I’ve lost count of how many marathons I’ve run in my life, but it has been about a dozen. About half of them have gone decently or well, and about half of them have gone pretty poorly.
However, I have run none more often than the Baltimore Marathon. I have lived here and in this area for the last six years, so it is a local race for me where I run with people I know and run into quite a few friends I have from running. When I first came to Baltimore six years ago, I just graduated college and had just started teaching, so it was quite a lot of transition. But one constant from my previous life was that I still had teaching.
The last two times I have run the Baltimore Marathon, I ran poorly. In 2022, I ran a 2:52 marathon, and in 2023, I ran a 2:49 marathon. Both played out similarly — I started out ambitiously, trying to run a pace that matched the time I was trying to run. Both years, I aimed to run 2:35. My previous personal best in the marathon was a 2:39:55. In both races, I did alright for the first half marathon, then fell apart around mile 16 or 17.
While I still finished those races, it took me a while to figure out why I was performing so poorly by my standards. I’ve done over a dozen marathons, so why did I keep falling apart? I had a lot going on — at the time, I was working as a special education teacher in an urban school district, and I was also going to law school at night. I just did not have that much time to run, and I was lucky if I hit 40 miles a week most weeks. There were certain spike weeks where I ran 70 miles, but that would be relatively inconsistent as they would be paired by weeks I barely ran.
I would run 10ks and half marathons at relatively fast paces compared to what I was doing for the marathon, but my marathons were just not going well.
It took me way too long to figure out the problem — I was not running enough miles. Sure, running 40 miles a week could get me in shape to run a good 13.1 mile race (the half marathon). But for a 26.2 mile race (the marathon), that was more than half my weekly mileage. Predictably, I would fall apart from miles 16–20 each marathon. Once I discovered the problem, I upped my mileage to 60 miles a week last year, and 80 miles a week this year. Last year, I ran a huge personal best of 2:35:40 at the Harrisburg Marathon, so it seemed like better preparation helped me get into substantially better shape.
Under Armour, the sports shoe and attire company, is based in Baltimore, and in recent years, it has had an “Under Armour Flow Elite” team where it sponsors sub-elite local runners for this race. It has given me the opportunity to run under with the Under Armour team and wear their gear more than once in the marathon.
I am very grateful to this team for helping build the running community and running track workouts on Tuesday evenings. I ran under the Under Armour Flow Elite team in 2023, and when I ran a 2:49 marathon, I felt like I disappointed the people who supported me from Under Armour (probably not as much as I disappointed myself).
“It’s okay,” someone from Under Armour told me. “You ran hard.”
As much as I appreciated the sentiment, that wasn’t how I felt at the time. A bad result was a bad result, and it would take two more years before had redemption.
Fast forward two years later — and that was my goal: run hard, results be damned. If I ran poorly, that was okay. I am trying hard not to beat myself up over race results like I used to when I was in high school and college.
I ended up running a 2:37:48, which wasn’t a personal best, but was still a good race.
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I had run 80 miles a week for almost five months in the spring and summer. I had two races the month beforehand — a half-marathon where I ran really poorly, and a 20 mile race that I won by almost three minutes and did well.
Thus, my preparation was a lot better than two years ago. With support from the Under Armour Flow Elite team and being able to run with their shoes and attire, I looked forward to just going out there and having fun.
However, I also wanted to execute well. At this point, I know how the Baltimore Marathon goes. It is a very, very challenging course. The first five miles are incredibly hilly, and so are miles 16–20, where I have broken in the past. They are not short, steep hills like the Boston Marathon as much as they are crushing, gradual inclines that feel like they never end.
I have a marathon in December that I consider my “main race,” where I will make a big attempt to run under a 2:30 marathon and take the next step as a runner. Thus, the 2025 Baltimore Marathon was not a huge deal for me, and the time was not a big deal. In fact, I didn’t want to completely gas myself and have the marathon take too much toll on my body (if that’s possible for the marathon).
Thus, my goal going in was to stay restrained and disciplined. I would run no faster than a 5:55 mile pace on any mile I was running uphill, and I would run no faster than 5:45 mile pace on any mile I was running downhill. I did not want to risk going out too fast and blowing up terribly, like I had in previous years.
However, you never know what’s going to happen in predicting a future outcome, so I just had to show up on the line and give it my best shot, even if the worst happened, even if I blew up to run a bad race yet again.
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Photo from Jan Figueroa at Under Armour
I didn’t run a personal record on that day, but I ran a race I was proud of on a course with a lot of elevation. My time was a course record for me by more than eight minutes.
I could have run faster on a course that had fewer hills and where the weather was slightly more ideal. I executed well and competed well, and although the time could have been better, the plan couldn’t have been. When other people made surges in the pace around me, I stuck to the plan — from mile 5 to the end, I was all alone, running on an island.
The closest runner in front of me was a minute ahead for most of the race. The closest runner behind me was about two minutes behind. I had to really focus on listening to myself, being in tune with my body, and not letting my expectations dictate the race as much as how I was feeling in those moments.
