We Bought a Condo

 Holy shit we bought a condo. 

Key day!

I didn’t think it would be possible. Even with two incomes, husband and I had said for a long time that there was no way we’d ever be able to buy anything in San Diego. It was only in the last couple of years when husband’s business nearly doubled, my income was stable (and then increased with a new job), and we were both able to save that he started saying “when” we buy a place. Such a manifester. Each time the market favored buyers in the past we weren’t in any position to buy. The closest we got was in 2022 when prices were still on the low end and interest rates were rock bottom. But of course the competition was unreal and buyers were waiving all sorts of contingencies that we’d never have waived. We dipped our toes in, then decided to take a short break to get mentally ready for the fast-paced race to homeownership.

The competition died down a few months later. But it was because interest rates leaped up in that time. If we’d known the window was closing I’d have pushed harder to get in — if it didn’t happen because we were outbid, fine, but I kicked myself for letting that window close.

After the election I read about all the things that were going to get more expensive with a tariff plan, all the rights at stake, all the uncertainties headed our way, and realized that we were in another window. The country might go to complete shit but we still have to live here and having a vested stake in our city might give us more of a voice to the people in charge. We found a realtor, a mortgage broker, talked to friends who’d gone before us, and started looking.

I’m still pretty sure husband only agreed to go along with this because we both figured it was still unlikely that we’d actually do it. The townhouses at the end of our block were $1.5 million, and still didn’t even have a yard, so what were we going to get for a third of that?

We made a list of our must haves and dealbreakers. We’d been in our apartment more than five years and mostly liked it, but the parts we didn’t like were starting to become really, really annoying. Texting your partner the poop emoji when you need him to get out of the bathroom isn’t as romantic as it sounds. Waiting on whichever neighbor decided to wash every article of clothing they own the day you really need to do laundry (because there’s one machine for the whole building) makes you hate living around people. The kitchen counter was made of floor tiles that were impossible to keep clean, the floor was basically paper glued over pulp, the dust from the alley covered everything in a day if we left the windows open, and it was so dark that my poor plants struggled to survive. Plus we were infested with crickets and I strongly suspected the pipes under the building had been leaking for years and both my bunny and I were having gastroenterology issues.

I can finally allow a pet outside!

We at least needed out of the apartment. And we looked at rentals, too. Any apartment that had in-unit laundry and a second bathroom was going to be an extra thousand a month, at which point it was almost silly to not try to buy. Sure, our monthly payment literally doubled, but in 6-10 years (even if the inevitable recession is bad), rent will catch up to our mortgage.

Our must haves:

• two bedrooms

• two toilets

• a washer and dryer (or space to add one)

• one dedicated parking space (with somewhere to park the scoot)

Out dealbreakers:

• a walk score below 70

• a location that wasn’t within a scootable distance to my work

• a recent flip

We mostly kept to this list, with two partial exceptions: the previous owner made an agreement with the neighbor to share the parking space in front of our garage and the condo was recently remodeled. Fortunately, street parking is so much easier here than in our old neighborhood and there’s just enough room to park tandem, and the remodel was basically a flip but some things we really like and the rest we’ve agreed that we can re-do when we have enough saved up again. For now, it’s livable. (Except for the oven that had actual rats nesting in it, starting a fire the first time we used the broiler…)

Crash course in homeownership our first month.

The condo also met almost all of our other really-really-wants, wants, dream-amenities, and avoided all our do-not-wants. We got a dishwasher (which we ended up replacing a couple months in, at the same time that we replaced the oven), a gorgeous and spacious balcony, garage, large kitchen, tons of natural light (like, tons, the plants are so happy), decent storage, it’s on the second story, a window in one of the bathrooms, a nearby park and a tree-lined street (there’s so much canopy!), a skylight (!!!), and a view of downtown. All in a small building and without a pool or spa.

A skylight??!??!?

We were unprepared for how challenging even finding a realtor and mortgage broker would be. I had been reading up on the home buying process for a couple of years and thought I knew more than I did. In hindsight, I wish we had taken a class.

We got realtor recommendations from friends and connections and interviewed four. Then we got lender recommendations from the realtors and interviewed five (or was it six?). So around ten near identical speeches about how people in the industry do things one way but they’re one of the few who do things differently and here’s why that’s better.

We immediately eliminated one lender for talking about our wealth potential in a couple decades when we become landlords in the real estate game. We just want a place to live where we can paint walls without asking. Maybe that’s short sighted but neither of us have any interest in buying properties - we want a home. He also actually asked us where we see ourselves in five years. Our only answer was “I don’t know, hopefully enjoying our home”. He seemed surprised by my response (or lack of) in particular and I felt he expected me to say something about having a family. A few professional acquaintances asked husband if we were trying. First comes condo, then comes baby, I guess. The lender we chose was a vibe fit. She seemed to say the same things the others did but seemed way cooler to work with.

