Ever since the Boston Marathon, I’ve been stuck on RunTok. And honestly, I’m not sure I like it there. It’s intense… But also inspiring. These runners wake up early, track every split, and do ice baths for fun. I don’t fully understand it. And yet, part of me wants in.
Because here’s the thing: there’s something magnetic about watching people chase something hard. Whether they’re gunning for a sub-3 marathon or just running without stopping for the first time, the effort is contagious. And it’s made me think a lot about the beginner mindset.
There’s this idea that once you’re an adult, you should already know what you’re doing. That being bad at something (or even just new at something) is embarrassing. I definitely fall into this trap, but logically, I know the opposite is true. There’s power in starting over. There’s clarity in doing something hard before you’re good at it.
I read a New York Times op-ed recently by David Brooks that framed it perfectly. It’s about why people voluntarily choose difficult things, like running marathons, writing books, or learning the violin, not because they enjoy the pain, but because there's meaning in the pain. Brooks uses Haruki Murakami as an example: someone who runs daily and writes obsessively, not for fun, but because those disciplines shape who he is. The article argues that the best kind of persistence isn’t about grit in the flashy, cinematic sense. It’s the quiet stamina to keep going when it’s still awkward, exhausting, and unrewarded. That discomfort, that effort, is what makes it worthwhile.
Ultimately, this article made me realize that the goal isn’t ease but endurance. It’s not about hacking your way out of the hard parts but about deciding to stay in them. So, at risk of making running my whole personality, let’s rewind to the beginning of my running story.
It was senior year of college. My friend Maggie and I were sitting in the Theta house during rush at SMU when we decided to sign up for the 2018 New York City Marathon with Team for Kids. We were moving to NYC after graduation and thought, what better way to get to know the city than by running 26.2 miles through it?
Never mind that I was about to start as a first-year investment banking analyst at Goldman Sachs. The writing was on the wall. My training plan? Running once or twice during the week (maybe), and procrastinating my long run until as late as possible on Sunday nights. My approach was… chaotic at best.
Then, on the last Sunday before race day, I strained my groin during my final long run, which I made worse by following it up with a hot yoga class. My left groin had always bothered me when I ran, but this time, it didn’t bounce back.
I went to PT and was told I probably shouldn’t run the race. But I’d committed: to myself, to my donors, to the image I had of being someone who finished what she started. So I showed up on race day anyway, popping Advil every few hours and slathered in so much Biofreeze that I should’ve come with a warning label.
I crossed the finish line in 4 hours, 42 minutes, and 57 seconds. Then, I proceeded to limp around New York for the next three months. Everyone just thought I was still sore. But the truth was, I was injured, both physically and emotionally. I told everyone (and truly believed) I’d never run again.
But here we are. It’s been almost seven years, and I guess that’s long enough to forget the pain. Or maybe it’s long enough to decide I want to do it differently this time.
For now, I’m rebuilding. Two to three mile runs. Easy paces to build a base. It’s been humbling to start over from scratch, but also kind of freeing. There’s no pressure to be fast or impressive. Just the challenge of showing up again.
And yes, I’ve decided I want to run the Boston Marathon in 2027. But not just run it. I want to qualify. Which means I need to cut about 75 minutes off my marathon time. Delusional? Probably. But I’ve learned that being slightly delusional can be a superpower...
My backup plan is to run for charity again, which would be meaningful in its own way. But this time, I want to push myself and see what’s possible. I want to train with intention. I want to rewrite my marathon story.
Even if this hasn’t convinced you to lace up and start running (no hard feelings), I hope it nudges you to think about being a beginner again in something. Whether it’s cooking, learning a new language, painting, needlepoint, or literally anything. There’s magic in starting small, and there’s power in sticking with it, especially while it’s still hard.
You can shop my running staples here.
Until Sunday,
Taylor
Nike Alphafly's on your shopping list are cracking me up. We should do some Fresh Pond runs together next semester.