The Vancouver marathon delivered. I set two goals for the race, I wanted to show up to the starting line positive I could finish and be able to pick up water cups with my left hand from the aid stations. I didn’t need to perform. I had no idea what my body could or would do during the race, it had been the longest stretch of time between marathons I had experienced since I started running them in 2001, I just wanted to do it; to run long, to allow my body and mind to let go, finally, after so much pain and feel alive again.

The days before the race were special because they were familiar. I did a few things differently than my usual routine, swapped pancakes for Sushi rice for my pre-race dinner, (carb heavy and easy on the digestive system), strolled through the EXPO for packet pick up the Friday afternoon, and then Marion and I did a “drop off rehearsal” on Saturday afternoon, a fairly low maintenance task since the starting line was the second most geographically convenient of any race I’ve ever competed in, an eight minute drive from our rental, and the finale was hopping on the phone with my Mom for our traditional pre-race chat. I slept well and plenty two nights before the race, so any slumber logged on Race Day Eve was a bonus, but I knew once I saw my smiling reflection in the mirror after brushing my teeth that I would sleep just fine.

The BMO Vancouver Marathon was BIG. They had a half marathon and 8K race, too, nearly 30,000 people for the entire event. It felt good to slip into the crowd, strangers with a shared ambition transformed us into a community. At last, I found my people in this foreign land. And I talked to two of them. A woman from Toronto in her mid-twenties (maybe) decked out in a red-on-red top and shorts with glitter on her cheeks, wearing a pair of Nike Super-Somethings that she had never run in before, let alone raced in, (ah youth!) who was running Vancouver as her third marathon, and a thirty-something Doctor from Dublin who was donning Nike Super-Somethings too, running Vancouver as her first marathon. I could sense their nervous energy, but I felt something else, peace.

While chatting and pumping each other up, I was clenching and releasing my left hand to stretch out the repaired, tight tendons, (hopefully passing as “natural” behavior in this setting, runners have quirky habits) but unlike any other marathon start line I have stood behind, this time I knew I was not invincible, my body could break, it did, repeatedly, but I was still here, so I had nothing to fear.

Two days after the crash, swollen left leg, (screen right), and, well, lots of other issues.

Some of the most detrimental injuries I suffered from the impact of the car last August, were to my left leg and foot. The instantaneous swelling of my leg while I was in the hospital was excruciating. However, the medical team was focused on my arms, face, stomach, (all the bleeding areas), but I was most scared about my leg. I couldn’t walk, and thought I might have compartment syndrome, or a blood clot, whatever was happening was not normal, and I wanted an ultrasound to confirm my fears or dispel them. Thankfully, after nearly passing out while trying to stand when they wanted to discharge me around 9:30P the night of the crash, the Dr. made a case for me to stay overnight in the Observation unit, and ordered an ultrasound that finally came into fruition at 3P the following afternoon. In the meantime, the thought of walking or running again seemed like a very far away possibility.

At some point the following morning, I was rescued/assessed by a physical therapist at the hospital who had the most encouraging attitude and assured me that the pain and tightness in my left leg was (most likely) muscle tears from the impact, and that after a few days I would be able to walk. Thankfully, the ultrasound came back clear of any blood clots, and I was in the clear for compartment syndrome, but I cannot convey how scared I was to walk without assistance. I couldn’t even imagine it. Not only were my legs not strong enough to keep me upright, but if I fell, I wouldn’t be able to get myself back up again because both of my arms were useless.

I was afraid to move.

But the Super PT was right, the swelling in my leg eased up over the next couple of days, and I was able to walk unaided soon after I returned home, but my left foot was not out of the woods. It started to bruise and swell spectacularly after any sort of ground contact, aka, I had to keep it elevated at all times. In fact, I tried to hide its growing size for the few minutes I was sitting in a chair during the consultation with my hand Surgeon because fixing my dangling hand was the priority, and I didn’t want my technicolored balloon sized foot to steer any of his attention and delay the surgery. Luckily, my hand was in such disarray that he ordered surgery for the following afternoon. Meanwhile, my foot was the redheaded stepchild that could be attended to later.

It turns out I did have a small fracture in my foot. My podiatrist thought it was a Lisfranc ligament tear, a much, MUCH worse injury, but an MRI negated that hypothesis, thank goodness. However, I still had weeks of minimal movement and maximal “post-op” shoe shuffling in my future.

During mile 2 of the race, when the pace picked up, and I relaxed into a rhythm after the typical frenetic first mile of a marathon, I thought about those hours in the hospital, and weeks and months it took for my left leg and foot to be healed enough to walk, and strong enough to run, then I snapped back to the present, smiled, and had full confidence that they showed up ready and willing for whatever I wanted to do, and I wanted to race!

The first four miles were crowded. I was juking around runners and cones for a comfortable position and keeping an eye out for pace groups to latch onto. I figured hanging close to the 3:30 pace group was a smart strategy, (during training I was aiming for a goal marathon pace of 8:15min. mi., slower than my usual race pace, yet fitting for Regenerated Taryn, 2025) but I moved passed them comfortably just before mile 3, clipping well under 7:30min. mi. pace, and decided to run on my own.

