I did it
We’re shipping up to Boston
“This is it,” I said out loud to myself. “Don’t regret anything about this final mile.”
Seven minutes. I had seven minutes. Well, six minutes and fifty nine seconds, to be exact. All the training. All the hours. All the miles. All that work, and this was it. I had six minutes and fifty nine seconds to reach my goal, my ultimate goal, of running a marathon in under three hours.
No pressure.
I don’t remember when I decided I wanted to run a sub-three hour marathon, but sometime in 2021, I verbalized it to myself and those around me. After some digging around on my phone, this text message, sent to some friends last December, was the earliest mention I could find:
My goal before turning 40 is a sub-3:00:00 marathon. A 1:25 half is probably where I would need to be to feel comfortable at hitting it
I was two months removed from a new PR — 3:24:58 in Minneapolis — excited to continue on in 2022, but expecting the progress of the previous two races to slow down. From 4:38 in 2019 to 3:58 in 2020 to 3:25 in 2021 — no way I had another half hour in me, at least not yet. Ten minutes, maybe 15 if the conditions worked out perfectly, or so I thought.
Even after I put together my best half marathon yet this past May, it still seemed so far off to run a similar pace over the course of three hours. I was on my way, but I’d hit it in 2023. I’d have to wait.
You know what they say about best laid plans.
By the time June rolled around, my initial goal for the 2022 Chicago Marathon was 3:15. Over the course of 18 weeks of training, it crept closer and closer to three hours. By the time race week arrived, I knew, absolutely knew that I’d be qualifying for the 2024 Boston Marathon1. The only thing I didn't know was if I'd go sub-3:00.
Sunday morning was absolutely perfect.
To walk outside and feel the energy of the crowd… I fed off it. So often throughout the last couple years, I’ve felt on an island in how much I care about running; What it means to me, how it makes me feel. To get to run in any local race reminds me there are others out there that are similar, but to see that crowd, thousands giddy to to run in Chicago? To feel what I felt that morning, why wasn’t it possible?
I did my best to soak it in. Trying to remember the details. I wanted this day to be special.
I made my way over to the runner’s entrance shortly after 6:00 am. The noise of it all. Seeing runners warmup. The chatter about how to hit a BQ, how much buffer one needed. I listened in, rarely saying much. I tried to focus on what I’d need to do, tried to stay locked in.
My body felt great. The taper paid off. By the time I settled into Corral D, I couldn’t stop counting down the minutes to 7:30 am, when my wave would start. Couldn’t stop trying to keep my heart rate in check. Searched out the pacers, knowing I’d be passing all of them2 over the course of my run.
Not long before the race started, I spotted the 3:05 pacer. I snapped a picture and sent it to some family. “I’m coming for you #BQ,” I added. It was time.
I officially crossed the starting line at 7:42 am. In my first two marathons, I left the starting line, and worried about how many miles I had to run. In this one, I worried I didn’t have enough time.
It’s a much better problem to have.
I felt comfortable immediately. GPS is notoriously wonky at the start of Chicago, so I focused on how I felt, how I paced. My goal was to start with two 7:10-7:15 miles; 20-25 seconds slower than my goal pace, in theory leaving me 40-50 seconds behind where I needed to be. No use in starting out too fast in a marathon, hurting myself on the back end. I’d gain back those seconds over the course of the rest of the race.
And wouldn’t you know it, as I crossed the second mile, I was right near 14:20. I had paced myself well, now it was time to go.
At mile three, I saw Riss, my mom, and future sister-in-law, Cass. Over and over in my previous four marathons, bad luck had interfered, rarely letting Riss and I see each other while I ran. Seeing her in this moment, holding up a poster of Banks and me, meant so much. I got to see her. I got to see all of them, early. It gave me a boost.
By the time you hit three in Chicago, you’re on your way north, Lake Michigan mere blocks away to your right. Days later, I realize how in my own race I felt. My strategy seemed alone, no one else doing what I was doing. I ran past runners, working out the math in my head, rarely seeing other runners go by me.
Over and over, I’d remind myself what numbers I needed as I ran the fourth mile. “28 minutes,” I told myself. “28 minutes at four.” After finishing my third mile close to 21:10, I needed to cross four at 28:00 even.
I did.
Running north and the turnaround south through mile nine or ten, is probably the biggest party the race offers. Early enough for the misery of a marathon not to have set in, and the crowd seems ready to embrace you.
Drinks and smells. Drums and loud music. Packed streets, so many cheering you on.
I think I even saw a man leaving an apartment, dressed in Saturday night clothes, surely not heading out from his own place.
