You may have heard about about a disappointing turn of events that happened to me a few weeks back during the Portland Marathon. I was quite surprised at the amount of media attention (Runners World, The Oregonian, NPR, KATU, KGW, KOIN) this received, and since almost all of it involved me talking about how frustrated I was, I wanted to take the time to shine some light on some of the events that happened since (and people) for which I have a huge amount of gratitude. Of course, it’s never quite that simple, so bare with me while I share some context.

The last time I wrote about running, in the fall of 2017, I chronicled the euphoric feeling of winning a marathon and becoming a father. It’s been an action packed few years since that race with fewer miles, and certainly less sleep. 2018 definitely took a toll on my running ability. I attempted to train for a winter marathon, but pulled the plug in the late fall after I began falling extremely short of workout goals. By spring 2019, though, I was beginning to feel fitness slowly return to my workouts. I set my sights on the Portland Marathon as it wouldn’t require travel, and given that the course wasn’t exactly fast, I wouldn’t be shooting for a PR. At least that’s what I thought…

By the time September rolled around, I’d managed to get into really good shape by my standards. I was hitting some long and difficult workouts with relative ease. Despite the difficult course, a PR seemed very much in reach. In the first 9 miles of the Portland Marathon, all was going to plan. I’d kept my effort in check on the hills, but I was still moving at a good pace. What happened next has already been written about in great detail so I’ll skip that. Would I have been able to run my goal of running 2:45 or lower? I’ll never know. Mile 9 is way too early to tell in a marathon. Here’s what I do know… This entire training build-up and the week after my original race date were an incredible experience and I’d like to share just how grateful I am.

— — — —

I couldn’t possibly say enough about all of the support and unselfishness Betsy has shown during our time together. Since the days after Clyde was born she has been making sacrifices so that I could spend a large chunk of time training. The morning of the Portland Marathon was no different. When I finally reached the spot from which she was cheering so that I could abandon the race she was waiting with Clyde. She gave me a hug, helped me get back to the car to warm up, and almost immediately asked without prompting: “Is there another race you can do soon?” This despite the fact that we’d built our calendar around her getting the chance to travel and have her own me-time in the weeks immediately following the Portland Marathon. When a solution arose, she didn’t question the ridiculously pricey travel costs, and additional time she’d be left home alone with Clyde.

Shortly after I‘d made it back to the car I began texting old friends and co-workers to see if anyone knew a way I could get into the Chicago Marathon which was to take place the following Sunday. I used to work for the Chicago Marathon, for Nike, and for another race production company in Chicago. I know what it’s like to be hit-up and asked for entries into races that sold out months in advance. I hated being that guy, but I couldn’t help it. I assumed it was probably too late, but I had to try. Within an hour, I had a bib. I won’t name names (to protect the innocent, haha) but I will say that it left me humbled and thankful that old friends and co-workers could be so kind. A few minutes later, one of my oldest and best friends had offered a free place to stay, and it was on… I was going to race the 2019 Chicago Marathon, the same course that had been my first marathon, thirteen years before in 2006.

— — — —

In the summer of 2008 I spent Saturday mornings helping to lead a new group called the CARA Road Scholars, a “youth running program designed to challenge students to experience the benefits of goal-setting and improved health by providing them the training to complete a half marathon.” I spent a majority of the miles with a freshman in high school named Anthony. He was a catcher on the baseball team, but had natural ability as a runner and I enjoyed hearing bits and pieces about his life. He was pretty quiet. I often wondered if he enjoyed running, or if he found these runs (and my company) to be a chore. After his race we saw each other a few times, but mostly lost touch.

— — — —

During a routine easy morning run in the middle of July I was practically sleepwalking when I crossed paths with my friend Susie and her friend Marianne. “We’re going to do a two-mile interval, want to join us?” We’ve never been super close, but we have a lot of mutual friends and connections from our work and running lives. I surprised myself and them by saying yes without hesitation. They told me they were in the midst of their first workout in preparation for the Chicago Marathon. I hung on for about 1.5 miles, said good luck, and then turned to finish my run. I wanted to save my energy for the workout I had planned the next day.

