10/14/2025
This past weekend I ran the Cape Cod Marathon for the third time. It was my sixth marathon overall. I love running. I love the training, the grind, the structure, and the way it all pays off on race day when you go out there and push yourself to be better.
That said, this one was tough. We had rain, wind, and I’ll be honest—I didn’t execute the way I wanted to. My training wasn’t as consistent as I’d like, and I didn’t dial in my nutrition before or during the race. By mile 10, I already felt off. I even said out loud that I wanted to quit. And that was true.
Marathons are hard. You have hours alone with your thoughts, and sometimes they turn on you. When I realized around mile 10 that I wasn’t going to set a PR, I had a choice. I could stop at the half and call it a day, or I could finish what I started. And for me, quitting on myself just isn’t an option.
From that point on, it was all mental. Mile after mile, from 10 through 26, it was about discipline—just putting one foot in front of the other. Fighting through cramps, fatigue, and the elements. I wasn’t running for a time anymore. I was running to keep a promise to myself.
Somewhere around mile 18 or 20, when I was deep in the pain, I had this weird moment of clarity. It was raining, my legs were cramping, I was hurting—but I looked around and thought, “Man, I’m lucky to be here.” Lucky to even be in a marathon. Lucky to be healthy enough to do this. Lucky to be alive and pushing myself when a lot of people can’t or won’t.
I didn’t set a PR. I didn’t even come close. But I finished, and I’m proud of that. Because the real win wasn’t about numbers—it was about not giving up on myself when it got hard.
Grateful for the struggle. Grateful for the lessons. Grateful to keep showing up.
