I come from Pittsburgh.
It's a gloriously underrated city, often used as the stand-in for sad post-industrial town in flims. I mean, I love you Tom Hanks, but did you have to add a layer with that whole laid-off-steelworked-depression vibe in your Man Called Otto? But just like Hanks's character finds new life, so has the 'burgh.
It's now regularly making most livable city lists. Hipsters priced out of Brooklyn and other big cities are launching all manner of tasty restaurants and distilling trying to get in on this. Heck, both my sisters bought lovely stand-alone houses there for what would get you a studio ... or even maybe a parking space ... in my adopted DMV.
In its years of not-so-trendy, though -- before the real estate market in basically every other city went whack-a-doodle -- Pittsburgh was struggling. As we approached the end of the 2000s, even its marathon was kaput.
But then, just like those factories became cool lofts and empty warehouses offered artisinal ciders, the marathon came back from the dead, too.
In its third year back, 2011, I ran the half, and was overjoyed to show my friends G. and E. my home city.
Running with friends in 2011
I remembered this Paris of the Appalachias, this city of bridges, is SO dang hilly, but I also had so much fun. One of the things that made me happiest is that when some marathon organizers were pressed to have the route bend around the not-yet-revived neighborhoods, they refused. Pittsburgh has long been, like many a city, a city of racial and socioecmomic divides that have been structurally baked into it from its founding. A race isn't going to dismantle that. But a route that pulls every neighborhood together is sure as heck better than one that separates it -- and, I can say, a lot more fun.
After that first half marathon back home, I returned every May to run a half, dragging friends along to experience the city and gorge on the finish-line Smiley Cookies and raise money for Ovarian Cancer Research on behalf of my mom, who is now a 12-year survivor (BADASS).
Yes, that's my best running buddy G. Yes, he is wearing a bacon tutu.
In 2014, I even decided -- perhaps unwisely -- to run the full marathon. I only finished thanks to some artsy Carnegie Mellon University students who were handing out beer around mile 24 -- downhill is NO FUN at that point in a race, which only confirmed my love for how the route winds through all of Pittsburgh's quirky neighborhoods; yinz guys aren't ever going to find something as motivating as the gospel choirs in East Liberty.
If you don't know why "pierogies" would be chasing me, well, I guess you aren't a yinzer : )
One full was enough, but I even PR-ed in the half in 2015, getting to ring the bell (and eating 13 Smiley Cookies, one for each mile!)
You can ring my bell, bell, bell, you can ring my bell.
My last Pittsburgh half was in 2019. And, I'll be honest, while it was as fun as it always was, it also came with some trauma. When I started that race, I was 5 weeks pregnant -- as a "geriatric" first-time mom, I was waiting until first trimester ended to tell anyone, so the only person who even knew was my friend running with me that weekend, N., as I needed her to know why I was taking it slow, and why I would not partake of the free Wigle Whiskey cocktail or Threadbare Cider after the finish line. The race was supposed to be my last hurrah before motherhood.
Three weeks later, I learned I had miscarried. A "missed miscarriage" to be exact, so you enter the doctor all excited to hear a heartbeat, and then ... nothing.
There's a lot to say about miscarriages, and maybe that will be another full post, but suffice it to say, I was devastated. Four years on, I can write about it from the other line without going into sobs -- in large part because my original due date turned out to be the same day I found out I was pregnant with my beloved Tiny Overlord -- but still, I can't look at pictures from that day, knowing how happy I was and how soon it was to be dashed.
Then, of course, there was a pandemic. And the ensuing working-mom (and at one point, working-PhD-classes-mom) life that meant a mile or two was as far as I got to go. So, the years passed and my May hometown running ritual faded away.
This past weekend, while having my regular Sunday night chat with my mom, she mentioned how the Pittsburgh Marathon was on the news that weekend -- and I realized, indeed, it was the first Sunday in May, the usual day for it. I thought about what that particular race meant to me -- as a mother, as a runner, as someone trying to get back up after being pushed down.
I missed the race. I missed feeling the strength I felt every year at the finish line. I missed the loud crazy supporters, gospel choirs and hipster beer-givers alike. I missed the dang bridges!
So, when Monday dawned a bit chilly, and I was running late to get Tiny Overlord to her soccer classes, I pulled out that 2011 Pittsburgh Half Marathon shirt.
I put it on. I ran my 2 miles to the park.
I watched the light of my life, who was born from a date that would have been such darkness, running and giggling and being so beautiful it hurt.
Declaring my intention: ALL THE BRIDGES and ALL THE SMILEY COOKIES
And I decided: 2024, I'm coming for you, Pittsburgh.
Yes, it's more than double my longest run in the three years since I got to preggo to feel comfy running/postpartum.
Yes, it MIGHT be a bit early to think about what can happen that far away (hello, have the past few years taught me nothing about NOT making assumptions?!?!)
But hey, I have a year. And I have you all, keeping me accountable.
Yinz guys, let's do this thing. N'at.
