Things were beginning to shift in my life then. I didn’t know everything that I do now, at least not with full certainty. But I knew there were problems, I knew those were causing me anxiety and discomfort, and so I started running. Running from my problems, running from my feelings.

It took a long time for me to actually start enjoying running. I’ve never been athletic. My lungs would always feel like they were on fire, and I was so damn slow. But I kept going. If nothing else, over the years I have learned to persevere and push through difficult things.

The training felt excruciating. I doubted I’d be able to finish that first race, but I did it. I finished with a smile. It hurt, but it felt amazing. I was going to do it again, but this was my niche. Trail running, half marathon distance at most.

I ran the same race in 2025. This time it was easy. No intense training necessary, no doubt about whether or not I’d finish. I was going to run this race every year, maybe get faster bit by bit, but that was enough.

And then my life changed. The false reality I had placed myself in came crashing down, and I had to face bitter truths and the mental anguish that came with them. The next year would prove to be the most difficult of my life so far, but running was there for me. Something to distract myself with, a way to conceal my mental struggles with physical pain.

Many nights I would wake up (or perhaps just give up on the idea of sleep) well before sunrise and step out into the freezing night to run. The moon and the stars were my regular companions on those nights. I wondered how often had the moon bore witness to others in similar circumstances as mine; how many others might it be witnessing at that very moment?

So I ran, again and again. Sometimes I ran hoping my body would give out. But mostly I just used it to quiet my mind, to trade thought for physical pain. With that in mind I started training for a longer race. I eventually settled on a race, a full marathon, and I committed myself to it.

I trained for months, followed plans precisely, and yet throughout I was plagued with self doubt. The same doubt I carry about every facet of my life, and that holds back everything. The same self doubt that has eroded my life, and possibly the most important aspect of it. And I’m done with it. I see the doubt now. I hear the anxiety, I recognize the hold I’ve allowed it to have on me. And in finally recognizing it I can work past it.

And so I didn’t try to run a marathon this week, I ran it. I ran it knowing I would finish. I pushed myself through that last 10k knowing I would make it to the finish line no matter how much the voice of doubt tried to tell me to stop.

And I’m done now. Done with the race, done with the self harm that training for it represented, done with allowing anxiety to rule my life, and done with all the pain this last year has brought. I don’t know if I’ll ever run another marathon, but if I do it won’t be for these reasons. I’m closing this chapter of my life and moving on to the next.