Don’t Call It a Comeback - Keira D’Amato

When professional runner Keira D’Amato announced her memoir—a new entry in the growing genre of running autobiographies—I was skeptical. Lately, these books have tended to follow a predictable arc: early talent, relentless training, inevitable injury or burnout, redemption, a personal best. But D’Amato’s story resists that formula. In fact, she stepped away from competitive running altogether in her twenties. She got married, had two children, and built a life in the suburbs. At one point, she barely made it through a ninety-second jog. And then, in her late thirties, she broke the American marathon record with a blistering time of 2:19:12.

What makes this running memoir unique is its structure—isn’t just a tale of athletic reinvention; it’s organized more like a three-act play than a sports narrative. “Phase One” covers her early years as a high school and college runner. “The Intermission”—longer and more introspective—centers on her grief over having quit the sport and the years she spent establishing herself in other roles: wife, mother, real estate agent. Then comes “Phase Two,” the most compelling part of the book, where the quiet narrative gathers momentum as she makes an improbable return to running—and ultimately reaches her athletic peak. This is where the book truly shines, building from quiet determination to a triumphant crescendo, culminating in the fulfillment of dreams that once seemed long behind her.

The book is funny, too—almost surprisingly so. D’Amato leans into the absurdities of her dual identity as elite athlete and suburban mom, full of jokes about sticky gels, race-day mishaps, and the chaos of parenting. A gem for those of us who get it:

“I’d already learned that I shouldn’t pack my gels next to my spikes—what a mess—but I still wasn’t sure where to put the sticky race numbers (or if they would even stick). I’m Team Safety Pin all the way.”

In a culture that often demands women choose between ambition and caregiving, D’Amato’s story feels quietly radical. How dare we women of advanced ages believe we deserve the spotlight, or anything other than marriage and family? Running begins, for her, as a means of carving out space—a way to return to herself. She doesn’t run to prove anything to anyone, at least not at first. She runs to breathe.

“I’ve found that when I’m the most tired, what I most need is a run—physical exertion is an antidote to emotional exhaustion, and having a spent body can somehow wipe clean and release the mind.”

But there’s more. D’Amato is someone who never gives up, like the time she insisted the Boston Marathon agreed to let her use the water tables even though she wasn’t in the professional field. The reduced visibility gave her increased freedom, however.

“I don’t feel pressure in the same way that other people do because no one knows what I’m capable of. No one thought I could get this far, and I bet that most people don’t believe that I can go any further.”

Her emphasis on non-athletic aspects of life–motherhood, marriage, and more, make D’Amato’s a story that speaks to so many women of all walks of life, not only those who run, or dare I say, run competitively. The author relishes this role she’s taken on over the years. As her biography states, “her mission is to encourage others, especially mothers, to take their unfinished business off the back burner and get after it.” She accomplishes this by talking about life as much as about running. One of her chapter recaps addresses women as a whole:

“Instead of always sacrificing, go ahead and seize. Make your me time unnegotiable: don’t frame running—or your particular passion—as an ‘if,’ frame it as a ‘when.’”

I was grateful that D’Amato chose to honor the history of women’s running in her career as well. She organized her own race during COVID and opened it to all women. Later on, she described plans to open a running store–a platform where those that feel intimidated find a home. Out of all the topics in women’s running, I especially cherished her mention of the endless weight debate in running.

“I’ve always trusted my body to do whatever it needs to do to be the most efficient. When I’m peaking for a marathon, even though I eat more than ever, I still get a little bit leaner. During breaks, I gain fifteen pounds. When I did CrossFit in my twenties, my arms were jacked. I cycled enough to be able to complete hundred-mile rides, and my quads were as muscular as they’ve ever been. My body does whatever I ask it to do, whether that’s building for a race or, for God’s sake, building a baby. It’s a miracle.

It’s a miracle, and it’s nobody’s business but my own.”

In so many ways, I found myself in D’Amato’s memoir. Like me she’s “...different,” not being attracted to “herd mentality.” She’s also a science major. D’Amato also chooses running because its pain is predictable and not as volatile as emotional pain.

“Not only that, my life experiences have taught me that the pain cave is temporary, and so much more manageable than the emotional burdens I had to push through as a new mother.”

That she’s a science major, a self-described outsider, and someone who prefers “the pain of the run to the chaos of emotion” makes her even more relatable. As a fellow runner, I recognized myself in her frustration with doctors who fail to grasp what running means to those of us who use it not just to train, but to cope. She asks us to make sure we hear ourselves and our own intuition into the game when hearing doctor’s opinions. At one point, she recalls being told to stop running entirely. Her response is simple and sharp:

“I can deal with pain—marathoning, again, will do that to you—but I can’t cope when I’m told I can’t run.”

With her book, D’Amato tries to motivate the reader. “Start writing your book,” she says. Go for a run, do your thing, go for the goal that seems way too big. I guess for my part, I’ve written my book, so perhaps it’s time to leap to my personal sub-three-hour marathon experience. Maybe it’s an omen that her personal best was the same as mine before breaking three. She says it wasn’t as easy “as flipping a few pages,” but she sure makes it look that effortless.

Go get them, Keira, and all of you readers! We ladies will lace up our shoes and step out of what confines us and run towards freedom.

In deep gratitude to St. Martin’s Press and MacMillan for the Advance Reader’s Copy. The excerpts used here may change in the final version of the book.