Why Do Marathons Make Me Cry?
It’s physical exhaustion, sure. But that’s only part of it.
I cried my way across the New York City Marathon finish line. I wasn’t in pain. Things hurt, sure, but that wasn’t the source of my tears. Instead, I was overwhelmed by a sense of joy and accomplishment. A sense of freedom from months, and even years, of regimented training. The realization that my body is a gift and my god how have I ever been ashamed of it... look what it just did! That moment, stepping across the line just 15 seconds under my time goal, wasn’t the first time I watered up that day, though. I found myself misty, if not full-on crying, on and off throughout the whole race. The first half mile across the Verrazano Bridge on a perfect New York November day. Tears. Spying the first, “Welcome to Brooklyn! We’ve been waiting for you!” signs. More tears.
I cried when I saw friends I didn’t expect to see and I cried even harder when I saw ones I had expected. I stopped briefly to take a photo with my mother and sister on the sidewalk. I’m visibly blubbering. I hit a wall in the Bronx and felt a tap on my shoulder: It was a former colleague who was watching from the sidewalk, who jumped into the race and ran alongside me for blocks, telling me that I’d be mad if I gave up on myself after coming so far. She was right and I definitely could not let her see me…