We had a harder time with the realtor choice. Husband wanted to go with one from a networking group but my hesitation was that he split his time between two states. I wanted a lot more hand holding than I thought he’d give us. The one we chose was based in our city and did a lot more work in the areas we were looking than the others (and now lives like two neighborhoods away!).

This condo had two shower heads in the main bathroom. And a great patio.

Once we inked the agreements, he set up some showings. We sent him a few that we liked via the app and he would recommend some, too. He reassured us several times that the first several showings would be to nail down what we liked and didn’t like and then the showings would get more specific. We saw a variety of places this way and got good at reading between the lines on the descriptions. We saw some extremely affordable places in neighborhoods we weren’t jazzed about but felt had potential, only to realize that something small (like nowhere to park the scooter and even less street parking than our old neighborhood) would quickly become very annoying. Some places had no storage. Some played games with the “in unit laundry” setting. Some had nearly nonexistent or oddly shaped living rooms, and we’re living room people so that ended up being more important. We also saw some places in neighborhoods we weren’t jazzed about but had a very different kind of potential and the units themselves were amazing. One I really loved that husband didn’t was across the street from one of the best known hiking trails in the city, had two seriously impressive balconies, had a weird shape to it (which we both actually liked), a nice kitchen, and tons of space. But it also had wall to wall carpet and both bathrooms needed remodeling. Another one that husband loved that I didn’t was just a half mile away from the one I loved and was gorgeously remodeled inside, had one of the most stunning kitchens, spacious rooms and living room. But the patio space was minuscule, one parking space with no room for the scooter, we would have had to install a washer and dryer in the weird closet (which had an amazing crystal chandelier light), and I didn’t like the complex at all. Others we saw in neighborhoods we were very familiar with but realized as soon as we stepped inside that we’d be paying for the location only.

Scheduling all these showings was another challenge. Husband has an atypical schedule and I had to be in office a couple days of the week. Showings were restricted to a couple of evenings a week and the very occasional weekend. Plus we had normal life things: we're both involved in organizations and went to protests, beach clean ups, and events, and at one point I had a colonoscopy and endoscopy and had other things on my mind.

Fitting in healthcare in between house tours.

Our condo had an open house on a day our realtor was unavailable. Husband had to work anyway, and I wasn’t sure we wanted to live in this neighborhood. A little before husband had to leave for work we decided we’d go, just to see. The area had a lot of availability, so even if we didn’t like this one it would be good to check it out.

We toured fairly quickly since we were sans representation and on a schedule but it was nice. Our realtor had encouraged us to make an offer to get the first one out of the way, reassuring us that we didn’t have to go through with it if it was accepted (though who gets their first offer accepted anyway?). Husband and I agreed that we liked it enough that it could be our first offer and just assumed this would be a learning experience.

The open house was on Saturday. On Sunday we attended my nephew’s birthday party out of town all the while texting our realtor as he prepared our offer: $5k over asking and our lender’s attractive closing terms. On Monday we went out for margaritas with a friend, cheers-ing to having submitted our first offer and doing the scariest thing since getting married. That evening, our realtor called us and informed us about the process for submitting a best and last offer (such bullshit: they had three offers and wanted a bidding war). He kept saying how it comes down to how bad we want it. If it was only about how bad we wanted a house, we would be talking about a house with a yard, not a condo. He pushed us to make our last and best offer nearly at the end of our total budget — the number that we were approved for but would mean a significant lifestyle shift — because we could still back out after the inspection. But that was $50k over the list price and I was just not comfortable with it. Husband and I got off the phone a few times to talk privately and make sure we were on the same page. Then I told our realtor that If someone else wanted to pay that much for the condo, they could and we wouldn’t regret the loss. I knew that high an offer would definitely be accepted (our realtor knew it as well). I held the line on a lower-but-still-way-over-asking offer. I’m not sure if I wanted it to be accepted or if I hoped the other offer would come in higher so we could keep looking at the lower end of our budget.

Meanwhile, the margarita turned a tickle in my throat into a full blown sore throat. That's what I get for getting in the bounce house at my nephew's party. I was probably a lot shorter with the realtor than I needed to be, but was also very aware that he gets paid a percentage of the sale price and it's hard not to be skeptical that he was selfishly encouraging a higher sale price. 

