the marathons left me

discernment of my place in the race course

on the 13th of april, i was 28 minutes in to the marathon when i pulled in to a brasserie to use the bathroom. there was no bathroom in sight around.. of course. why would there be? i was all but maybe two miles in to the paris marathon.. and i’m gonna be incredibly honest here.. i wanted to quit. it had nothing to do with pain. it had nothing to with the weather. it had nothing to do with a little nagging injury.. there was no thought of trying to preserve myself for a different race. it did however have everything to do with the fact that within about 400 meters, i realized i wanted nothing to do with the marathon anymore. but maybe even that is not being the most honest.. i suppose it started that morning before i even toed the line. shit maybe it even started before i even got to paris.

let me set the scene here… i woke up that morning just after 8am.. my alarm was set for much sooner obviously.. i hit the first snooze around 6am. right back to sleep… then the second snooze.. it was clear as day that I wanted nothing to do with this marathon. I got ready slowly. “I could just get there late, blame it on the train and then not have to worry about even running… “that’s dumb carl, just get ready” i told myself. i left my hotel room, got on the metro and made my way to the starting line. an hour later, i was over it. officially. It took over an hour from the time I arrive to cross the start line and that was with showing up at my start time.. all the standing around frustrated me even more. This whole thing, I was over. I’ve done this before, why am I doing it again? Hell, I’ve run this race twice before, what do I need a third for…? This literally sucks.. but fuck it, let’s at least cross the starting line for the plot…

Two weeks before this moment, I was a couple dozen miles from Las Vegas yapping, at Javi as he took on tsp solo. There was this moment where I stepped in to try and help get him across the finish line of a 300 mile race. I snapped and went back to “ military carl” - as mike described it, “bro turned in a drill instructor.” - I made the call for the team. We are no longer letting Javi control this race, he is gonna do what we ask him to do.. no ifs ands or butts.. we are gonna get him to the Vegas sign in no time. As I crossed that starting line, I thought about that moment… how could I a couple weeks earlier speak to someone in a way that was so direct and then turn around a couple weeks later and not do as I said? Who am I to not even try? If the roles were reversed and Javi was here would I want to let him down? Would i have accepted him not trying? Of course not, so why would I not try?.. So… we kept moving..

We got to that 2 mile mark and the “at least try” reminders to myself quickly vacated and made room for a few repeats of “you really don’t have to do this anymore.” - from there I started thinking about the excuses.. what if I said this? What about this? It went so far as to thinking about the instagram post… I got it, I’ll take my bib off and put it in the trash and photograph that and say something like “the comeback begins…” or “villain arc begins..” Lol, I even said to myself “let the training era begin.” As if that was not what I was supposed to be doing before I even toed the line.. meanwhile, before I knew it was 5 miles in..

For some context here really quick, I’ve never run a marathon under 4 hours.. I came close-ish a couple years ago and full transparency, I think that was the last time I was in good shape. I ran my first marathon in 2019 and finished it saying “never again” as I crossed the line.. never again turned in to five more.. but with that kind of marathon time, comes being someone who misses the cheer zones.. someone who doesn’t get confetti… I’ve never seen a photo of myself running a marathon the way I photograph people running marathons.. I think there’s a part of me on that day that just thought to himself “what even is the point?” But that would change… and in many ways, for the better on this day in Paris.

At a certain point I said lets just get to the half, then we can quit and that would look more legit.. “hit a wall half way in” I imagined the strava post would say.. before I knew it, I was a half in and decided to keep going.. the mind started to shift.. I can’t turned in to perhaps I can.. a couple miles later, maybe I can turned in to.. what if I did?.. Before I knew it, was 20 miles in.. and what if I did? turned in to, you have no reason to not… 22 miles in, I was fighting for every step. I wasn’t in marathon shape, let alone in any kind of shape at all… I was in my own personal hell.. but there was reasons to keep going and with every step towards the finish line, the reasons to finish outweighed the reasons to quit.. I then started to think about the instagram post again.. but this time, not about how I quit but rather, that I did it.. against, no one’s doubts but my own..

Then there was the aspect of my friends.. one of which being Alex who was at that point, done.. and waiting for me just before the finish.. in fact, he was specifically at cafe du Trocadero, the cafe attached to I love you, prove me wrong… I knew I needed to just get to him.. i needed to not let him down. i knew if I could see him, he’d give me what i needed to get across the finish line.. then I thought about my friends back in dc.. that seemingly are knocking down accomplishments left and right.. week after week, they continue to inspire me with what they’re capable of.. i wanted to add to that. i wanted to come home with that medal for them, for us. i wanted to add “another” accomplishment to our growing list of races and goals reached.. i thought about them being proud of me…

then there was the person who I was texting in the corral holding area, the person I was texting days leading up to the race. The person i was finding confidence in.. the person I felt like I could be myself with.. no need to hide. No reason to be bigger than I was.. I thought about how they were the only person i texted before the race… in my head and my heart, I wanted them to be the first person i texted when I was done. there was this real feeling of wanting to make them proud.. regardless of if they would be or not, something about the way they talked to me made me feel safe. It made me feel like I needed to cross that line for them.. for their investment in me. For taking the time to encourage me at the starting line.. there’s this drake line in “redemption” where he says “certain people need to tell me they’re proud of me, that mean a lot to me. not having closure it takes a lot out of me.”