I knew there was a decent hill that stretched out along all of mile 7, (I ran it during my last long run about ten days before the race), but the miles leading up to it were fun rollers, so when we hit the bottom of the hill, I was ready to use the momentum from a recent downhill to catapult me as far up the hill as possible. Unfortunately, running uphill is not my forte. I was passed by more than a handful of runners, but I remained patient, and nabbed them all again once we crested the hill and were back on flat ground.

Mile 15 or so, running along Marine Ave. next to Jericho Beach.

Miles 8-10 were stunning. We ran under a serene canopy of green forest, and while surrounded by thousands of rowdy runners, I was in my own world humming steadily to my private soundtrack of progress.

The next section of the course, running along 16th street, to Marine Ave., next to the University of British Columbia, and down along Jericho Beach into Kitsilano, (our ‘hood), was what I was looking forward to most. I knew every step from hours of training and capitalized on that knowledge to increase my effort on the flats and lean forward to extend my stride on the downhills, it was so much FUN! Also, I was closing in on the spot where Marion and his friends/colleagues were set up to cheer, in-between miles 17 and 18, and I wanted to look strong and happy as I passed them.

I think I succeeded.

However, I knew I would need their energy to crank through the toughest part of the course that was approaching between miles 19-20, cresting the Burrard Bridge that lead us into Stanley Park. Around mile 18.5, running up a shaded incline, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of gratitude to be exactly where I was in that moment, running toward the nineteenth mile of the Vancouver marathon; I certainly would not have asked to have been hit by the car last Summer, and the months of pain, recovery, and loneliness that followed, but I knew in that moment it had a purpose, I accepted it all, and then let it go.

Next, I ran up the Burrard bridge lighter than ever because I no longer had the, “Why me?” burden bringing me down.

Mile 19ush, running up and down the Burrard Bridge.

The remaining 10K edged around Stanley Park. I was ticking off consistent sub 8-minute miles, enjoying the stunning setting of the ocean on my left, and fellow stalwart runners huffing ahead and behind. I did have a hiccup that slowed me down just after passing mile 24, I was having trouble ripping open a gel by the company Naak, a new product for me, (I also used GU Roctane and Precision Fuel and Hydration gels for my fueling strategy of eating 1x gel every 4x miles), but I had a fun chat with the Naak rep at the EXPO, bought a few of their gels, and figured I’d add them to the mix since this was a “Why not?” race. Then soon after successfully slurped it down, I was passed by a woman who looked familiar, (I passed her around mile 2), but she was cranking now, and I let her go by me with a cheer because I did not have a competitive cel in my body motivating my effort, and she was the only woman I saw all day who looked anywhere near my age, (she looked older, honestly), so I was genuinely proud of her, and inspired to improve my strategy for my next race in order to have more juice near the end.

I had no idea what my overall time was this late in the race because I was only paying attention to mile splits and I am terrible at mid-race math, (and math in any other setting) but after my watch pinged for mile 25, I glanced at it to see the overall time was 3:10: and change, “WHAT???!!” I was running much faster than I thought, and figured if I remained on pace, I should be able to finish under 3:20, a feat I have not hit since before Covid times.

I hustled as quickly as I could, but the last mile (plus point two) lingered, and the course ended with a brutal false flat uphill, so my official time was 3:21:38, missing the 3:20 mark, yet still faster than I’ve run in my forties, and the goal was to start and finish, so I was thrilled! I placed 7th out of 136 women in my 45-49 age group, 93rd woman out of 2,318, and 738th out of 7,033 overall, a better than decent result for a pieced back together middle-aged runner who was powered by joy.

Nearly finish, cranking up the false flat final stretch.

While Marion and I were sitting in the back of our Taxi en route to our rental, I felt a rush of pride, because completing my Vancouver Marathon project, training for and racing it, gave me ownership of our experience in Vancouver. Obviously, we are here because of Marion’s job, but I devoted hundreds of hours of my time before and after I crossed the border training for this race. First, I had to ease my mind, mangled left arm, and busted up left leg and foot back into running shape which started in late October. Next, I had to discover safe, challenging, and consistent running routes in a brand-new city in a foreign country. My first run was the morning I woke up here, December 31st. And then I needed to complete a proper marathon build, twelve weeks of methodical training designed and supported by my coach, Hillary Biscay. Naturally, the incessant bouts of rain were a challenge, but I logged the miles, inside and out. I lost fitness due to sickness but rested and rallied back. I studied and trained on the course, aware of every turn, hill, and straight-away before the gun went off. Most of all, I was proud that I arrived at the starting line healthy and giddy to let my legs and lungs do what they love and missed most for too long, running 26.2 + miles as fast as they wanted to on a Sunday morning.

Instead of a music video, I want to share a poignant podcast episode from Rich Roll that nailed what I have been feeling since early 2023, and probably further back, but believe I am climbing out of now. Enjoy.