I can't say when exactly my love for running began. Well, it's not really a love - it's more of a hate that I sometimes enjoy.

I've never been fast. My earliest memories of running include having to run a mile around the playground for a physical fitness test in elementary school. I had one of the slowest times. In middle school, when we had to run the Turkey Trot mile, the event that stood out most wasn't me having a great run-time or even enjoying the process. Instead, I had intentionally pulled down someone else's pants when the class was running and ended up suspended for two days.

Later, in high school, I had a P.E. teacher who insisted on calling me "Porsche" and didn't let me out of any kind of physical activity. Periods meant nothing to him, and it didn't matter if I hit my head on a locker or got kicked in the stomach with a soccer ball (both really happened). If it wasn't life-threatening and didn't warrant a visit to the nurse's office, then I still had to unfortunately participate. Once a week, he had us run the mile, which was infinitely more than other P.E. classes in which students only ran it once a month. I hated having to do it, but with every passing week, by the end of the run, I always found myself thinking, "That wasn't so bad. I could've done more."

My junior year I found myself repeating Chemistry. Not because I didn't know the material - I scored Advanced in the end-of-the-year tests for my sophomore year - but because I had been lazy and didn't turn in my work or pay attention in class. My Chemistry teacher also happened to be the cross-country coach. What better way was there to ensure that I'd pass his class this time (other than actually working) than by joining the team? My favorite teacher had recently ran a race for Nike and seemed to suddenly have gotten into running, which made it look cool to me. I would occasionally go for a run around my neighborhood when I got upset, so I knew I had it in me. I signed up, and since then, never turned down a race or run when offered to me.

Since those days, I didn't get any faster, or really, run much more. I would run in college and tried a few times to join a team, but I found that I liked running more by myself. I convinced my roommate once to run with me around the campus at 2 am, as we dodged sprinklers and coyotes. We returned exhilarated, but never did it again. I mostly ran up our city's mountain, at the gym, or in parking lots when I needed to clear my mind. Right before I left Southern California for New York City, I promised myself I would become a "real" runner - someone who ran regularly in races.

What I ended up doing was finding something that I liked way more - training Muay Thai in a renowned academy in the city. I had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and always wanted to do kickboxing. I fell in love with the sport, and much of my attention focused on that. I still thought about running though, and wanted to hold my promise to myself.

I talked to the teacher, who had become my mentor over those 9 years, and he told me about Nike's free Run Clubs in the city. In the clubs you run with other runners and pacers, did cool workouts, and learned about the best gear for your body. I did one Run Club and absolutely loved it. After that, I ran a 4-mile race, a 10k, a 10-mile race, and my very first half-marathon over a period of 6 months.

In that time, I also had the fantastic opportunity to work for Nike at their Flatiron Running store. I learned so much about the proper shoes, how to take care of yourself, and the type of fuel your body needs to be successful as an athlete. I was also lucky enough to meet many amazing runners and athletes. Working there was one of the best parts of my athletic journey and I really gained many things from it - such as the suggestion from the store's head manager to start my blog/website, pariunderthesea.com.

Before my half-marathon last year, which was a race on Staten Island, I decided I would never run a race again. In the break room at Nike, I had literally said the words, "I'm never running again after this," when my manager, Chris, called out from the office, "Yeah you will. You will run again." Within moments, I received an email that said I was entered into Runner's World Half & Half Festival for the next year--which meant I could do their half-marathon, free of charge. I had entered into their raffle because I had wanted to win a subscription. I got the subscription, a whole runner's set, cookbooks, and another race. I told Chris and all he said was, "See? Told you that you would run again."

After the Staten Island half, I decided to take a break for a few months. My ankles had felt like glass afterwards and I felt like death. It had been hard to train for the race and do the sports I had already been doing: Muay Thai, Brazilian JiuJitsu, and lift weights all at the same time. I was told over and over again that I had choose between them, which would've been smart, but not what I wanted to do. I paid for it by being in pain for weeks afterwards. My recovery consisted of ice cream and broccoli. The ice cream was in my stomach while frozen bags of broccoli sat on my legs. I thought the only race I would ever do again would be the Runner's World run, which was a year away.