as i think about the reasons above, i’m reminded of the fact that it the end i should have done it for me. I should have just trained, I should have committed.. i should have done the work. But I’m ok with accepting that I didn’t.. I’m ok with the idea of failing in that.. i’m understanding that i fell short in my responsibility to myself.. but that day in Paris reminded me of something Kayla Jeter said in Chicago a few years ago… “take pride in the fact you dared to even cross the starting line.” - it would be a year later I watched as Salu ran a marathon and it took him five hours… i’m understanding that we are all at a different place with the marathon and my insecurities with my own time should not be a barrier to trying.. what did asap say? “Since when has it not been cool to try?” Or something like that.. maybe it was that On (running) employee in 2020 that tried to shame me for my first marathon time by putting it on blast in a group chat with a bunch of runners.. maybe it’s just the fact that I want to be good (not great) at running and maybe this marathon was a reminder that I’m short of good..

i would eventually cross the marathon finish line in Paris and the thing i felt the most was pure defeat. i was so glad to be done. but I was defeated. like a soldier, on one knee at the end of battle, surveying the arena around them, knowing they survived but at what cost? there was a medal around my neck but there was nothing but pure exhaustion in my heart. It was a sinking realization that i was no longer going to be the runner i one day hoped i’d be. was no longer the 25 year old fresh out of the military running in forest park in St. Louis, six months post acl surgery because it was the only thing I felt comfortable doing. was never going to feel like 8 miles was easy.. the summer of 2011 I got to run with nostalgia ultra, house of balloons, take care, watch the thrown.. music made 8 miles fly by.. was young, was youthful, i could drink the night before and bang out miles the next day like it was nothing.. for a decade and more since that summer, I’ve tried to tell myself that was the me i still am. It isn’t…

to cross a finish line, defeated, disappointed in yourself is a feeling like no other.. but a month on, i’ve decided to find the positive. to let that moment serve me in a different way… i would find myself in Copenhagen essentially a month after that day in Paris as an official photographer of the marathon.. and one of the things I had to do was head to the office for Sparta, who puts on the race and go over my areas of coverage.. I was assigned essentially km 14-18.. and the rep who brought me in asked “do you have any issues staying until everyone has passed 18?” - I said, “I am usually that runner at the end of a race and I personally never get my photograph taken, so id be more than happy to stay until everyone passes.” to which I did… and then at a certain point, I raced back to where my backpack was at the nbro cheer zone,.. my day was “done” i was all but wrapped up… and then in that moment it dawned on me, just what it was exactly that was calling me to finish line in Paris..

for me, it is now simple.. to document the marathon, to try and tell the story of the runner, i need to understand the pain of the runner. i need to know what defeat looks like and feels like. i needed to fail to grown in my craft. i needed to learn there is beauty in exhaustion. that day in Paris taught me the 2:15 marathoners stride is no more beautiful or important than the 5:24 marathoner.. because both of them tried. Both of them dared to cross the starting line. the 2:12 marathon is always gonna want 2:11, the 5:01 marathon is always gonna want 4:59.. and so on.. the barefoot runner is gonna pass the super shoe runner, the runner carrying the boat is gonna be beat by the runner in daily trainers.. no single runner is more important than the other..

at your average marathon, there are over 20,000 runners.. the most recent London marathon had 56,640 finishers.. there are two categories of winners, a champ on the women’s side and one on the men’s side.. so.. technically you could say.. 56,638 people lost the marathon.. but of course you wouldn’t… because of course.. but you see my point right?….. right?

the truth is that day in Paris made me realized so much more about myself than a time I don’t even remember. I don’t even know where the medal is.. I didn’t even keep my bib.. don’t know where it is. but what I took from that day were things you could never put a price on. a hug from a friend at the very point I needed it.. a friend group that I felt more connected to than ever… and a text to a friend that I never imagined I would have gotten to send prior to the start line… and on top of that, I got to photograph my next race with a whole new perspective on what it means to document a race and the world of running and a new found realization of my responsibility to this sport.. and you think after all that I’m gonna give two fucks about a time on a clock?.. no way bud.

so idk… maybe in reality the marathon never left me.. rather maybe it was trying to show me it needed me in a different way… maybe the marathon was just leading me to a different race that day.. that of which is one that includes documenting everyone else’s… maybe that feeling of wanting to walk off the course in fact was something higher telling me that once i’m done.. go on and heads towards everyone else’s… idk.. but i’ll take it.. and run with it…

talk soon. x.

carl.