On Tuesday, husband met the realtor at the condo so he could see it, having been busy with other clients during the open house. They noticed some things I'd missed during our quick tour and I felt better about us all being on the same page again. Wednesday morning, our realtor submitted our best and last offer: $35k over asking.

Wednesday afternoon we got a text from our realtor: hey, can you guys talk? it’s good news.

I walked into the office where husband was working and showed him the text. Did we just buy a house?? I was a little giddy but also pretty nervous. If they accepted could we actually afford this? I thought we had more time! No one gets their first offer accepted! Can we afford this? If they accepted did that mean we way over bid? How are we going to afford this??

It turned out that the other offer was the same exact amount, but their terms were less appealing. So in the end it was our lender who made the deal.

Then a bunch of really scary things started happening. Now that they had accepted our offer, we had to do a whole lot of work in a very short amount of time (those darn terms that they liked so much) and make a massive decision while working and husband just so happening to have an exceptionally busy schedule, including being completely out of touch a couple of days doing work in a prison, and I had some races that month. The amount of paperwork we had to digitally sign nearly made me cross eyed because of course I read every word of these goddamn contracts. 

•  Five days after the open house we had to send our entire financial lives to the broker and review and sign 25 different documents, some with dozens of pages.

• Seven days after the open house I had proof of insurance.

• Eight days after the open house we had an inspection (let the realtor choose the inspector which I wouldn't do again) and transferred an obscene amount of money to the escrow group.

• Nine days after the open house we had a scuffle with our lender because I wanted to double check the rates with the lenders we didn't go with — got a couple of suspiciously low offers.

• Ten days after the open house we had an appraisal.

• Eleven days after the open house we got the inspection report and the HOA documents and gave our 30-day notice at our apartment.

• Thirteen days after the open house we DocuSigned over a hundred more pages.

• Eighteen days after the open house we were cleared to close and I scheduled movers.

• Twenty-one days after the open house we physically signed paper copies of hundreds of documents with a notary.

Just the amount of DocuSign emails was exhausting. From the date the offer was accepted to when we were cleared to close was two weeks.

Oh, and we’d started purging some of our belongings and packing in all this mess.

We said we'd do this once a month and haven't been back since.

We had an extra couple days due to a holiday, and took one day of a long weekend to drive out to our nearby(ish) mountain for a day hike. We marveled at how different the air was and why we don’t do this more, saw someone who was obviously in the beginning of the PCT, watched squirrels and birds and hawks living their best lives, and took a bunch of landscape and close-up wildflower photos. After the hurricane of the last few weeks and knowing what awaited us the next few months, we needed that nature break.

Three weeks after the open house, the day after Memorial Day, we invited our two best friends over to the condo where we met our realtor and got the keys. There was no last minute paperwork or surprises. He gave us a basked with a bottle of champagne, glasses, and tea towels, and a very nice live edge charcuterie board. Husband and I also brought a bottle of champagne that we purchased months before and saved for this day, which we popped because it was cold, and my friend gave us a good bottle of wine. We’ve moved before bringing alcohol first so this fit. The five of us cheered, our friends explored the condo, and we took some photos with the keys (which we tossed as soon as we replaced the locks). After all I’d talked with my friend about how we probably couldn’t afford anything other than a fixer in a less desirable neighborhood, she remarked that she was surprised by how nice it was.

Friends. <3

And it was! The previous owners did some remodeling before listing. Only after getting the keys would we come to realize just how budget of a remodel it was, but the flooring and bathrooms were new, fresh paint everywhere, and the kitchen was on the newer side. Our reality was that we truly wouldn’t have been able to afford a half-million-dollar home that also needed work while paying rent for another six months, so this was the best we could get. The things we really like about it aren’t things we can change, while the things we’re annoyed with are things we can eventually change.

Taking a cleaning break on my (!!!) balcony.

We had a week in between getting the keys and moving in. Nearly every day after work I went over to clean and get set up. The previous owner was the most bachelor of bachelors and so many surfaces were sticky or had crumbs. When we eventually redo the kitchen I will not have those fancy-looking cabinet faces with the depressions that collect spills and crumbs. I mopped the floors twice, scrubbed both bathrooms, was there for the washing machine installation, tried to clean the dishwasher and gave up, scrubbed the garden windows, and disinfected every surface, shelf, drawer, and cabinet.

So many things needed to be grouted. Even the floor.

We moved in a week after closing, taking a week-day off. Even with professional movers, having everything in boxes, and only going three miles away it still took all day. Like, movers showed up at 8am, finished at noon, and husband and I kept going until 9pm when we finally made our first dinner (nacho Wednesday) in the home that we owned together. We’d had to go back for laundry at the laundromat, a few minor boxes, groceries, plants that the movers inexplicably didn’t move, set up as much as possible so that we could bring the rabbits over, find the essentials that we needed for the next 24-hours, set up internet and TV, and put sheets on the bed and our bathroom things away. 

