By The Numbers: My Journey
- Kelsey Flynn
- Mar 4
- 4 min read
Third in the “By The Numbers” series - The number 14.
Fourteen years. That’s how long I’ve been part of this sport—proudly (and affectionately) calling myself one of those "crazy runner people." But if we’re being honest, running hasn’t always been my favorite pastime. Even after 11 years of purposely running for fun, I still prefer the “social group with a running problem” side of things!
Let’s take it all the way back to elementary school. Gym class. The mile. You know the day. The dreaded fitness test mandated by the state. And this girl right here—the one who now holds the title of marathoner? I cheated on the elementary school mile. (Sorry, Mrs. Miller!)
At my school, the mile meant running the same stretch of sidewalk eight times—four out, four back. Every lap, you got a checkmark. But I was tired of running and wanted to be finished, just like my (much faster) friends. So… I might’ve claimed an extra lap. Or two. Whoops!
Fast forward to middle school. I quit soccer because I hated running but joined Track and Field because my math teacher needed girls for shot put. “Hey, I can do the and field part!” But anytime we had to run a lap with the sprinters, you better believe we throwers were complaining. Though, fun fact: my one track career highlight? Running an entire 100 meters in a 4x100 relay.
I danced during high school and joined my college dance team. My sophomore year, our coach decided we needed more cardio, so before every practice, she required us to run a mile. Yeah, no. Not a fan. My asthma flared, and the team collectively decided we’d just… walk it. (Except for that one girl who ran for fun. Love ya, Rooms!)
So how in the world did I end up running one full marathon, 14 half marathons, 4 relays, and more 5Ks and 10Ks than I can count?
It all started in the fall of 2012. My dad, aunt, and cousin were training for the Columbus Half Marathon. My father-in-law and brother were tackling the full. Then my sister joined in—while four months pregnant—so I figured, “Why not?” I’d logged maybe eight miles total in my life. No training plan. No clue what I was doing. It was miserable. By mile 4, I was already asking my then-boyfriend (now husband) if we were done yet.
Sometime after, I was babysitting for the family I nannied for and telling them about my Columbus experience. The dad had just joined a local running club and invited me along. That first night, I picked the 10-minute pace group because… well, it sounded like a good number. And just like that, I was hooked.
The next six years became a whirlwind of my running journey. Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings were spent running. I built an incredible group of friends, many of whom I’m still close with today. I ran 13 of my 14 half marathons in that time. 5Ks became easy. And somehow, I actually enjoyed running.
Then came the big goal: a full marathon. My plan? Run 26.2 miles at age 26—#26in26. Training kicked off on December 26, 2015. It was cold. It was rainy. But eventually, eight miles became an “easy” run. Weekend long runs turned into unofficial half marathons. My 18-miler was in the rain. Our final training run? Also in the rain. I felt like a total badass.
Race day came. My brother agreed to be my running buddy, and though I lost pace with my training group, I was grateful to have an experienced marathoner by my side. He had electrolytes. Salt tabs. He knew when to push me and when to let me take a breath.
The day started drizzly, which was great. But then the sun came out, and it got hot. And humid. The temperature climbed above average, and the humidity hit 95%. I saw at least six runners go down, needing medical attention. At mile 20, race officials were yelling at us to stay in the shade. And as a back-of-the-pack runner, I was out there for all of it. The race started at 6 AM, but with my slower pace and later corral, I didn’t cross the finish line until around 12:30 PM.
According to my watch, I had 30 minutes of total stop time. Why? Because I had the most incredible support crew. My husband and best friend secretly made signs and mapped out where they’d be so I’d always have someone cheering for me. My parents, in-laws, nanny family, and friends were all out there too. I stopped for hugs. I stopped for selfies. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
But there were two race moments I’ll never forget:
1. The Half/Full Split. Around mile 9, after conquering the Eden Park hill and flying down Woodburn, Half Marathoners turn left to head back downtown and Full Marathoners turn right—toward O’Bryonville, Hyde Park, Mariemont, and Riverside Drive. I’d been a spectator for my dad and brother before and I’d run the half myself, so I’d always wondered what it would feel like to turn right. That moment? Surreal.
2. Passing Joe. The dad I nannied for was also running his first full the same day. During our weeks of training, we kept up a friendly competition—he was slow and steady, while I was quicker but needed more breaks. I lost him mid-marathon after a pit stop, but at mile 20, his sister spotted me and yelled, “JOE’S RIGHT AHEAD! GO GET ‘IM!!” That was all the motivation I needed. I scanned the crowd, spotted him, and made it my mission to pass him. At the corner of Stanley Avenue, I did. (Final times? 10-ish minutes apart. But hey, I still won.)
And yet… despite all of this, I still sometimes feel like I’m not good enough and that I can't claim the title of marathoner because it took me "too long."
But says who?
I finished a damn marathon. My body moved for 26.2 miles. I’m a badass. I DID THE THING. I am part of the less than 1% of people who can say that.
So......what happened next? Stay tuned.
Keep running with me,
❤Kelsey
Graphic credits: Findmymarathon.com, flyingpigmarathon.com
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