miracle — I’ll churn out another mile, progressively overloading distance on my tired hamstrings. It’s a constant reminder that I can overcome mental obstacles if I put in significant time.
Last week, I got sick. In the interest of not divulging ghastly details to our lovely Phoenix readers, I’ll leave it at this: it was bad. IV bad. I was bedridden for four days — a string of “rest days” I haven’t received since I began running two years ago. Maybe that’s on me. It could’ve been a sign of needed time away from the grind. Either way, I hated not being able to move more than a few feet. My body stopped me. It wasn’t at the fourteenth mile, either. I thought I’d be able to get over it quickly, but my body kept the score.
It took me a week before I could run again. In the grand scheme of life, a week is barely a blip. But when I got back on the treadmill, my limbs were heavy. My knees throbbed, my hamstrings felt weak, and by the time I ended what was supposed to be an “easy” run, I was exhausted. A week ago, I could run eight miles as if it were two. Now, I could barely get in the first few minutes. Simply put: it was the worst.
One of my close friends, Olivia Montini ’26, is a cross-country captain at Swarthmore. Before I formally met her, I had a photo of her on my wall. Sports featured her as an Athlete of the Week when she was a sophomore. I pinned every edition of The Phoenix’s Artist of the Week column that I wrote — on the same page as Athlete of the Week — as dorm decor, so I could remember my interviews. One day, our other close friend, Jennifer Placido-Rosas ’26, brought Liv to a “party” I was hosting. The first sentence I ever said to her was, “Hey, I’ve got a picture of you up on my wall.”
That same night, I loaned Liv my bejeweled baseball cap as we danced in Olde Club. Liv and I, despite not being dancers, put on a good show. We started hanging out after that night. Jen and I attended Liv’s meets or followed her races on Livetrack. In my junior fall, she encouraged me to begin running. Liv put me on a “training plan,” or a Notes-app list of mileage and exercises. I ended up ditching the speedwork (sorry, Liv) for more long runs because I liked those better. Then, I nervously downloaded Strava.
Truthfully, I was terrible at first. But Liv — alongside my first few followers (shoutout Katie Kerman ’26 and Tara Dhawale ’28) — sent me “Kudos” for every awful, failed run. The more I practiced, the easier each mile felt. It became my designated time to relax, call my mom, take in nature, listen to Charli XCX or Geese, and, yes, fail, but also succeed. Minutes shaved off from my total time, and my pace lowered with each run. I felt stronger, which only fueled my legs to jog further and faster. By the time I returned for senior year, running had become a sacred practice. I screamed lyrics in the midst of finals. I ran with Liv through the woods. I spent countless Sundays running for two hours straight, cheering at the end.
Still, the winter’s been hard. I miss going outside before Severe Weather warnings populated my weather app. I opted for the treadmill, a tool I despise but have no choice but to use. My runs started to feel like a chore again, coupled with the fact that I need to take regimented gym classes to graduate. Don’t get me wrong, Todd Anckaitis, my fitness training coach, is awesome, but I prefer the outdoors. When I got sick, it felt like a nail in the coffin of measured strength plus endurance training for two years. My body stopped me.
Defeated, I texted Liv this morning. She wrote that I need to recover and that this happens to everyone who gets sick. I thanked her, but I don’t know if she knew how much I needed to hear her say that. I still feel frustrated at my ridiculously slow run today. I will likely continue to be stubborn and annoyed until I recover. Simultaneously, if I could train the first time around, I can run fast again. Beyond that, though, I have someone who cares enough about me to respond when I feel frustrated. I’m starting to realize that no mileage can, by itself, run you to a person like that. What can I say? I happened to luck out.
My favorite photo of Liv.
After all, as Cameron Winter says, “Love takes miles.”
You better start a-walking, babe.