First half of moving day. The buns needed to go where all those boxes are.

We had a gummy, put something on TV while we ate our very late dinner, then started to doze on the couch. Somehow, despite being utterly exhausted and bruised, high, and full of nachos, we still christened the condo (I can’t decide if I should be surprised that it was as hot as it was despite all those conditions, or not surprised because of those same conditions).

Probably the most fun IKEA trip we've ever had.

The next few weeks involved many trips to IKEA, hardware stores, and online stores as we furnished and fixed up the little issues. The little things we needed added up: curtains, curtain rods, curtain hooks, shelf liners, trash cans, sponges, and caulk. Then there were the big things: a washing machine and dryer, the stove that we unexpectedly had to replace, the dishwasher we replaced for the hell of it, and we’re currently dealing with replacing the roof (can’t emphasize enough how un fun that is). We also had some medium things to buy: a small grill for the month we were without an oven, a table and chairs for the balcony, a cabinet for a pantry, a rug, a ceiling fan, and a storage bench for movies because the TV stand shelves were no longer sufficient for husband's collection.

Unexpected purchases that I'm very happy with.

When we felt "officially" unpacked and set up (not counting the boxes of books under our desks, things stashed in closets, and the bare walls), we opened the bottle of wine our friend gave us on key day. We still have the champagne from our realtor: that's getting popped when we have a housewarming.

IKEA really does make it so you can show up with any size vehicle.

We’ve lived in our condo for six months now and honestly love it. That was the biggest surprise: I was near certain that whatever we got would get us through five or seven or ten years until we could sell it and upgrade into the home we really wanted. But we’re really happy with what we got the first time! I still want a yard someday and it’d be extra nice to have space for guests, but I’m not dreading the next several years here. The height of our unit gives us a killer view of downtown and breezes that made the (admittedly mild) summer bearable without AC. The covered balcony is usable even when it’s warm and sunny (and raining - I still have to water my plants). The kitchen is big enough for us both to work at the same time and we have all the appliances we could want, and I now have a fully gluten free kitchen. My plants are thriving with all the light — the succulents have sprouted so many flowers, even my snake plant! One thing I thought I’d never get is a bright office. Every place we viewed had one room that was dark as a cave, which would have been the office. Now my desk faces a northern window where I watch birds on the light pole and under the roof eaves and see the tops of dozens of trees. It’s almost too bright, but I haven’t put up a curtain yet because I worked so many years in a cave-dark room.

This made me ridiculously happy.

Sometimes I stand under the skylight in the hallway and look around and just appreciate where we live. Husband and I agreed when we moved in that we wanted to be intentional with our decor, even if it meant waiting until we knew exactly what we wanted to do. We already owned most of the furniture and decor we needed and wanted, buying mostly smaller items to build a cohesive look. The living room is jungle-y: muted gold and white rug, emerald storage bench with cheetah and zebra throw pillows, a small amber flower vase to hold my found feathers next to my ostrich egg, foliage in every place I can fit it, dark green and sheer tan curtains, and seagrass baskets for storage. Since the floors are a cool gray and the kitchen is gray-blue, marble, and steel, all new materials are either natural wood or warm fabrics.

Let there be light! (We have since put up curtains but they're only closed when it's hot.)

Now it’s time for the walls: husband has a gallery wall planned for the living room, I have some knitted hanging pot holders that I’ll put on the wall to get light from the skylight, shelving in the office, and another gallery wall in our room. While we saved the walls for last on purpose, finances also keep us from doing everything all at once. We have a ton of art already, but haven’t made decisions on whether we will paint or where or what color. And we want good quality, real wood shelves, maybe even live edge. Making these types of decisions knowing that they’re permanent, that we’ll enjoy them for many years to come, and that we can change them any time we want, is freeing. In the first place we lived together we painted the bedrooms a dark gray color. It actually worked: our bed had a darker orange cover, the dressers and nightstands were white, and we hung a print of a vibrant sunrise for color. It was serene and cozy. We wanted to stay there for longer, but the owners wanted to move back in. Painting over the walls after only a year hurt my heart, so we never painted again even though we lived in some places for four or five years. Now I’m even thinking I could wallpaper a bathroom.

Chloe would have loved our condo. I wish I could have given this to her.

