A Reflection on Doing the Hard Things
Marathon outcome & plans for 2026
I wrapped up the 2025 running season with back to back half-marathon and marathon weekends. I committed to the half before signing up for the full at the request of a close friend who wanted to run her first half after turning 40. It’s one thing to experience the collective joy of a race, but to celebrate a friend completing their first long distance event? Pure magic.
Next came the full. Honestly, I was dreading it after a rocky finish to my training program, but my brother swore he’d never let me live it down if I bailed on him since I was the one who asked him to do it in the first place. And, after seeing that the half was full and I couldn’t change my registration, I stuck it out.
For a mid-November race, the weather was perfection: slightly cloudy and mid-60s with a sweet breeze throughout. My (survival) plan was to run as far as my legs would carry me and then run-walk when I had to.
Despite the awesome energy during the first few miles, I knew better than to get sucked in and made sure I started out at a modest pace. Conservation was the only thing that would keep me in it for the long haul. I also knew that my brother was going to be faster than me, and I didn’t want him to have to slow down to stick with me.
The first half felt much like the half I ran the weekend before. It went smoothly, despite some unexpected calf tightness early on which I knew would come back to haunt me. I just wasn’t sure when.
When I saw that 13.1 mile marker, not going to lie, the thoughts of having to do it ALL. OVER. AGAIN. almost sent me into a panic. Instead of spiraling, I started some Marathon Math and started reframing the miles in my head: “4 miles x 3”, “just 7 + then 6”, and finally, just chipping them off one mile at a time.
Truthfully, I thought I’d fall off around the 16 to 20 mile mark, except delusion (the good kind?) set in. I powered through the middle section with the hope of someone who just took a swig of pickle juice from a couple dressed up like aliens (true story). I felt oddly unstoppable.
Around mile 21, my legs informed me they no longer were capable of moving at their previous pace, or really any running pace for that matter. I had plenty of fuel and electrolytes on board. I wasn’t cramping, but my body had produced enough metabolites to make me question all of my life choices. This is where the run-walking began and it felt much better to walk as fast as possible than to trot.
In the home stretch, the crowds were electric, but the ability to sustain a run was quickly fading. And, while seeing the finish line is usually the best part, the finish line was at the BOTTOM of a gigantic hill. I feared losing my kneecaps in the process, but didn’t want to walk over the finish line, so I hopped, skipped, and trotted my way to victory.
Am I glad I did it? Sure. I’ve written extensively about my desire to intentionally choose things that feel slightly out of reach and cause me to sit in discomfort. Movement is a gift. Full stop. I never want to take that gift for granted, and getting uncomfortable with training is a way to ensure that I don’t.
Will I do it again? Probably not. There are plenty of other great challenges and plenty of other things I’m not good at that I’d like to incorporate into my training. I’m not a naturally gifted runner, and the distance of a marathon (for me) does more harm than good to my body. My Garmin told me I had 65 hours of recovery the morning after, if that’s any indicator.
Additionally, the stress of fitting that level of training into my life was starting to steal my joy. I’m looking forward to just running for fun - completing whatever distances I want, when I want, and truly allowing my body to breathe for a bit.
It was awesome and hard and wild and just miserable enough to motivate me to continue pushing my own limits in new ways. I’m convinced the best way to live this life is to do the things that feel just out of reach. Proving to yourself you can do something that feels slightly impossible is good for the soul - maybe not for the legs - but certainly for the soul.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” - Mary Oliver
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