While I could hardly say this run had a huge impact on my training, it was symbolic of so many of the training runs I had this summer. Doing almost all of my midweek runs along the downtown waterfront allowed for frequent fly-by’s with new friends and old. Sometimes I ran with Rick, a man in his seventies who once ran times I can only dream of. Sometimes I ran with NAC teammates I’d bump into during lunch runs. I even bumped into old Chicago running teammates like Hoj who were in town on business.

— — — —

Probably my favorite part of training this summer was getting closer to my friend Lenski. I’ve run and hung out with him since 2013, so we’re hardly strangers, but there is no doubt that the frequency with which we worked out or ran long together this summer with a common goal of running a fast Portland Martathon (after a year or so far away from our peak fitness) has made us feel more connected. We met almost every week at Duniway Track on Tuesday or Wednesday. We took turns writing our workouts, and often we took turns at the front of each lap. There is no doubt that having a runner of a similar ability, training for the same event, on a similar schedule helps immensely. Having one as kind, funny, and intelligent as Lenski, helps even more. When I was out of town for work in Denver, or he in Massachusetts, we compared notes and still worked out “together”.

There was also an incredible cast of usuals at the track. Harmon joined us many times, sometimes putting his workout off 24 hours so he could join us, only to have us fall off of his pace after about 150 meters. His positive energy and ability to crack the perfect joke always made our workouts faster. There were many others we frequently saw, like Todd (usually finishing up as we started), Rose City Track Club members, Portland Roses, Jacuzzi Boys (arriving just as we finished up), just to name a few, and the synergy was great.

One morning, while completing a 3 x 5k workout on the track, a few much faster runners were near the beginning of their workout. With 300 meters to go in the last 5k I heard their footsteps as I was beginning to pick it up and kick it in. With 100 meters to go, one of them kindly asked, “You running 80’s, boss?”(80 seconds per lap, 5:20ish pace, for those of you less familiar with track speak) I think this was his kind way of saying, that he couldn’t help but notice that I had picked it up, and well, they would be needing to pass, and was I sure I should be trying to hold them off? I laughed and said I certainly hadn’t been running 80’s the whole workout but not to worry, I’d be peeling off before the next turn. I saw these two runners frequently at the track and around town and we always shared a nod and a few words.

— — — —

Just before I reached Betsy at the Portland Marathon I came upon my friend Tyler and his two daughters waiting for me around mile 17. They had made some incredible signs and were waiting to cheer for me. They were a bit befuddled to see me walking. Of course I was hurting on the inside, but there was no way I could show anything but appreciation to them for giving up their Sunday morning to support me. I explained to Tyler why I was walking and felt pangs of shame for not having continued running. His eldest daughter asked me, “What does ‘off-course’ mean?” This really helped me to realize just how silly and somewhat trivial the whole situation was. The girls gave me their signs and said goodbye.

It was just about then that I saw Lenski approaching mile 18 (I had cut across the course to where there is a large lollipop section, thus my ability to see the runners who were miles ahead of me). I ran the first 5.5 miles a few seconds behind him until I expectedly passed him on the Broadway Bridge. He was breathing hard, and seemingly having a tough day. I gave him some encouragement, but I was worried about him. Lenski has a PR nearly ten minutes faster than mine, and I knew he was in good shape, so it was clearly not his day. The “good” news about this for Lenski was that he was far enough back at the course snafu that he was able to get on the correct route (after being off course for a few tenths of a mile). I held up the “Go Dan” signs the girls had made for me and he gave me a smile while I clapped for him (Lenski is also a Dan).

