I’m running through the streets of downtown Des Moines, my feet punching the concrete, my heart pounding in my chest. Hundreds of people line the sidewalks, screaming and cheering, willing me to the finish line. My legs are on the brink of failing, but I know I’m close. So close.

“I’m about to make every run that I’ve ever been on worth it.”

That thought carries me over the finish line, toward my ecstatic family. I’ve finally completed my first marathon.


My journey to this moment began 19 years ago. I was just four years old when I first started running. Born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa, my family and I showed up to every local 5k and annual turkey trot. My dad was a marathon runner, and he always dreamt that one of his kids would become a runner. But I absolutely hated running—I was the kid who’d sit on the curb and cry because my sides were cramping. And out of all of my siblings, I was the least likely to ever pick up a pair of running shoes again.

Everything changed eight years later. On the first day of middle school, I saw my best friend writing her name on a piece of paper. I ran over to see what she was doing, and she handed me the pen. As I looked down, I read “Cross Country Sign-Up.” All of those memories from my childhood came rushing back. For some reason, though, I wrote my name down anyway. Little did I know that decision would be one of the best I have ever made.

Something clicked for me the day I ran my first race. I decided that if I was going to pursue running, I would go all in. I continued running all through school, getting better and better, surpassing my wildest expectations. For the first time in my life, running felt right. It finally felt like something I was doing for myself.



But after graduating from high school, my motivation to continue running competitively slowly dwindled. I felt like that chapter of my life had come to an end. As adulthood hit me, I lost my sense of purpose and felt like I needed a fresh start to find a new direction. So, I decided to pack up everything and move out of Des Moines, the place I had always called home.

I hoped that moving hours away would help me find what I was looking for, and dreamed that the mountains held something that Iowa’s corn fields didn’t. But as I settled into my new scenery, I still felt the same. I ran away to try and find my purpose, but all I found was loneliness. I learned the hard way that running away from your problems doesn’t solve them—I felt even more lost than I did at home. I realized I was missing the most important thing of all: my community.

So when I moved back to Iowa, I also returned to the uplifting feeling of running among my Des Moines community. I wanted to reconnect with my friends and find my purpose. And the more I started showing up, the more I realized that running could be the thing that brought me back to both.


I also knew a local marathon was coming up, and I finally had the chance to step back into competition after a long absence. Running this marathon was a way to prove to myself that I could do anything I set my mind to. I thought back to the girl I was in middle school, joining the cross-country team with no fear, and I wanted to find that version of myself again. The same place that I was once running away from, I found myself running towards.

I trained for months. My routine was the same every day: workouts, long runs, and a Yerba Madre to keep me going through it all. I found myself spending every spare second preparing to accomplish this dream that had been blossoming since I was a kid. When the morning of the big day came around, I knew I was prepared, but I couldn’t help but be scared of the long road that lay ahead. Only when the starting gun was fired did I realize that there was no turning back.

But as soon as I felt the familiar grit of the pavement and the collective momentum of the runners around me, all of my fear melted away. A sense of nostalgia washed over me; the streets I ran through carried endless memories. I whizzed by the same mural I took my senior photos by, the restaurant where I had dinner with my cross country team, and the lake where I spent countless morning practices. It all felt familiar, and in the sweetest way, I knew I had finally come back to myself. As I crossed the finish line, I had an overwhelming feeling that I was in the right place at the right time. Des Moines is my home, and there’s no running from it.