It feels like we made it. In one of the highest cost of living cities in the country, where so many people come to live that “Cali lifestyle” for a few years then move back to the midwest or east coast when it’s time to buy or have kids, where housing is in short supply and most of the supply caters to the wealthy, having a small piece that’s in our names is an incredible luxury. We’re stressed the fuck out and worried about the collapse of society and losing work and all those small and large expenses that I hope dry up in the next year, but we have more of a stake. Now when I write to my city council, mayor, and representatives I make sure to tell them that I have roots in my city and invest in my community. 

Thankful I can give a home to these sweet buns and that at least one is enjoying the sun and outside.

In another way, I have more to lose, now. The book I just finished (Our Missing Hearts) is set in the US after the most severe economic crisis. With tariffs making food and other essentials unaffordable, a job market that has been rough and getting rougher for years, inflation with no end in sight, and federal agents terrorizing cities and abducting anyone they don’t like and sowing fear and mistrust of people who aren’t white, it feels like we’re headed in this semi-fictional direction. I can understand how people turn more conservative as they age: you want the world you made it in to continue existing. If things keep going as they have been, rent will catch up to our mortgage within a decade, likely sooner. We’ve made this massive bet that this will work out, so it’s natural to want to do what you can to ensure that it does.

But it’s still just a thing and things can be replaced. If society collapses I’ll probably have much bigger problems than the value of the condo. My emergency packing list starts with the bunnies and their essentials, then paperwork, and the only things are either practical like flashlights and a radio or tools for starting over, like laptops and hard drives. I hope that being late to the game when it comes to homeownership means that we’ll hang on to the memory of what it was like to have less. I hope that we’ll always want others to succeed, to move up, to attain whatever dream they have, that homeownership (since it’s the base of our collective dream and the most secure path to a financial safety net) becomes more attainable. I hope we never turn into NIMBYs, even if it means we lose our killer view. I think that living in a condo, which still feels like an apartment except that we pay a mortgage, and being so close to downtown and in a more diverse neighborhood will keep us in this mindset for a while.

Marathon

I ran a marathon today. The full 26.2 miles, or just over 42 kilometers, in 4 hours, 4 minutes, and 39 seconds. Holy shit. It’s so much running.

Marathon finisher! Shoes retired immediately.

I ran my first half marathon when I was 25, finishing in 2 hours and 5 minutes, about 25 minutes faster than I’d trained for (though I could barely walk for a few days after). The only reason I even wanted to do it was because it was the very first fundraising race hosted by the Safari Park and the entry ticket was reasonable. How could I not? I’d been jogging for a few years, mainly because it was cheap and accessible exercise. I was probably still wearing Payless shoes and my race day photo shows me in my high school gym shorts and the finisher’s t-shirt. 

First half marathon in the race shirt and the only pair of shorts I owned.

I’d never participated in a race before then.

When I finished I decided that I’d definitely do more races but I’d never run a full marathon. Running 13 miles drained me. I could barely walk for days after. It was a cool accomplishment and that first one was so fun (we ran through the Safari Park!), but the thought of having to run the same distance again right after finishing was ridiculous. Besides, I wasn’t a serious runner. It took work to get to 13 miles. Marathons were for younger people, people who ran in high school or college, people who took fitness very seriously, people with different body shapes, people who maybe hated themselves or who made running their entire personality or who had runner friends.

I remember being this tired. My knee had been hurting for miles.

Since that first one I finished 9 more, with times ranging from 01:44:20 (my best, which I worked really hard for) to over 3 hours (my embarrassing worst, I barely trained). I also ran many 5Ks, 10Ks, and 15Ks. I even organized one during Covid, raising $1,200. #humblebrag

A little more than 15 years after that first half marathon, I’m turning 40. I wanted to accomplish something big. I considered hiking the Grand Canyon. I’ve never been and when I go, I want to go all the way. But my birthday is in October, which is not the best weather to hike the Grand Canyon. And I didn’t want to do that alone, but didn’t think I could convince anyone to do it with me. Then I thought about running 40 kilometers for 40 years. That sounds far, I can do it alone, and it isn’t a marathon distance.

Then I did the math. A full marathon is 42.2 kilometers. If I was going to train for and run 40k, I might as well go the extra 2k. It’d be silly to get that close and not cross that distance, right?

I started seriously considering the idea at 38. Husband trained for and ran his first two half marathons when he turned 40 and was ridiculously fit (set the bar real fuckin’ high for my 40th, goddamn). A few experienced marathoners told me without hesitation that if I can run a half I can run a full. Maybe they were right. But did I really want to spend four months living my life around a run schedule?

Maybe, maybe not. At least I wanted to have a run year. I wanted to complete 10 half marathons and achieve my time goal, which I’d previously failed to do. I wanted to earn a running tattoo. I made a list of races to do, including some I’d done before and liked and some iconic races I hadn’t gotten around to yet. Just in case, I looked up marathons in October and added the interesting looking ones to the list.