— — — —

Late in the afternoon after the Portland Marathon debacle I got a call from Anu, a Chicago friend of mine, who’d caught wind of what happened. He told me with gusto that he had paid good money to have me lead off course. He then told me he’d be rolling with the previously mentioned Hoj and a few other old teammates of mine. The plan was to go out at 6:15 to 6:10 pace in the first half and then pick it up from there. I began to mention how sore and tired I felt despite dropping out, and he quickly told me that Chicago was a full week away and that I’d feel fine. It was exactly the phone call I needed. Full of humor, confidence, joy, and focus on excitement ahead.

— — — —

Around mile three of the Chicago Marathon, after weaving around slower runners for a few miles, Hoj, Anu, and the rest of the crew began to find a good rhythm. I was operating on very little sleep and still feeling a bit sore, but overall I was pleased with how much I’d recovered. A runner approached my side and smiled at me. Right away I knew it was Anthony from Road Scholars. It had been eleven years since we’d last run together and now somehow in a crowd of some 45,000 runners he was with me stride for stride. I could tell by the ease with which he moved and talked that he was taking it easy. We had a LOT to catch up on, but I was trying to save every ounce of energy I could. He told me about his training, his favorite type of nutrition, his plan for the race.He told me about runs he remembered us doing. I mostly just smiled. It turned out Anthony liked running. I introduced him to our crew of runners and like that he was one of us.

I could write a mile-by-mile recap of the race, but I don’t think that’s really what I’m trying to share here. I’ll just mention that along the way I saw, high fived, pointed at, yelled at, laughed with, so many old friends who were standing along the course and I found myslef opting to burn energy to make these connections as I felt like it also re-energized me and I wasn’t sure when I’d get to see them next. I caught glimpses of kids who weren’t born when I left the city six years ago. I spotted runners whose names I didn’t remember, but whose gaits hadn’t changed. It was a homecoming I didn’t know I needed.

I began to fall back a bit from the crew just after the halfway mark which I passed at 1:21:27, or 6:14 pace. They were still in sight, but I was fading slightly. It was okay, because I had expected that. They planned to pick it up where I was just hoping to hold on. It was at mile 18 that I first “did the math.” This is the time in a marathon when I know I’m ahead of goal pace, but I know my legs are fatiguing. I want to know what pace I can slow to and still PR. I calculated quickly that 6:30 pace would be enough. As the next miles passed I notched two 6:20’s in a row. This was a good sign.

Just as we turned east on 18th street I felt a sharp pain in my left leg. Nothing to fear, it was just just a slap on the rear from Susie. She was passing with aplomb. I’d seen her earlier in the race briefly when I’d passed by her, but now she was making her move. I’d expected to see her as I knew she was shooting for 2:45:00 while I was hoping for anything under 2:46, and I was going to be going out fast. I held on to her pace for a few blocks and ran past Benny’s Pizza, and Allport street where, just a block and a half from where Betsy and I got married and last lived before moving.

With three miles to go I’d lost sight of her as well as Anu and crew but I was still holding on. It was going to come down to the wire. When I got to mile 25, I glanced at my watch and realized that 6:40 pace for the last 1.2 miles would get the job done. I was stoked. It was going to happen. After so many close calls, I was finally going to break 2:46. I’d run 2:46:09 at CIM in 2016, the last time I was this fit. 6:40 pace isn’t easy for me at this point, but I know I’m usually able to pick it up in the last 800 meters.

Just after I passed the 1-mile-to-go sign I suddenly felt my heart rate shoot up. I tried to hold on, but there was nothing I could do. I felt like I was going to faint. I told myself to slow and relax in hopes that this wave would pass over me, and I’d be able to sprint in. I couldn’t believe the timing. I’m not sure what caused it, but it’s possible that when I started pushing just a bit harder due to the adrenaline of thinking I’d met my goal, I just over did it. By the time I’d gotten to 400 meters to go I was starting to feel better, but it was too late.

