Running Was My Therapy

During times of extreme stress some women eat some women drink and some women binge-watch Real Housewives.

But I was in the midst of a contentious divorce, and I didn't want to risk anything—even Cold Stone Creamery benders—being used against me. So last winter, I decided to run a marathon as a way to escape the painful reality of my life.

Running had served as an outlet for me before. I started running road races in my early 30s, partly for exercise and partly for stress relief. By my first pregnancy, I had completed three marathons, the final one to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in honor of my father, who had the blood cancer multiple myeloma.

My daughter, Johanna, was born in 2008 with Down syndrome. As I grappled with that, running once again became my therapy. I had been so intent on keeping it all together after her birth, but as we climbed hills in our neighborhood, Jo Jo happily gurgling away in the jogging stroller, I felt I had finally found a safe place to cry.

I ran on and off through my next two pregnancies, but between work and the kids, it was tough to find the time. My youngest, Geoffrey, was diagnosed with albinism, a rare genetic condition that meant he would be visually impaired. Then came the death of my father and the unraveling of my marriage. In the late spring of 2013, three weeks before my 40th birthday, I filed for divorce.

A ray of light

One day last January, getting breathless as I chased Geoffrey up the stairs, I realized I had to do something. I was out of shape, with 20 extra pounds and rising blood pressure. I owed it to my kids, and myself, to stay healthy.

I set my sights on a race on June 8 (my 41st birthday) in Lake Placid, N.Y. As a further incentive, I decided to raise money for the National Down Syndrome Society. The actual running, however, proved dicier. I could do three or four miles without going into cardiac arrest, but my days of effortless six-mile loops were long gone. I was also a bit nervous committing to training, given all the upheaval in my life.

It turned out that the structure and consistency were exactly what I needed. I followed the same New York Road Runners schedule I had used for my other marathons, adjusting it slightly so that I did my long runs when the kids were with my ex. As I ran, I listened to music and zoned out. For once I wasn't ruminating about whether Johanna was making enough progress in school or how Geoffrey and Teddy, my middle child, were doing on their nights away from me.

For months, I had been plagued by insomnia, but now I slept so soundly that I couldn't remember my dreams. And I was heartened by the support I received from family and friends. By marathon day, I had raised close to $6,000—about twice as much as I had anticipated.

Happy endings

I won't lie: I was worried about the race. Lake Placid was much hillier and hotter than where I had trained. But my kids were so thrilled by the idea of staying at a hotel and swimming in the local lake that their enthusiasm was contagious. (My mom and nanny came with us, for both child care and moral support.)

Adrenaline kept me going for the first half of the race, along with the clapping crowds and the breathtaking view of mountains. Unfortunately, nature wasn't all wonderful: June is peak black-fly season in Lake Placid, and a swarm attacked me at mile 13. Red, itchy welts popped up all over my arms, ears and face and the back of my neck. As the temperature climbed into the 80s, my head started to throb, I felt nauseous and my stomach and legs cramped up.

The old me would have gritted her teeth, grabbed another Gatorade and soldiered on. But my inner mommy voice kicked in, warning me that if I kept it up, I could cross the finish line on a stretcher. So I did something I never would have thought fathomable a decade ago: I walked the next mile. At mile 15, I broke out into a slow jog and kept that up, alternating with walking breaks.

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