When I achieved my half marathon goal time of under 1:45:00.

Last year, my father in law gifted us a hotel stay in Hawaii, but we had to choose the dates right then (something about the points expiring). We had talked about a trip for my 40th, so I had to decide nearly a year in advance whether I’d commit to a full marathon or whether I wanted to be in Hawaii on my birthday. I went back to my list. The top contenders were all the weekend after my birthday, so we booked the following week for the trip. Now I had to commit because otherwise I wouldn’t be on an island with a Mai Thai on my birthday for nothing.

Even though Chicago was also that weekend, I didn’t choose it because it’s expensive (like, so expensive), based on a lottery system, and requires flying. Being on a plane right before having to run that distance sounded like a bad idea, and the Hawaii trip was literally the next day and I’d rather go without any of my running things.

Turns out Long Beach has an annual marathon. It’s close enough that I just need one hotel night, I’ll be experienced in the weather after training all summer, we can drive back and have enough time to do some laundry before flying out the next day, it was still very affordable, and — best of all — the course is almost completely flat and mostly along the coast. Couldn’t have designed it better myself.

So I signed up. I wanted to know if I could do it. I always said I couldn’t because it was too far and required too much training. But maybe I could do it. Obviously, there was only one way to find out.

When 2025 started I had 7 half marathon medals. In January I ran my 8th, which is when I got my time goal of 01:44:20. In March I ran my usual 15K, the Hot Chocolate Run, then one of the iconic half marathons I’d never done (I fell at mile 3 and ran up one of the longest and steepest hills). For my 10th half marathon in May, I chose another local iconic race, then the next day husband and I ran the 10K that goes over the Coronado bridge, which we do every so often with friends.

New fun route: along the harbor!

With that base mileage, I started training for Long Beach the very next week. We’d just bought and moved into our condo. The timing worked out great because it was early enough when we moved that I wasn’t risking injury, and I started the 18-week plan a week early to have a buffer week (which I ended up needed after ruining my callouses).

To my genuine surprise, training went really well. I read about fueling, which I’d never considered at the shorter distances (I like running fasted), I binged Ologies, and I got to do new and interesting routes due to our new location.

After my first 20-mile run I knew I could finish the whole distance. My life saver of a husband met me halfway with bandaids for my toes, gatorade, extra water, and fruit snacks. But still, the last couple miles were physically painful and I came close to hitting a mental wall running directly into the sun. If that were race day I’d have a whole other hour of running to go. I had two more of those distances in my training plan, sandwiched between 12-mile “step-back” weeks (for which I’m exceedingly grateful).

Side note: The step-back weeks are the most fascinating part of training. I never imagined I’d look forward to a 12-mile long run and think of it as “only” 12 miles. I never imagined I’d run 10 miles in the morning before work. I never imagined I’d run these distances and go about my day as if I did nothing that morning. I’m getting faster at these distances without consciously trying and recovering faster, too. I feel better in my body than I have in a long time (even if my feet are hideous).

Husband: bringer of gatorade, water, and bandaids.

But I am exhausted. This program peaks with 50 miles during the week: 20 on one day and 30 spread out over 4 days. My body battery is rarely above 70 these days, even if I go to bed early and don’t drink. I wrote this first draft on a sick day from work just because I was tired and needed rest (a sick day that still started with a 10-mile run… it was a 50-mile week). I’m waking up before my 5:15am alarm most days and could go to sleep around 7 or 8pm.

During that first step-back week of lower mileage, when I knew I was capable of finishing, I started visualizing what it would feel like to be at the starting line, in the dark at 5:30am with thousands of other first-timers like me among the experienced marathoners. The race sold out in August, it would be packed. I visualized the course, having studied the map. I found 20 miles and mentally mapped the last 6, trying to determine whether they would be easy miles or if there was some trick (there’s no elevation gain but it seems boring until we rejoin the half marathoners).

Finally, I visualized the finish line. I imagined checking my watch and what it might feel like if I was on track for a good time. I imagined crossing the finish line, probably in immense pain but still pushing to race the last mile. I imagined the crowd and hoped they’d be loud enough to drown out any thoughts. I imagined husband finding me after I limped to get my medal and a banana. I imagined crying because I did it and it’s over. Husband will give me my bag with flip flops, a protein shake, and gatorade. We’ll sit for a minute and enjoy whatever festival atmosphere they have because this isn’t a day I want to rush back to the car. He’ll drink the beer I earned, mainly because I can’t have it anymore but also because I probably won’t want it anyway. If there’s a massage table, I’ll get in line.

