By
Pain will test you. Doubt will haunt you. But the mind? The mind decides if you break, or if you rise.
You’ve probably heard the saying: “Running a marathon is 10% training and 90% mental.”
I used to nod and agree. Now I know it to be true.
This 6-star medal didn’t just represent a race. It represented five years of relentless pursuit, sacrifice, and setbacks. It was the final piece in a journey that began years ago, chasing the dream of completing all six World Marathon Majors.
And Tokyo? It was the last one on my list. But getting in wasn’t easy.
I don’t get gifted bibs. Like so many runners, I’ve had to qualify, enter lotteries, volunteer, and eventually turn to charity entries to make my way through these races. That’s how I got my chance in Tokyo.
But 10 months ago, that dream felt like it might disappear.
I had just undergone a microfracture surgery on my right femur, a painful procedure with a long, uncertain recovery. Still, in my beautifully stubborn way, I convinced myself I’d be back to marathon training “in no time.”
Reality had other plans.
I wasn’t even close.
For 10 months, I wrestled with fear and self-doubt. Every night, my mind flooded with questions:
What if I can’t do it? What if my body doesn’t come back? What if I have to let go of this dream?
But every day, I got to work: Anti-gravity treadmill. Strength training. Endless hours on the bike.
The furthest I managed to run/walk during my "training" cycle was 10 miles. After that? Back to bed, in pain.
Still, I showed up in Tokyo.
Not fearless. Far from it.
But determined.
At mile 13, my fears caught up to me. The pain was overwhelming. For a brief moment, I wondered if this was it.
But then something incredible happened.
People showed up for me. Runners I knew or never met before started cheering me on, jogging beside me, giving me goals to chase:
“Let’s jog to the next water station.”
“Come on, we’ve got this.”
“One more jog.”
And just like that, step by step, stranger by stranger, friend by friend. I made it.
I crossed the finish line. In pain. Exhausted. But filled with something far stronger: pride.
Would I do it all over again, knowing what I know now? I honestly don’t know.
But this I do know:
I will wear this medal with so much damn pride, because it cost me more than I ever imagined.
Now it’s time to rest.
And to all of you who’ve been cheering me on, sending messages, believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself: thank you. You were part of this story, too.
See you on the next starting line.
—Carleth
