When 2024 started, so did my marathon training. Up to that point in my brief running career, the furthest I had ever run was 14 miles. Now, I had four months to build up to 26.2.
It was easily the most intense training I’d ever done. I was running at least four days a week—long runs after work during the week, and even longer ones on the weekend. It felt like running was all I did. The miles piled up, the hours on my feet mounted, and the fatigue set in.
I ran through snow, rain, and bitter cold. On one 10-mile run, I had to use a port-a-potty in 4°F weather. That woke me up fast.
About halfway through training, COVID hit me. It was brutal, knocking me out for a few days. Once I felt somewhat better, I tried to make up for lost time. I ran seven miles one day, and the next day was supposed to be my longest run yet. I set out with friends, hit the 4.5-mile mark, and realized I was completely spent. I had pushed back too hard and too fast. I walked almost the entire way back to the cars, defeated and ready to give up. But my friends and family pulled me through. The following week, I bounced back and logged 16 miles.
As training neared its end, I ran 18 miles on Easter Sunday. Two weeks later, I hit the peak of my training cycle: 20 miles. Out of every run, that was the one I loved most. A few running friends met me halfway to guide me back toward the start, and another training buddy joined our entourage near the end. When I finally reached the finish line of the run, a crowd of family and friends was waiting, cheering me on. Since I was just short of the full 20 miles on my watch, I ran right past their cheers to the end of the block and doubled back. That run gave me the final push of confidence—I was ready for the marathon.
The next few weeks were all about tapering: keeping my legs sharp, rested, and ready.
Marathon day arrived on the first Sunday of May. It was cool and overcast, with rain in the forecast. My target was a five-hour finish. When the gun went off, I felt great. The five-hour pacer stayed within sight for the entire first half. I locked into my hydration and nutrition strategy, hit every water stop, and took walk breaks when needed. Finally, we hit the turnaround—fewer miles ahead than behind.
Then, the sky opened up.
What started as a drizzle turned into a steady, heavy rain. For the next two hours, I fought through fatigue, soggy shoes, and creeping aches.
Around mile 20, I adjusted my plan and reverted to my core training routine: run a mile, walk a tenth, repeat. The dreaded wall was approaching, and I was on the verge of hitting it. That’s when the running community came through. A fellow runner noticed I was struggling and fell in step alongside me. We talked, and she shared advice that kept me moving forward—I only wish I could remember her name. Near the final 5K mark, a friend rode up on his bike to check on me and another friend out on the course. I knew I was almost home. I just had to reach the bridge, leaving barely a mile to go.
Once I crossed the bridge, the finish line came into view. Hearing my wife and friends cheering, a surge of adrenaline wiped out the pain and exhaustion. I sprinted as if I had fresh legs—charging through the rain in my kilt, moving fast enough to flatten anyone in my path. I crossed the line at 5 hours and 10 minutes. Just ten minutes over my target, but I couldn't have cared less. I finished a freaking marathon! Shortly after, the friend who inspired me to sign up crossed the line for her first marathon, too. We had called each other’s bluff and made it through.
We headed to a local brewery for lunch, beers, and celebrations before I finally went home to rest and begin recovery.
At the time, I had no idea the burnout that was coming—or how long it would hang over me...
That's an epic photo!