Guest Blog- Erin Owenby, NPSF/DC/SF

Like the rest of the DC tribe, Erin moved out to San Francisco in the search of coastal trails, happy people, and a stellar coffee scene. Since the very first day she has worked her ass off at workouts and also jumped head first into everything California has to offer. Today, she tells us a little more about why she made the move and how simply running up and down all the hills of San Francisco will make your BQ dreams come true. 

If we’re being honest, high school cross country consisted of kissing boys on the back of the bus and struggling to pull off an 8-minute pace for 3.1 miles. That being said, it introduced me to one of the greatest loves of my life (running, not the boys). By my junior year of college, I registered for my first marathon, Tobacco Road right outside of Raleigh, NC. As a distance novice with no running community or a training plan, I took to the internet. Looking back, I am seriously questioning what made me think I could do this all on my own, but I did, and in the process of the many, many blogs and Runner’s World articles I read, I discovered the Boston Marathon. As runners, we tend to live in a bubble, making references to the BQ or “running Boston,” and I am often reminded by my non-runner friends that these are not common knowledge terms – and I was one of those not-in-the-know people in fall of 2011.

I had no context for how I would do come race day – I would often go run for an hour and just assume I was putting in about six miles. I finished in 4:06:28, quickly swore off marathon running and didn’t leave my bed for three days. One year later in the spring of 2013, my final semester of college, I was in class, live streaming the Boston Marathon. I had never been to Boston, was still new to this endurance running thing, and was still uncertain I would ever run another marathon. Then the bombs went off. I am not sure at what point in the next year I decided that I wanted to run Boston, but I followed every story, article, and blog that came out and something inside me just clicked. I wanted to run Boston… one day.

A few things happened next: I graduated, moved to DC, discovered an incredible group of human beings that went by the November Project, and I signed up for my second marathon. Whatever I thought I knew about fitness and distance running before, pretty much went straight out the window. I went from someone who turned to the internet for inspiration and guidance to being part of a community that pushed me to discover new things (hello yoga), eat healthier, and yes, run longer, harder, faster! November Project held my hand over the next few years as I chased my goals; hitting a sub 3:50 marathon, then a sub 1:45 half. I felt good, happy, healthy, and strong. When I was chosen from the lottery to run Chicago in 2015 I just knew, this was it: I was going to qualify for Boston. I had come so far in the last four years and I was ready.

I woke up a few days before the July 4th weekend that year with a 103 degree fever, aching from head to toe. A quick trip to urgent care and I was sent on my way to the hospital in a facemask and told I might have meningitis. Having not taken any pain meds, I was delirious as I called an Uber to the emergency room and sobbed the entire ride while I googled what was going to happen to me next (RIP Uber rating). It was a long day at the ER while doctors poked and prodded, including a spinal tap that will be seared in my mind forever. Ultimately, they sent me home. “It is probably a severe virus that will go away on its own,” so they said.

If you know me at all, you know I took this declaration as “you are completely fine quit being a baby” and was back out in the DC heat on Wednesday with my November Project family. When I started feeling dizzy then blacked out and couldn’t remember leaving the workout, I figured maybe things weren’t so fine. The next three weeks involved doctor visit after doctor visit and test after test while I convinced myself I still had plenty of time to train for Chicago and that I wouldn’t get out of shape overnight. In late July, I received a call I will never forget: “Erin, yes this is your doctor, so it turns out you were right, something is definitely wrong, you have Lyme Disease… AND Mono!” I was on the G2 headed home from work. I cried the entire way.

For those of you who don’t know, Lyme Disease is caused by a tick bite and typical symptoms include fever, severe headache, fatigue, arthritis, dizziness/shortness of breath, and tendon, muscle, joint, or bone pain. It is treated with a months’ worth of antibiotics but often takes up to six months to recover. Similarly, the symptoms of mononucleosis include fever, fatigue, weakness, and headaches with traditionally long recovery times. I spent the next six months in a haze as my body continuously wouldn’t do what my mind insisted it try. I slept ten, sometimes twelve hours a night, ate comfort foods, and continued to distance myself from anything that reminded me of where I had previously been physically.

