There’s a millennial adage that states you should always do things “for the bit.” My “bit” one day last fall happened to be pettiness. To do nothing more than annoy a friend who kept talking about his late-20s fitness journey, which naturally included running a race, I signed up to enter the lottery for the 2026 NYC United Half Marathon. I believe “What, like it’s hard?” were my exact words. Almost a year and two half-marathon races (in two different countries, no less) later, I can retract my joke and say: It’s actually very difficult—worth it but difficult.
On that day in early November, I pulled up the website, created a New York Road Runners account, input my credit-card information to pre-authorize the race fee should my lottery draw be successful, added an emergency contact, and closed the page happy to have, at least temporarily, gotten under my friend’s skin. That was until one morning, three weeks later, I saw an alert for a $160 charge on my credit card, shortly followed by a “Congratulations!” email from the organization. I immediately texted my friend with the news. He, in return, shared his: He had not gotten in. In fact, I texted all of my serious runner friends, most of whom have run the actual New York City Marathon and also entered the draw. Comedically, karmically, tragically, I was the only one who got in.
I am not wholly unathletic. I danced my entire childhood and rowed crew in high school. In college, I would occasionally rise dramatically early to run a very slow sunrise mile on the beach and enjoy a $1 Pret black coffee on my stoop. During COVID, stuck in Connecticut after going home for a dentist appointment fresh off the plane from a panicking Paris, I ran up and down a dirt road behind my parents’ house. The spring in my step eventually fizzled, but now I was forced to reignite it, wheezing my way along the stony streets of the Seaport.
Truthfully, the process was composed of equal parts of loving and loathing. I couldn’t stand waking up in the pitch dark to run multiple miles in sub-20 degrees. I was ecstatic to mention how much I felt I’d already accomplished that day while gliding through the office to my desk. I was less than thrilled when the weather got so frigid I had to relegate long runs to the treadmill. At one point, five miles into a seven-miler on the machine, I gave myself accidental motion sickness watching the swinging ponytail of the treadmill runner in front of me while listening to “4 Raws” by EsDeeKid bounce back and forth between my AirPods. (After this embarrassing incident, I quickly switched to audiobooks.) But most importantly I relished the fast-paced feeling of control that the routine—one I had to either complete or quit—gave me while working a job as social and variable as fashion. My own goals came into sharper focus; in fact, I got the HR call that I had received this very job at Vogue while on a run.
This invaluable sense of routine—where I could empty my head, unplug, and partake in a hobby all on my own—was why I said yes to Lululemon’s invitation to the 2026 Seawheeze Half Marathon in Vancouver. Not only yes but yes with enthusiasm, ready to start a 12-week tug of war once again.
Was I all of a sudden a road runner who flew internationally to compete in races? With my per-mile pace, I don’t know if you can call what I’m doing competing, but during these warmer summer months it certainly felt great running 10 miles on a sunny Sunday morning before meeting up with friends for some frozen margaritas to watch the World Cup matches—let alone the fact that my baseline fitness now allows me to run 10 miles with enthusiasm and not fear.