During the first five miles, I followed the race plan well, although on mile five, I went too fast. I was with another runner, and he was pulling away from me on this very downhill mile, whereas I backed off the pace. I still ran a 5:31 mile, and despite the mile being very downhill, that was still too fast for the fifth mile of a marathon and I recognized that I had to pull back at the time lest I pay for it later on.
From miles 6–10, I was running downhill from north to south Baltimore. I ran some 5:50 miles, and some miles closer to 5:45. I was all on my own, so I had to keep checking the time and stay disciplined even when my body wanted to go faster. I had to deliberately and intentionally hold myself back. In the marathon, you feel great until you don’t — one mile could be Cloud 9, but the next could feel like the pits of despair. I have experienced this quite a few times, so I knew that I had to be careful and hold back.
From miles 10–14, there was a roaring crowd at almost all parts of the course. I was running anywhere from a 5:50 to 6-minute mile pace at that point, but I worried because the race started to feel not great. Anyone who runs knows it can be painful, but I had expected it to still feel easy at this point. It did not, unfortunately, and the pace was feeling more difficult than I felt like it should have.
My expectations were not being met, but I had to recalibrate. The only thing I could have done to feel better at that point was run a bit slower and hydrate, so I did, but I had to stop the voice inside that told me to panic.
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Screenshot from the author
From miles 14–16, I slowed down slightly. One mile was 6:15, and it did not feel great and felt more strained than I would have liked due to some slight hills. I sped back up to close to a 6-minute pace the next mile, but as much as I would have liked to be fearless, I still feared. I feared that I was going to slow down significantly and the race would crater. I don’t fear the pain of running, but I certainly don’t look forward to it. I feared that 10 people were going to pass me in the latter stages of the race.
Miles 16–20 were the make-or-break point of the race. In these miles, all runners climbed around 400 feet in gradual hills, which is challenging not only because of the hills, but the timing. I often say to people that Heartbreak Hill in the Boston Marathon wouldn’t be as bad if it were located earlier in the course, but because it is around mile 20, a lot of people will struggle with it.
I had to calm down and just get through these hills, pace be damned. At times, I felt like I was running really, really slow uphill, but I was saving and banking some energy for later in the race. If I could just get through these miles, save energy, and still run an okay pace, the rest of the race would be much easier.
These miles were the slowest of my race, but because I ran them the way I did, I had a lot left for the finish.
From miles 21–23, I was just trying to survive and continued to just put one foot in front of the other, using mental checkpoints to get to certain parts of the course. Some of my in-laws came out to cheer for me, and that helped me keep going. I had no idea what would happen in the last 10 kilometers of the race, the most unpredictable part of the marathon. At that point, I was pretty tired and not feeling great. I was largely just putting one foot in front of the other until I could finish the race.
But something clicked in the last three miles. On mile 23, I started getting side stitches (stomach cramps) from drinking too much water and Gatorade during the race. They were minor, but they alerted me that I should slow down a bit before they got worse.
Fortunately, by the next mile, these side stitches went away. On mile 24, I started running downhill, and the adrenaline and euphoria of almost being done was hitting. I knew the time was not likely to be a personal record, but this was the first marathon that I felt that good at that point of the race, instead of just trying to hang on.
I ran some of my best miles from miles 24 to the end of the race. Each mile, I was only feeling better, and as bad as I felt from miles 16–23, I felt like I was getting a second wind. I was feeling good that I was able to talk and say thank you to the race volunteers and police officers doing traffic control.
I finished this marathon faster and stronger than I had in any others, and realized that I finally executed a marathon for all 26.2 miles according to plan.
In the three weeks since, I have run around 48 miles, then a week of 70 miles. And this week I am aiming for another 70 miles and running another half marathon.
There are things I wish I had done differently during the Baltimore Marathon. I wish I had hung on a bit tougher from miles 17–23. I wished that the adrenaline carried me forward in these miles, but alas, it did not. I did my best, and that’s what I would tell any other runner is a success.
No, this wasn’t a personal record, but it gave me a lot of confidence to know I am better than I have ever been as a runner. I can maximize my performance on the day, the course, and the conditions, and I can come back from setbacks.
I think a lot of people would be happy with a 2:37:48, which is 6:01 mile pace for the whole marathon. I am going to aim higher for 2:30 in December, and the race has helped me build an internal confidence I might not hit the goal, but I will give it my best shot and hope for the best.
I know what my fears are as a runner, and they are fears a lot of runners have: running slow, blowing up in races, and a ton of external factors going wrong. I realized before the race that, especially with running, I have always had a huge fear of failing. I learned that even if those fears are true, I will still persevere and finish, and there’s a chance I could get a second wind and come back, which happened in this marathon.
Throughout my 16 years as a long-distance runner, my biggest barrier has always been myself. Slowly and gradually, I’m getting out of my own head and out of my own way.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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