Then, at the end of November, I watched the movie Rocky. As someone who trains martial arts and writes about it, as well as being a kid that grew up watching boxing and always wanted to fight, it was a surprise for many that I was watching the films for the first time at the age of 23. But I was hooked. I wanted to be just like Rocky - tough, determined, loyal, and with a big heart. I watched all the movies in succession and decided that I found a new hero to join Han Solo and The Warriors. I had to do what he did, because even though it seemed childish, I wanted to be like him. I also thought that I was down and out, with the world against me. Rocky managed to overcome all of that to be the best, even though with each passing movie, he overcame a new challenge. I spent a winter evening researching runs throughout Philadelphia, to mirror his famous scene when he runs around the city and up the Art Museum steps. There was a race 10 months away that led up those same steps, so I immediately signed up.

On a whim, I decided I would sign up for as many races that I could that very night. I wanted to run in every borough in the upcoming year, just like I had that same year. I signed up for another half in Manhattan, a 5K race in Queens, a 10K in Brooklyn, and decided that I would have a race every month. I was excited about 2016. It would be the year where I ran at least 10 races. It became the year that I didn't do more than 3.

My half-marathon was canceled the day before due to a snow blizzard, which shut the city down. My race in Queens was awful - it was freezing cold and the wind made it feel worse. My race in Brooklyn also got canceled, as well as the sequential one that I signed up for, both due to weather. I thought maybe racing in New York in any month before May was crazy, so I waited for the weather to get warmer.

In that time, I was entered into the NYC Marathon. I kept getting emails from New York Road Runners, which is the organization that hosts many of the big runs in the city, including the marathon. The emails all urged me to sign up for the Marathon's lottery, and even though I was intrigued by running a marathon, I knew I would struggle even more than I had while training for the half. On the final day, in the final five minutes that I could enter, I decided to drop my name in because I knew I would regret it if I didn't. Two weeks later I received the notice that I was in. I felt excited and full of dread at the same time.

I wrote out a training plan for the summer, and was able to squeeze in a race with a friend in New Jersey. After that though, my time became much more limited. I was without a stable job, so my time consisted solely of working as much freelance as I could, as well as training Muay Thai and JiuJitsu as regularly as possible. Muay Thai was my second priority after work, and I found training for running to be incredibly difficult. My body was often sore from practice and I was exhausted at the end of every night, so the running I could fit in only made me feel worse. I would be lying if I said I stuck to the training plan because I definitely wasn't able to.

As the time to the Marathon got closer, I began to feel more fear towards the situation. There were days that I couldn't get to practice because of how much work I had to do, which made the possibility of running non-existent. I began to feel shameful towards it all. I felt like I was making excuses and that I should've tried harder, made it more of a priority, and focused more on the goal. What I was starting to understand is that I was trying to do a lot of things in the short amount of time that I had. If it came between submitting another assignment and getting paid, or running for a race that still seemed far away, I picked work every time.

The time for the Philadelphia half-marathon came around, and I had made my decision. While I was ready for the half, and knew that I could finish it without risk of injury to myself, doing the NYC Marathon was not in my best interest, at least for this year. On the advice of trainers, teammates, and coaches, I decided that I would defer the race for next year, and give myself the opportunity to really train for it, without distraction of wondering where my next paycheck would be coming from. Even though I knew it was the best choice I had, I still felt a lot of guilt. I felt like a quitter. What would Rocky have done?

I came into Philly with my good friend Nicole and pondered this for most of the trip. I picked up my race bib and felt the same familiar fear that I always get the day before a race. I can't sleep, I barely eat, am not really able to use the bathroom. I try to imagine the after part - when it's done and I'm eating a post-race bagel. I usually go into a race in the worst way: tired, dehydrated, and hungry. However, I always finish and manage to run (before I get to the 11-mile mark anyway) the entire thing.

The sky was cloudy the day of the race. I was in the very back in the last corrals at the starting line, because my pace time was still very slow. I plugged my headphones in and tried to quell my anxious feelings. The first song I listened to was "One Dance" by Drake - during Muay Thai practice all summer, the song was constantly on repeat. It made me feel better, like I was back in the academy and safe. The event coordinators counted down from ten and then my corral was off. We began running and I tried to focus on the person's shirt in front of me, just like I did when we were running laps in practice.

