It’s 6:00 a.m., and somehow, you’ve wound up on the racecourse once again. You watch the pink and orange sunrise, hear the stampede of runners (waiting to see if their hooves are going to be the thing that finally kills you), and shove a banana in your mouth, praying it stops the debilitating cramps that “shockingly” appear every year. All while your mom pushes you in a jogging stroller at the crack of dawn, and you debate whether your very Jewish stomach can hold in diarrhea for another five to six hours.
Most girls grow up with the “typical” experiences: mall dates with friends, movie outings, sports practices, after-school clubs, you name it. Me? I grew up on the racecourse, specifically a half marathon, in the land of Miami sun, palm trees, and piña coladas. Each of those memories is forever ingrained in my brain.
You see, I used to be an athlete.
For five years, I came out of my jogging stroller and participated in the half marathons. Sure, I only walked 1,000-plus steps, a mile, or a mile and a half. But for a girl who was told at a young age that she would never walk or amount to anything, it meant something.
It wasn’t until I recorded a podcast episode with a paraplegic athlete who pushed himself across the country, from Los Angeles to a small town in Long Island, New York, in his wheelchair, that my perspective changed.
When sharing my marathon journey, he said that one day, maybe soon, maybe not, I would no longer be able to physically compete in marathons. And then what? What would I do? How would I handle it?
That question stuck with me.
It’s now been six years since I walked, due to my invasive cholesteatoma surgeries from 2020–2021, four consecutive surgeries, and the vestibular issues that came along for the ride. I haven’t been able to walk in my gait trainer (walker), wear my AFOs (leg braces), or feel even remotely proud of my body.
A car accident in September 2023 resulted in a traumatic brain injury for me and then for my mom, other physical issues, which didn’t help either.
So, for the last few marathons we “participated in,” from 2022–2025, we simply joined at the end and walked/rolled to the finish line to cheer on our teammates. Except for that last year.
The organization I fundraised for forgot I existed and neglected to schedule transportation for me on marathon day. This was after raising over $1 million, a goal that took us 15 years to reach.
That day was a turning point for me.
For the first time, I realized that maybe being an athlete was never about crossing the finish line. Maybe it was about everything I had to overcome just to get there. My body had changed, but my determination hadn’t.
But despite all the trials and tribulations, I still think of myself as an athlete.
Why?
Because I apply the same tunnel vision, grit, determination, and heat that fires up my body to everything I do.
I used to be an athlete, but now I am an entrepreneur, a female founder.
I used to be an athlete, but now I am a bestselling author of my memoir, The Velvet Bow (And Other Dark Sh*t).
I used to be an athlete, but now I am a podcaster, TEDx speaker, and so much more.
I am still an athlete in every sense of the word.
I sweat (sometimes under one armpit), and I do not take no for an answer. I never give up.
When I competed in marathons, I envied how able-bodied runners ran with such freedom, without physical limitations or being tethered to tubes. It always broke my heart, but I never told anyone.
That’s why I trained like a beast while my body fought me every step of the way.
I would drag my ventilator (strapped to my gait trainer) and feel the burn through my legs.
Now, I am grateful to survive the day, do Pilates, and strength train.
But I am an athlete. And life is a marathon.
You have to stop and enjoy every mile marker because you don’t know how long those moments will last. You savor them. You bask in the joy of that moment.
While writing my memoir, I channeled my athlete mindset. I worked every day, or on the days my body allowed me to, and wrote my nights away.
I drove my parents crazy, sure. But I promised myself that 2026 was the year I would write a book and, perhaps, publish it that same year.
So yes, I used to be an athlete. I just didn’t realize I never stopped being one.
The finish line changed.
And so did I.
Peri R. Finkelstein, founder and CEO of the Team Peri Foundation, just published her debut memoir, The Velvet Bow. She has participated in eleven half marathons, and she produces and co-hosts the Team Peri Step Out of Line podcast with her mother, Lori Finkelstein, which has run for more than 125 episodes. She has been a prior contributor to Able News.
Opinions expressed are solely those of the writer(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Able News at The Viscardi Center and/or The Viscardi Center.