CHAPTER 11

Half the Glory

After a few months of sweating it out with his running tribe, Cliff found himself deep in conversation about the various races he had tackled so far. The group was gathered after a particularly grueling run, each member nursing their sore muscles and recounting past glories. Suddenly, one of the tribe members, with a mischievous glint in their eye, casually suggested, “So, Cliff, when are you going to try a half marathon?”

Cliff almost choked on his post-run snack. “A half marathon? No thanks! I’m not running that insanely long distance,” he said, waving off the idea like it was a persistent fly. The tribe chuckled, but there was something about the way they looked at him—like they were silently placing bets on when he’d crack.

None of them had run a half marathon before, but there was an unspoken rule in their group: once you’ve conquered a 10K, the next logical step is a half marathon. It was like some twisted rite of passage. Cliff couldn’t help but remember how his 10K journey began—by accidentally signing up for the race, then stubbornly deciding he wasn’t going to look like a wimp, and finally, somehow, crossing the finish line in one piece. It was a bizarre mix of blind luck and sheer willpower.

So, naturally, Cliff decided to apply his tried-and-true three-step plan to this new challenge: Step 1—Sign up without overthinking it. Step 2—Train like you’ve got something to prove. Step 3—Show up and pray you don’t pass out halfway through.

He found a half marathon in a place called Gardenland, which sounded like something out of a fairy tale. The weather was rumored to be perfect year-round, and the racecourse wound through scenic mountains and lush greenery. “If I’m going to suffer,” Cliff thought, “at least I’ll do it somewhere pretty.” And with that, he booked the race and convinced Venus and the girls that this would make for the perfect family vacation. “Think of it as sightseeing with a side of running,” he joked, though he was more than half-serious.

The training program was intense—longer and tougher than anything Cliff had tackled before. Every morning, he dragged himself out of bed, reminding himself that he’d signed up for this madness. On some days, he felt like his legs had turned to lead, but he pushed through, driven by the memory of his tribe’s teasing smirks.

Finally, race day arrived. Gardenland was as picturesque as advertised, and Cliff was determined to enjoy at least some of it before the pain set in. As he stood at the starting line, surrounded by runners who seemed entirely too eager for what lay ahead, Cliff took a deep breath. “One foot in front of the other,” he muttered to himself, repeating the mantra that had seen him through before.

To his surprise, the race went better than he expected. He didn’t just survive it—he thrived. Cliff found himself hitting a rhythm, his feet pounding the pavement in time with his heartbeat. By the time he crossed the finish line, he was in the middle of the pack, which, to him, felt like winning gold. He wasn’t last, and that was more than enough. As he caught his breath and soaked in the achievement, Cliff couldn’t help but grin. He wasn’t a wimp, not by a long shot. In fact, he was faster and stronger than he’d ever imagined.

The rest of the vacation was a blur of relaxation and pride. Cliff soaked in the sights of Gardenland with his family, relishing the fact that he had completed his first half marathon without the need for medical assistance.

But as they flew back home, the high of victory started to wane, replaced by a creeping thought. “Maybe I should scale down,” Cliff mused, staring out the plane window. “I’m getting older, I’m already 40, and these distances… they’re not exactly getting shorter.” He started convincing himself that this was the smart move, the responsible choice given his age. He’d proven his point, after all. Why push it?

But just as he settled into this comfortable narrative, something happened that made him realize he might not be old enough to hang up his running shoes just yet…