I started running at HBS, in the month between the end of classes and Commencement. I was born with asthma, so sports in general were never my forte, but the overwhelming nature of prepping cases and recruiting meant my physical condition had worsened. Once I’d made it through classes and had a job offer from McKinsey, I decided to focus on myself.

I made a rule: If I needed something in Harvard Square, I would run, not walk, from my dorm room in Hamilton. That’s how it started, and I built from there, running a bit farther each time. Being a typical HBS overachiever—and a Greek, with an ancient connection to the sport—it wasn’t long before I started to think about running a marathon. I began with a 5K, then a 10K, then a half-marathon. Four years later, in 2012, I ran and finished the Berlin Marathon. Since then, I’ve traveled the globe, becoming the first Greek to run in all six World Marathon Majors. When I was Samsung Brand Manager, I ran a marathon in North Korea; the organizers told us we had to run it in four hours or less, so I did. Last summer, at the Paris Olympics, I ran in the Marathon Pour Tous, competing at night on the same day that Olympians ran the course. Running has helped me see the world, in addition to being the catalyst for regaining lost confidence and the mental and physical stamina to take on more challenges at work—and at home.

One of the most traumatic events of my life was my father’s passing in 2018. But before he died, running connected us. My father had been a competitive athlete, with national records in the long jump and relay. When I started to run, he got super excited; it helped start a conversation with him around sports and athletics that we’d never had before. There’s a moment, as we get older, when we start to demystify our idols, who are often our parents, and see them as human beings. I never thought running would bring me closer to my father, but it did. It changed and deepened the nature of our relationship in ways I never could have imagined.

In Greece, people come to visit when there’s a death. The day before my father’s funeral, I walked along the waterfront in Thessaloniki with different friends and family for eight or nine hours. I think I logged 40,000 or 50,000 steps, and that night was the smoothest sleep I’ve ever had. Of course, I mourned— but I was able to sleep because of the running and walking. It felt like a way to honor him, and it still does. Every time I run, I can speak to whomever I want, and that includes my father.

In many ways, running a marathon simulates life’s journey. During a marathon, you experience the runner’s high of confidence and euphoria, when the endorphins kick in. There are angels who show up in the most unlikely places, like a friend who spotted me struggling in the Athens Marathon, jumped in, and ran alongside me. But you also experience the low of hitting the wall, when your body’s energy is completely depleted. You start questioning what you’re doing and what it means. Other runners cross your path and trip you up. But nothing lasts forever, especially in life; there are good times and bad times, ups and downs. Goals and accolades are great motivators: I’m hoping to compete in a marathon on every continent, with Antarctica being the last to tick off. But none of that is as important as waking up and being healthy enough to simply put one foot in front of another. For me, that will always be the greatest achievement.

Post a Comment