The Medal That Nearly Broke Me (But Didn’t)

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