On Sunday morning at 7 a.m., about 20,000 participants began their individual journeys as the gunshot sounded for the start of the 9th annual GO! St. Louis races. Relay racers, marathon and half-marathon runners set their paces as they ran east on Market Street in downtown St. Louis toward the Gateway Arch, amid misting rain and cloudy skies.

Some donned silly costumes to keep up their morale — underwear over their spandex running pants or bunny ears or princess crowns on their heads. One man ran with a stuffed horse on his shoulders all the way to the finish line. Another man juggled pins for his entire run. Some wore shirts with photos of loved ones in whose memory or honor they were running. Some runners wore the most elite sportswear and equipment you can find, while others wore simple T-shirts and basic running shoes. Marathon runners had packed belts of energizing liquids or special electrolyte foods. A few disabled participants wheeled themselves through on wheelchair bicycles. Some runners had obviously raced before. Some had obviously not — I was one of these.

The concept of running 13.1 miles was daunting when I registered for the half marathon event last November. Come to think of it, the idea was daunting until the night before the race. Before I started training, I had never run more than four consecutive miles in my life. And though I love sports, I was one of those theatre and choir kids in high school (and loved it). My athletic experience was limited to my less than one-week participation on my high school swim team.

Yearning for some athleticism and fitness challenge in my life, I agreed when a high school friend presented the opportunity to me and some other girls from my high school to finish off our senior year of college with a half marathon. I decided to do the single thing I hated the most for 13.1 miles: run. And yet, as I rounded a curve for mile ten on Sunday, one of the hundreds of spectators shouted, "Keep it up runners!" and I thought, "Thank you. Yes, I am a runner. I love running."

For me, the race was an experience that helped me to conquer my hatred of running and to bond with fellow Marquette students and high school friends. It was a chance to set a goal and accomplish it, to build camaraderie and celebrate the capacity of my mind and physical strength. At the same time, it was an opportunity for me to witness thousands of other people successfully conquer their own individual goals and reasons for tackling the miles. Though we all ran toward the same finish line, I am sure that each person's reason for making the race was unique.

I met one young man along the way whose sole reason for running was a bet made a bit before bars closed the night before with his friends. "I've only run one mile in the last few weeks," he admitted around mile five. Another runner I met had been training for six months. She made the trip from Ohio by herself, with no family or friends waiting at the finish line. Her race was a personal goal, and her finish was a personal victory.

The positivity and hope in the air were tangible as we ran, and spectators cheered us on with signs, songs and positive words. When the roads split and the half marathoners separated from those going the full 26.2 miles, I wished them luck and thanked God I had opted for the half, but continued running in awe of those who had set their goals that high.

My goal was to finish. And to never stop running. I never did stop running, and I crossed that damn finish line. Though I finished surrounded by strangers, the accomplishment was sweet, knowing those around me had conquered the route for whatever reason they had. What I will take away from the race is a sense of personal accomplishment and an inability to walk for a few days. But more significantly, I will take away an understanding of the positivity produced when thousands come together to accomplish, to encourage and to celebrate, all because we are capable of doing so.