I crossed the line in 2:46:13 (6:20 pace). I was 13 seconds too slow. 4 seconds off of my PR. I was stunned. The last week had been an incredible roller coaster. It had been exhausting. I’d received an outpouring of support from sympathetic friends, and now here I was wondering how I’d let my goal slip away. I limped slowly forward when I saw Susie walking in the opposite direction.

I don’t remember her exact words, but she said something about needing to see someone she knew. Our hug and tears did most of the talking. She’d missed her goal by 37 seconds. I think we were in the same boat, reckoning with the fact that while we’d only been seconds away from what we were trying to accomplish, we were now facing months of hard work to train and build up once again. It was a somewhat chance encounter, just as our short run together at the very beginning in July had been, but it was a fitting testament to the connection that develops between runners.

Really, the entire weekend was a testament to that. I hugged so many old friends, competed with some old rivals, and had many amazing memories flood back, even while racing. As Sunday wore on, a few simple facts dawned on me. This was a personal course record for me. This was my second fastest marathon ever. It was my fastest as a father. More than anything, I realized just how fun it was to get to be in the race for so long. Falling apart in the last meters may seem like a gut punch, but it sure beats the alternative. Ask anyone else who has run 30+ marathons like myself, there are some that are over by mile 20, and the last 6.2 can take an eternity.

— — — —

Oh, and the future is bright. Lenski went on to finish 3rd at the Portland Marathon, proving that it can pay off to gut through your off days. Anthony ran a 2:42 with incredible consistency and will no doubt get faster and faster. By the time I made it to O’hare to fly home late Sunday night I was already plotting the next attempt at 2:45. Stay tuned.

I’d imagined what it would be like to win a marathon for more than a decade, but I never dreamed that it would happen like this.

The idea entered my mind sometime shortly after I finished my first marathon, the Chicago Marathon in 2006 with a time of 3:18. I was twenty-four years old at the time, having spent my undergrad years competing as a cyclist. I’d competed in cross country for a few years in middle school and running was a nearly a daily routine for my father, but I hadn’t truly found the sport until I’d finished college. Running became a large chunk of my life. I spent my days working for a running related non-profit, Chicago Area Runners Association, and my mornings and evenings training along the lakefront path.

I trained outside through the Chicago winters when the normally humongous flock of runners migrated inside. I bonded with other die-hard and similarly minded Fleet Feet Chicago teammates. Most of these teammates had run competitively for a number of years. My ability to keep up (or come close) with them after such a short amount of time focusing on the sport made me wonder just how much I could improve. At one point, I even charted out the yearly progress I’d need to achieve to compete in the Olympic Trials. This was a goal that seems laughable now, but one I share to make the point that winning a marathon (maybe even a big one) was a dream I allowed myself to indulge in.

More than a decade later, in late 2016, I’d run twenty-five marathons with a personal best of 2:46:09, a time I was proud of, but also flummoxed by. I’d run 2:46 on four occasions, and the rapid improvement I’d once seen had slowed. Now, I was grinding out 3,000–4,000 miles, usually with 10–12 weeks over 100 miles a year. Doing all of this to take a mere 12 seconds off of my personal best made me question my sanity. I’d been driven by simply getting faster, but now that was starting to seem out of reach. I resolved to change up my strategy in 2017 to see if I could make bigger gains.

I decided to take a short break from the marathon and enjoy some of the amazing trails in Oregon, focusing on building strength on the hills, something I’d avoided while training for flat courses like Eugene and Sacramento. My plan was to run a few trail ultras with one of my Nike co-workers in the spring and early summer and then return to the roads in time to do a 12–16 week cycle preparing for the Chicago Marathon in October for my 26th, and hopefully fastest, marathon.

As with many resolutions, this one didn’t even make it through January. One Saturday morning I was preparing for a long run in Forest Park with some friends when my wife Betsy told me the news: We were expecting! Soon we learned we were having a son, due October 4th, four days before the Chicago Marathon.

Only an idiot would run a marathon four days after becoming a father.