As I approached one third of the marathon in the books, I was closing in on being exactly on pace. I always told myself that I wouldn’t really know what was possible until I hit 13.1, but I already knew I could do it. Starting with mile ten, I was done with 6:50 miles, instead going for 6:45s. Finishing off the last four miles of the first half of the race, I ran 6:43, 6:44, 6:45, 6:51.
Suddenly I was at mile 13, when I saw Riss to my right; I blew her a kiss. Is this the happiest I have ever been in the midst of a single race?3
I pick up the pace.
A half minute later, I spotted my mom to my left. I let out a scream of joy, lifting up my arms. She couldn’t stop smiling, and now I’m 13.1 miles in at 1:30:05.
Half the race is done. I pick up the pace.
The next handful of miles felt lonely. Too far from the start, it’s turning into a grind. Yet, too many miles away from hearing, “you’re almost there!” over and over, like we would after mile 20. It’s all mental here.
I was hitting my pace goals, but it was a little tougher than I wanted it to be. I wouldn’t be having a victory lap to my finish, like I did the previous year in Minneapolis. Best to recognize this now, rather than too late. Instead I focused on time checkpoints, mile after mile.
Mile 20 arrives, 6.2 markers and signs were everywhere. They say this is where a marathon truly begins. This is where the challenge is. This is the final stretch.
But I start losing time.
A 25-second buffer falls to 20 seconds, then 15. I was losing time, but still ahead of pace. “You won’t get a whole lot of extra time,” I tell myself. Mile 22 turned into 23 turned into 24. My legs felt heavy, the pace tough.
Suddenly, I was 25.2 miles into the race, exactly one mile from the end. My watch read 2:53:00.
“This is it. Don’t regret anything about this final mile.”
A part of me didn’t think it would happen. In the lead up to the marathon, I learned that if I wanted to BQ for 2024, I didn’t even need to run a sub-3 because a sub-3:05 would do. After the inevitable tweaks and bruises throughout my taper, I openly wondered to myself if that’s what I’d do.
But I didn’t just want to qualify. I wanted to reach my goal.
“This is it,” I told myself again. “Don’t regret this.”
I took off. The pace on my watch read 6:38, then 6:40. Even if the GPS was off, I was running the right pace. Picked off runners to my right and left. Runners passed me, incredible kicks to their race. What finishes lay in front of them.
We hit a sign that read “800 M” — this was it, a half mile left. I tried to avoid looking at my watch, tried to focus on what little distance I had left. It was going to be close.
I turned right, the final hill. Mount Roosevelt. So little elevation to gain, maybe 20 feet total, but it hurts. Physically, mentally. My pace suddenly read north of 7:00. I was going too slow. Could I do it?
I turned left.
Under one minute left, I looked up at the FINISH sign. I was going downhill now, thankfully, the race almost over. My family was on my left, cheering so hard. I was sad to not acknowledge them, but I think they understood. This was it. I ran as fast as my legs allowed.
I crossed the line, pressing stop on my watch. 2:59:48 it read.
I burst into tears.
I kept moving, collecting water, a banana. I needed to get my phone out, I needed the official time. I believed I did it, my time had to be correct. I finally got my phone out of my flip belt, turning off my “do not disturb.”
A text came in right away. “2:59:47. Hot damn,” my best friend wrote.
I stopped and cried and cried.
I’m now a week removed from the race. I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop talking about it. After I set a new half-marathon PR in May, I wrote about trying to live in the moment. Trying to not look ahead to what was next.
It was hard.
All I wanted to do was figure out how to run a 2:59:59. To look ahead. To plan. I often had to remind myself to enjoy the success, to try to live in the moment just a little bit longer. By the time June rolled around, it was so far in the rear view for me mentally, and all my focus was on October 9th. The Summer of Miles had begun. No time to think about a race in May anymore.
I’ve had more success at enjoying this run than I did that one. It was the race of my life. To cross the line and see a “2” at the start of my final time. To think back on the months of training specifically for this race, or the years of running before that got me here.
All that time, all that effort; it was worth it.
I did it.
Which meant I’d be running a sub-3:05.
The fastest pacer runs a 3:00 marathon, so not like I’d be chasing down a 2:35 runner.
Yes.
Looking forward to seeing you cross the finish line, in person. GREAT work, all year!
Josh…again, congratulations on completing the Chicago Marathon and hitting your goal of a sub 3:00 time. Truly amazing. I have enjoyed following your efforts and training on Strava, as well as these posts. You definitely inspire me to work harder towards my own personal racing goals. Keep up the great work and I look forward to meeting you sometime soon in person. Happy Running!