Yesterday, my oldest daughter Sarah and I finished a half-marathon – her first! – and my not-so first.
Regardless, it was her first, and a big accomplishment worth celebrating!
But that almost wasn’t the case, and was almost a massive mistake on my part.
Let’s rewind.
In what feels like a whole lifetime ago, I completed several half-marathons and five full marathons. And in training for the full marathons, I ran something like 10 half-marathons each time, just as ‘long Sunday runs.’ I’d estimate that I have probably run the 13.1 mile distance around 60 times. That’s not to take anything away from the accomplishment at all, but for a while there, I tended to get a bit ‘ho hum’ about the distance.
Regardless, for each of my actual races in my past, some finish times were better than others, some races felt more effortless than others, but all required a lot of work. I do not have a typical runner’s physique. I’m tall. I’m big. My legs are not svelte. It takes a lot of energy – both physical and mental – to get me into run-mode and propel me forward for any distance.
I did all of this running starting in my 30s and stopped somewhere around 40. Life got in the way, and all that running in a relatively short time frame kind of burnt me out.
So when Sarah first asked if I would run with her for a half-marathon, I was initially hesitant. But, with just a touch of pleading, I quickly saw this as a nice activity we could do together, and agreed. We signed up in January for the Detroit International Half Marathon October 19, 2025. However, as soon as we signed up, I knew I was looking forward to experiencing race day, but not the training. Could I still do it? Could my body handle it? Despite being ‘ho hum’ about half-marathons in my past, I was nowhere close to being in shape for one now.
I always found that running helped me with my weight, so I was definitely looking forward to parts of training – shedding pounds as I completed each run, and maybe not feeling as guilty downing a beer or helping myself to a doughnut or cookie. And sure enough, as I trained, this was mostly true. What I didn’t expect – or at least didn’t remember from running a decade or so ago – was the self doubt that kept creeping in. After many runs (starting back in March with attempting to just run 1k and being completely, totally winded), I had many, many thoughts of ‘how will I ever do this?’
Even though I have run 26.2 miles several times, my early runs left me feeling that there was no way I would ever be able to do 5 or 10k again, let alone the 13.1 miles for the race. However, like all previous races, slowly, bit by bit, I managed to build my distance up and steadily continued along a training plan that would ideally have me ready in time.
Notice how I keep saying ‘I’, ‘me’, etc.
Sarah – with 21 years of youthful exuberance behind her – was not as able to focus on a training plan as I was. School, multiple jobs, social and athletic obligations left little time for dedicated training. To be fair, she plays a lot of soccer and is in much better overall shape than I have ever been, but still, she was not doing the 3 weekly runs the plan called out for. Did I mention her 21 year old exuberance?
Sadly, I will fully admit that I got slightly annoyed during the summer as I was trying to eke out 10k in brutal humidity, only to find that she hadn’t run in a couple weeks, and ‘may try to do 5k next week’. As this went on, week after week, I continued to make progress and she, well, continued to not run. Sure, she had signed up for a couple 5k runs – some serious, some fun – and did well, and occasionally updated me with a 3k, 5k and even 15k run here and (mostly) there, I got to feeling a bit of ‘hey, I’m only doing this cause you made me’ and wondered why I was putting in this effort if she was not bothering.
Again, not entirely happy to admit this, but I reached a point late in the summer where I was pleased with my progress and indicated to my daughter that if she wasn’t going to train as much as I was, and felt like she wanted or needed to walk during the race, that I wasn’t sure I would stop and wait and/or might just “take off” on her.
As soon as I said that, and saw the look of disappointment on her face, I finally snapped myself into reality. This run is not about me. The time. The speed. The effort. None of it is about me. This is about her wanting to run this together and her goal of completing a half-marathon. And I almost blew that.
In an instant, my entire approach changed. As in other recent posts I’ve done, I reminded myself to be focused on the little things: how I felt, the changes I was noticing in my weight, feeling better, clothes fitting better, and, of course, the knowledge that we would run this together, no matter how the day went. Sarah would either need me for support, or want me there by her side to celebrate. Whatever it was, how could I even think about taking off and running my own race?
Anyway – fast forward to yesterday, and it started out looking like a disaster.
We had been having amazing summer/fall weather. Sunny skies, no rain, and amazing sunrises and sunsets. One of the best parts of the Detroit event is running across the Ambassador Bridge at sunrise. It’s magical. And I was excited to see it again, and have Sarah experience it for the first time.
But Mother Nature had other plans.
We started our morning around 5am to rain, and winds around 20 miles per hour. All up until the start of the race, it was miserable. We started the race in a moderate downpour, and cold, strong winds. Add on her nerves, and (relatively) little amount of training, and I thought we might be in for a doozy.
However, as we ran towards the bridge, the rain lightened up. We settled into a nice pace and I could almost feel the excitement radiating from my smiling running partner. Unfortunately we didn’t see sunrise over the bridge, but we weren’t blown off of it either, despite the continued wind blasts. Even though we were both listening to our own running music, we stayed in constant contact with each other about running pace, hydration, etc. Despite our work and life schedules not really letting us run together in training, we very quickly became a running team and were in sync throughout the whole run. When she wanted to slow down, I eased back. When she sped up and started to take off on me, I caught up to her. It was her race and I was just along for the ride.
We stayed together step-for-step the whole way, both finishing exactly in 2:43:23. Her goal was to finish in less than 3 hours, and her stretch goal was to beat 2:45. She did both, and only walked while getting water or Gatorade from the aid stations, knocking off another one of her goals.
As we crossed the finish line, I grabbed her hand and held it up above us in celebration of her accomplishment. She did it! And I was happy to be by her side! I didn’t regret or begrudge a single second of it.
If I am so inclined, there are other races or other days for me to make it about me. But there will never be another first half-marathon for her, and I’m glad she got to run it the way she wanted to. And I was thrilled to be a part of it.
After it was over and we had time to catch our breaths, she asked me what time I think I would have had, had I not run at her pace. I thought about it, and said that I might have shaved a few minutes off – maybe as much as 8 minutes to finish in about 2:35. But more importantly, I said I didn’t care. And I really didn’t. What is the difference between 2:35 and 2:43, when I was able to share in her accomplishment and enthusiasm at achieving her monumental goal. I would have been happy to finish in 4 hours if it meant she was happy.
After that, she then said something that made all the self doubt from earlier this year, the sore legs, the tired feet, the intense sweating at running in humidity, and starting the day in pouring rain worthwhile. She said ‘thanks for running with me. You kept me going when I thought I might want to stop.’
Even though she never indicated to me that she even thought about stopping even once, it makes me so happy and honoured to know that in some way, some how, my presence by her side kept her going. I wouldn’t trade that for any race result ever.
I am so glad I smartened up and didn’t make this race about me at all. Sometimes a bit of perspective is all that matters. I am glad I chose the right path, and I am thrilled at how she charted hers.