As time continued, my physical illness became intertwined with an emotional sickness, and where one stopped and the other began I can’t be sure. Running, fitness, and the community they both gave me were suddenly background noise to a gnawing dissatisfaction with myself and my life. It seemed that a different person existed six months before. That I was forever going to be living in Erin BL and Erin AL phases – before Lyme, after Lyme. I felt as though I would always be a shadow of who I was before: a little less fit, a little less fun, fewer smiles and laughs, running ten-minute miles instead of eights. It is a strange feeling to be so acutely aware of why you are unhappy, while feeling completely incapable of fixing things.

The worst part of these realizations, this fog or half-life I was living in, was that I accepted my fate. I was okay being Erin AL. Sure, things were slower and harder, but I had survived, hadn’t I? Things COULD have been worse. I can still run, even if the joy isn’t there. I can still show up every Monday, Wednesday, Friday even if the hugs come less naturally than before.

As with most depression, you can never really tell where the road begins, nor can you tell where it ends. There were days where I would genuinely have to ask myself, “Is this the Lyme Disease? Or the Depression? Or am I just not as physically fit as I once was?” The answer I gave myself was usually somewhere in the middle.

Through a series of life events, I found myself at the end of 2016 ready to move on from all things associated with the previous 18 months. I needed a new job, a new city, a new life that wasn’t based on Erin BL and Erin AL terms. Yes, this may sound a little like running away from your problems. But I am here to tell you: sometimes that’s okay. Giving myself permission to wipe the slate clean, to start over, to just be me instead of trying to regurgitate the girl I used to be – that was the best decision I ever made.

In March of 2017 I moved to San Francisco. I arrived on a Sunday night and verballed for a Monday morning “run gang” to get to that day’s NP workout (I called it run pool once before I realized lingo is not transferable coast to coast). Twelve hours after landing I experienced my first run through the city, up and over those monster hills you see in movies but can’t really comprehend until you feel like you might die climbing up one. But I survived. And a few days later when some new NP friends invited me on a trip for a sunrise summit of Tam, I said yes. I didn’t know how hard it would be, or if I would be able to keep up, hell at this point I still couldn’t give you a very good definition on elevation gain. All I knew is that I didn’t want to be afraid of doing things because of my past limitations, so I put them aside, and kept saying yes. Yes to Track Tuesdays, yes to runs in the headlands with SFRC, yes to pushing myself to PR every last Wednesday of the month, yes to new races, and yes to running with people who are faster than me, because who says I can’t catch them?

I am happy to say that saying “yes” was not limited to my running, but for the purpose of this story and so I don’t drone on forever, I will simply say that I have found so much happiness in a willingness to do things that I previously would have considered outside of my reach. When a few friends were signing up for the Santa Rosa Marathon with less than two months until the race date, I just thought: you know what? YES.

I approached training for the marathon the same way I have approached most things since moving to SF: if it feels good, keeping doing it, if it doesn’t, stop. I didn’t set weekly mileage goals, I didn’t have a training plan, and I am quite possibly the last runner on the planet without a smart watch. I laughed and sweat and pushed and smiled right up until the race. And the race, which feels like the ultimate metaphor for my life right now, was more than I could have ever dreamed it would be. I felt strong, both physically and emotionally, and so incredibly, ridiculously happy. Finishing in 3:26:40, I surpassed any goal that pre- or post-Lyme Erin would have considered, because I am no longer limiting myself to what I think is impossible.

When I began writing this, I wanted to tell the story of the girl who dreamed of the day she would qualify for Boston and how that dream became reality. But, qualifying for Boston is just one small piece of my bigger picture. When I finally let go of all my expectations and theories on what was supposed to make me happy, or fit or fast, I found so much joy in just being who I am now and I can’t wait for all my “Boston Qualifiers” in life as just Erin.

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