I went forward with my spring and summer races but scrapped plans for a fall marathon. Once August had arrived, fatherhood was fast approaching. I told myself repeatedly that I’d run just when I wanted to and not to stress about any formal training. I knew I was lying.

The thing is, marathoning for me is an addiction. Just when I think I’ve kicked it, it comes back. By early September I’d talked myself into doing one more marathon before the baby arrived. I hated to go a calendar year without a marathon(somehow two 50k races didn’t seem to count in my book even though the logic doesn’t really add up), and I also thought it might be wise to get a few more long runs in while I had the time.

I registered for the Boring Marathon for three reasons. First, it was nearby (the course comes within about seven miles of our house) which was crucial since I knew I’d want to be close to Betsy at this late stage in the pregnancy. Second, it was three weeks before the due date meaning I’d be done and recovered enough to feel fresh for parenting the best that I could. Third, I thought I’d have a chance to win given that the previous winning times were significantly slower than my best.

While I typically find the most joy out of running a fast time at a major race, I’ve also really enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond now and then. I’ve won about a dozen small 5K’s and 10K’s over the years, and these experiences have helped to build my confidence which can easily get deflated when I’m constantly comparing myself to my incredibly talented co-workers and friends.

The Boring Marathon was only two-and-a-half weeks away. I decided it might be fun to hire my friend Dan Kittaka as a coach. I chose him because he’s great at framing things with a positive attitude, knew my running abilities/habits well and I knew he wouldn’t laugh at me when I asked,

“Given that I haven’t done any training, what do you think I could do with these remaining eighteen days before the race to get my best possible result?”

He laughed at me.

Never-the-less, he formed a plan and I followed it with precision. There wouldn’t be a traditional marathon taper since there wasn’t significant mileage to taper from. We squeezed in three semi-long runs and two tempo workouts along with a few bits of recovery and short speed. While I was far from personal best fitness, I began to feel much fitter than I had over the previous few months. The plan was working.

My wife has adapted well to my needs to meticulously follow a plan for nearly everything. She’s been a wonderful supporter and sacrifices so much in order for me to get my running fix. This pregnancy was a chance for me to return the favor. I’d studied and prepared for how the labor would unfold. Her water would break. She’d rest while I loaded the car with our bags. We’d time her contractions and wait until they were five minutes apart, then we’d make the short drive quickly, but safely to the hospital.

Our son was not on board with the plan.

Thursday evening, three nights before the race we found ourselves racing rush hour traffic while Betsy withered in pain. Betsy had called me on my way home from work to let me know her water had broken and that it was time to go to the hospital immediately. Once home I ran inside to get our bags while she urged me to hurry up. By the time we’d been able to time contractions they were already less than three minutes apart. I was a mess. I fumbled with my phone to let the hospital know to expect us. I felt helpless to ease Betsy’s pain. I looked over her shoulder in amazement as strangers in traffic next to us, completely unaware of the drama unfolding in our front seat when she said it:

“In my mind, I still see you running this marathon on Sunday.”

In a moment of calm between contractions, unprompted, she’d said this to me. How was she possibly thinking of my race in the midst of this? I was stunned. I wasn’t sure what to say and I was way too chicken to admit that I’d packed my racing kit in the car at the last second just in case this was a false alarm.

I don’t think I could possibly brag enough about how incredible Betsy was throughout labor. She’d vowed to avoid an epidural and I’d promised I’d do my best to hold her to that. She suffered through contraction after contraction, never even tempted to change her mind. In less than six hours, he was with us. At one point she threw the mask she was using to take Nitrous (her one and only pain aid) to the ground with a look in her eye that said our son would be out with the next push. Clyde Coltrane McDowell, 6lbs 13oz 19",was born at 10:11pm on September 14th, 2017. He was healthy. He was beautiful. He was early.