I never expected to enjoy training. I expected it to be a slog, something I have to do if I want race day to go well. Friends and coworkers would ask me if I had to run that day, or if I have to run tomorrow. I always said yes, but the truth was I didn’t have to, I got to. I love running. Even waking up at 5am and finishing before the sun is fully up, running ten miles before work, avoiding alcohol before an important run, and having a somewhat boring diet is all worth getting to do this thing that I love. I relish the physical challenge, seeing what my body is capable of and how strong it feels even when I’m not running. I love moderating my pace, mapping my runs, planning my life to support this hobby. This year I didn’t run on my birthday because it was an important rest day before the race. I felt like I missed an important part of my special day, even more so because it was a milestone birthday.

Training Problems

Before I paid the entry fee I read up on training. That was what intimidated me, much more than 26 miles one day. I could get through half marathon training easily at this point — it wasn’t impacting my sleep or my social life. While plenty of people maintained that marathons are doable, the consensus was that it’s hard as fuck and that’s why so few people do them (comparatively). Training to finish 26 miles is very different than training to finish 13 miles. Turns out it’s very very different.

I managed to avoid major injury, though I didn’t get through training unscathed. I fell twice (on the same run!), skinning and bruising knees, thigh, hands, chin, and taking a chunk out of two fingers. I overly pruned what I thought were blisters and actually cut away callouses, which took more than a month to heal. I got a black toenail (not my first time). Cars rolled right through intersections I was already in. I was even bit by a dog! It may have been a young and rambunctious but still very large german shepherd being poorly controlled by a small woman (she let her dog lunge across her to get to me, then calmly said “we don’t jump on people” like she was walking a toddler), but the bite broke the skin and gave me a bruise on my elbow.

A few days after my fall.

I also had gear challenges. After more years than I should probably admit, my trusty sports bra (I had two because I loved them so) started causing chafing. Like, hop in the shower and immediately recoil because of the pain. The chafing started when I went over 15 miles, barely any further than the many half marathons I’ve done in that same bra. It took quite a bit of trial and error to find not only one that fit but one that felt good and didn’t chafe. I bought four, returned two, and know which one I’ll run in, but will still apply a protective bandaid because I can’t guarantee it won’t chafe in those final 5 miles.

I also wanted a new pair of shorts. I needed enough pockets to bring a few packets of fruit snacks, my phone, and my house key. My existing shorts had most of this but also a poorly sewn seam that dug into my hip and were slightly longer than I preferred (5 inches, though I admit I was considering the thigh tan more than anything else). Since I plan on this being a one-and-done experience, I didn’t want to invest in a running belt or vest that I likely wouldn’t use again, but shorts with pockets will always be handy. I picked a Flipbelt short, which had nearly 360* pockets. After two sizing exchanges, I finished a few 19-mile+ long runs and then the back zipper broke. While I was waiting for the exchange, I also decided that the mild thigh chafing from the 3-inch shorts meant I needed a mid-range length. So I bought an Oiselle 4-inch short with similar pockets. I immediately loved them! These were the ones. Two weeks into running with those, the back zipper broke! Do running short zippers suck? My older shorts have been going a couple of years with no issues, so it can’t be user error (also, it’s a zipper, how much could I be fucking it up?). I got a replacement just in time.

Side note: The zipper on my replacement shorts have also broken.

Finally, after years of telling myself I’d buy two pairs of shoes and rotate, I felt a little niggle in my shins halfway through my program. My shoes weren’t ready to be retired, but I was putting so many miles on them without giving them a chance to rest and regain the cushiness. I found a second pair at an outlet sale and started using them for all of my non-long runs. I made it to tapering without any other pain!

I did also buy running sleeves because they were on sale and got me free shipping and I thought it would help protect my tattoos, and a running hat, which I was surprised to love! It’s an obnoxious pink which means husband will have an easier time finding me, and it washes and dries very fast. Overall my $150 entry fee, which is very reasonable compared to the major races, morphed into spending over $500 on gear, not including what I spent on bandaids and protein powder. Thankfully I should be set for a while!

Race Day

Except for more anxiety than I usually have the day before and getting emotional at the start line, the actual marathon was oddly normal. It was like any other race I’ve done this year, just longer, and not all that different from my long training runs except there were a lot more runners around and more cheering. Maybe that’s a good thing and means I trained well. They say nothing new on race day and I followed that advice exactly.