When I'm running, it's like my brain disconnects from my body and my legs go on autopilot. I just start thinking and let my mind wander. The weather was humid but it was still a lot cooler than it would've been in New York. I started thinking of reasons why I was running so that I could fall back on those reasons when I felt like quitting.

The race was to benefit cancer research, so I thought of all the people I cared about who had battled cancer at some point or was fighting it now: my mom, my friend Michele, my friend's mom, one of my former teachers, some of my friends, and many other survivors that I had come across when I volunteered for the American Cancer Society. I thought of people who had passed away because of the disease: my old roommate's dad, one of my mom's best friends, my godmother's sister, Adam Yauch from the Beastie Boys, George Harrison from the Beatles, and several of my friends' parents. I knew with every step I took and the money I had paid to enter the race, I was helping to raise funds to create a world without cancer.

I ran the race because, in my friends from California's eyes, I was a runner. They all joked about how I did something that other people hated, for sport.

I ran the race for Darleen, Marlene, Hazel, Crystal, Sharon, Lizzie, Kenia, and Gema, who would always be my rocks back home.

I ran the race for my friend Brian, who was training to do a marathon in his wheelchair, and the amazing adaptive athletes he had introduced me to.

I ran the race because I knew it would be a good story to write about.

I ran the race because my coach, Elijah, would run 14 miles FOR FUN. If he could have fun while doing that, I could have fun doing this.

I ran the race because another coach, Mustang, was one of the fastest sprinters at the academy. Every time I watched him run, I wanted to be able to do the same.

I ran the race because my friends, Isang and Lee, not only encouraged me to do my best, they believed that I did my best every time.

I ran the race for my friend, Nicole, who was waiting for me at the finish line with a huge sign. She survived a night in an awful hotel and spent her entire weekend just to support me.

I ran the race for my mentor, Rigo, who first inspired me to run.

I ran the race for the people at Nike, who encouraged me to keep running.

I ran the race for my old cross-country coach, who would scream, "Go PEAR!" when I'd run by him.

I ran the race for my teammates at the academy, who always pushed me to do my best.

I ran the race because a Wu-Tang song came on, which made me think of the head coach and all the ways he encouraged me.

I ran the race for my other coaches, who dedicated their time in making me a better martial artist.

I ran the race for all the fighters that inspired me.

I ran the race because I wanted to run a race someday with my cousin.

I ran the race because I kept telling my friend, Jess, that we were going to run together, except that I'd convince her to go out to eat instead.

I ran the race because my friend, Michelle, had paced me before, and I imagined chasing after the green light she used to wear on her shorts in the evening.

I ran the race because I wanted it to be over already, and to be back home with my cat, Butters.

I ran the race because my friend, Stacy, told me to kick some ass.

I ran the race because people told me all the time that I didn't look like an athlete--because I wasn't built, wasn't skinny, and wasn't fast - but I knew it didn't matter, that I was one.

I ran the race for my trainers and friends, Shirlee and Gio, who first helped me to see that I am an athlete and to never doubt it.

I ran the race because my mom had told me she wanted me to be a runner someday when I was a kid.

I ran the race because I told my old man that I'd out-run him any day.

I ran the race for my godparents, who always celebrated every single one of my accomplishments.

I ran the race for my family because I knew they would be proud.

I ran the race because I knew a half-marathon race would be a million times easier than any fight camp ever.

I ran because I knew I wasn't afraid.

I ran because I wanted to be like Rocky.

By the time that I finished the 13.1 miles, I decided what I needed to do. If I needed more time to do my best, then I should give myself that time. Rocky didn't half-ass anything. He gave everything with his whole heart. He also didn't beat himself up. He just grew from his experiences. If I wanted to be like Rocky, then I had to do what he did. The last few minutes of the race before I passed the finish line, I played two songs: the Rocky theme song, and my favorite song in the world, "Can't Stop" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. As I crossed the finish line, I knew that the decisions I made were the right ones.

The volunteers put a huge medal around my neck and I immediately went to wait in line to take a picture with the Rocky statue that was at the bottom of the museum steps. As I stood next to the statue and held my arms raised high, I remember one of Rocky's most famous quotes from the movie:

"Every champion was once a contender that refused to give up."

I refuse to give up.