After a few sleepless nights in the hospital where I slept on a window sill pad designed perfectly for someone who is 5'10" (I’m 6'00") we received the green light to go home around 3:30pm on Saturday afternoon. We’d talked about this experience with numerous friends and they all agreed how scary the drive home could be. Every single turn seemed more treacherous with the most precious of packages in the backseat. Yet, here we were, driving in the opposite direction of home to packet pickup before it closed. Betsy had continued to suggest I do so if I had any desire and I wanted to keep my options open. We made it home with Clyde in one piece, and my race bib in hand. We were totally in charge now, no one else was calling the shots but us.

As 5:00am rolled around Sunday morning, Betsy and I had managed to keep Clyde fed and happy (as far as we could tell). We even managed to squeeze a few minutes of sleeping in now and then. My alarm rang and I knew I needed to get moving if I was going to race. I asked if she was still comfortable with the idea and she didn’t hesitate. We told each other that we loved each other more than ever and we both knew we meant it. I kissed Clyde on the forehead and I changed into my singlet and shorts.

It was still dark as I toed the line of the 2017 Boring Marathon. Nothing about the moment felt real. Normally in these last few moments before a race I’m full of fear and anxiety because I know how difficult and painful the experience will be if I execute my plan, and I know it’s even harder if I don’t. It sure didn’t feel like I was about to run twenty-six miles.

I’ll say it again. Only an idiot would run a marathon (less than) four days after becoming a father.

After the first 200 meters of the race I found that there was no one in front of or around me. The out-and-back course profile is almost all downhill in the first half, which of course meant the later half all went up. Coach had told me not to run any faster than 6:35 pace in the first 16 miles or else I might pay a heavy price. I reminded myself of this and slowed almost to a complete stop until another runner caught and passed me. We went through the first mile and I looked down to my watch to check the pace.

6:35. I’d stayed within the plan. This was a good omen.

By the 5K mark I assessed that the runner I’d waited on would be my only competition. I looked him up and down trying to gauge how he was feeling. He matched every slowdown or acceleration I made and I got the impression he wanted to stay in the lead. I knew there was no way to tell for sure, but it seemed he was working harder than me. I was content to run in the 6:35 to 7 minute range that we fluctuated between. With no specific time goal, I just wanted to win.

By 10K we’d become friends. He’d broken the ice with a quick introduction and then we didn’t stop talking. His name was Osmin and this was his first marathon. “I’ve only been doing this for a year. I’m very green,” he told me. He asked if I’d ever run one before and I sheepishly answered with a simple yes. His lack of experience made him a wildcard, but I noticed that he wasn’t taking any fluids whatsoever despite my suggestion that he have take advantage of the aid stations. That made me confident I’d pull away when it mattered most.

He began to ask me about training techniques and mentioned that he had difficulty finding the proper time to run with a young daughter at home. I was elated to have an excuse to talk about Clyde and I changed the subject to our families. For the next several miles we bounced questions back and forth to one another about life as a parent, and how to train for a marathon. Once we hit the turnaround at mile thirteen and saw third place wasn’t far behind I was reminded that there was still a race to be had.

Around the sixteen mile mark, Osmin had fallen back, but I was running scared with visions of the rapidly closing third-place runner closing the gap. By mile 20 my form began to decay and pace began to slow gently. I was grateful I hadn’t gone out any faster. I tried to keep my eyes pointed straight ahead but I did everything I could to be aware of a runner approaching quickly from behind.

With one mile to go and no one in sight it began to feel real. I was going to win a marathon. As the finish line tape approached I wrestled with what to do. Raising my arms victoriously over my head felt funny given that my 3 hour time was so much slower than my capabilities. But, the last seventy-two hours had taught me how amazing it is to simply be alive. I wanted to celebrate. I thought of the many soccer players I’d seen celebrate scoring a goal by tucking the ball under their shirt and sucking their thumb. Even though I’d always thought they looked silly, I couldn’t help myself. I pushed one fist into the inside of my singlet to simulate a belly and popped my other thumb in my mouth as I crossed the line forever changed.

I was a marathon winner. I was a Father. This wasn’t my imagination. This was real.