Picking up my bib got me a little emotional. I walked past the half marathon pickup counter to the marathon pickup counter, something I’d never done before. Once I signed up for a 5k after having previously run the same race’s half marathon, and a staff member looked at me and said “I bet you’re doing the 5k”. I got a little offended. What about me made her think I wasn’t there for the half? Did she think I couldn’t do it just by looking at me? I resisted the urge to tell her I’ve done the half before, but the interaction stuck with me. Getting to the marathon counter made me feel legitimate, even though I’m an experienced runner.

As I was leaving, a woman asked me to take her photo in front of branded signage. I saw others taking closeup photos of the signs so I looked closer — all of the runners’ names were printed on it! It was incredible to find my name among the thousands of other runners. My name was printed on a massive sign because I was running a marathon. So legit.

I didn't expect this sight to get me so emotional but I cried.

Husband and I were up at 4am — the roads outside our hotel would close at 4:30 and we needed to be out by then. That part wasn’t exactly pleasant. But getting to the start line in the dark with 6,000 other marathoners was magical. We took a quick selfie and I slipped into my corral. Almost instantly I teared up. This was happening! The announcer asked people to raise their hands if it was their first marathon (somewhat condescendingly, like you probably have done this before because you’re in an early corral, you can’t possibly be new) and it looked like a third of the hands were raised. I was in wonderful company! 

I queued up my Garmin and they counted us down. We were off! I was still fighting back tears. I’d been thinking of this for a long time and preparing for months and it was finally happening. Today I would see if I could actually run a whole marathon. I told myself to save my tears for the finish line. Husband cheered with the other spectators as we crossed, making it really hard to not cry.

The sun finally rising about an hour into the race.

The first hour was in the dark. I was nervous about tripping and falling. A runner near me tripped within the first mile but fortunately stayed upright. Finally the sun started to rise and we had a gorgeous run along the water. The marathon started an hour and a half before the half (mercifully) but it was still very cool and validating to be on the marathon side of the signs when the courses split. Another first for me.

Husband found me around mile 6 and again close to the halfway point. Though it was only the geographical halfway point: mentally and physically it was really only a quarter of the way done. Due to our parking situation I hadn’t expected him to travel the course at all and it was a nice boost.

The problems started around mile 14 or 15. First it was my right knee that hurt. A couple miles later my right hip also hurt. I had a few slow miles in the middle. Still, I only walked through the aid stations to drink water (and gatorade at mile 10 and 20). I even ran while eating my fruit snacks. It may not have been very fast but I was proud to run the whole thing. At mile 19 I picked up the pace as much as I could while still trying to reserve energy for the final 4 miles. I’d need to practically sprint those. My left calf had shooting pains a few times, bad enough that I involuntarily swore just to relieve pressure (it’s science!). I kept going, deciding to risk something worse in the last few miles.

I'd never been on the badass side of these signs before.

I felt like a very slow super person running past so many people who’d needed to walk at that point. People who maybe went out too fast and had to take it easy, or whose longest training run was 18 miles, or who hit the wall because they did something different on race day (maybe less eating). The crowds had started to fill out again, some calling out the names from our bibs or handing out snacks or alcohol. By the time we rejoined the half marathon course, the streets were lined with spectators shouting, cheering, waving signs, and using noise makers. It was uplifting, genuinely helping me run at my fast pace even while dodging all the walkers.

Side note: Probably half the signs were the classic “You’re running better than the government” which is mildly funny normally, but the government shut down for several days with no sign of reopening. No wonder it was the go-to sign. The first time I saw it I shouted “the government isn’t running at all!” The bar is so low.

All of a sudden I saw the finish line. I’d been counting the kilometers with my watch and struggling to maintain my speed, wondering where the hell this thing was. Then it was there. I sprinted. I’d missed my stretch goal of a sub-4 hour finish but could still make 4:05:00. No matter how tired I am or what body parts hurt, I let my legs stretch all the way out once the finish line is in sight. I feel fast as fuck.

I crossed at 4:04:39, a completely respectable time. As packed as the last mile was with runners and spectators, the finish line was worse. After a volunteer placed my medal over my neck making me feel like an absolute queen, we were cattle prodded out to the festival area. I worried I was at risk of collapsing and had no idea how to find husband. I found a spot on the grass next to the festival, sat down, and texted him to come find me. I sat for a long time even after he found me and brought me my sandals (which I wore with socks because fuck it), gatorade, and protein shake. When we decided to leave, he had to nearly lift me up because my legs had nothing left. I walked, or rather hobbled, so slowly back to the car.

Back home, I’m already fully packed for Hawaii. Husband is bringing me pho for dinner, we have brownies, and I’m going to sleep well. Tomorrow we start our first vacation in years and first ever tropical vacation. I’m officially a marathoner, even if I never do this again.