CHAPTER 12
Mastering the Marathon
Cliff had started noticing something remarkable within his running tribe. There were members well into their 50s, yet they still seemed to glide effortlessly across the pavement, leaving younger runners like him in their wake. It was both inspiring and, if he was honest, a little frustrating. But the real eye-opener came one sunny morning on the seaside path. As Cliff was pounding away at his usual pace, a figure breezed past him—fast, light, almost like he was running on air. Cliff, breathing heavily, could hardly keep up. This guy was slick, agile, and moving with the kind of grace Cliff usually associated with gazelles.
After watching this mystery runner disappear into the distance on multiple occasions, Cliff finally mustered the courage to approach him one day at the end of a run. “Hey, you’re really fast!” Cliff panted, trying to sound casual while his heart was still trying to leap out of his chest. The man turned to him, a twinkle in his eye, and said with a grin, “Do you know how old I am? I’m 60.”
Cliff blinked, processing the information as if the man had just told him he could fly. Sixty?! Suddenly, the math started adding up in Cliff’s head. If these seasoned athletes could still run circles around him, maybe there was hope for him too. But then reality smacked him right back: Sure, I can keep running, but 42 kilometers? That’s not just a run, that’s a mission to the moon, and back!
He quickly brushed the thought aside. “Leave that to the pros,” he muttered to himself. He was a doctor, not a marathoner. The idea of running a full marathon seemed more like a form of self-torture than a bucket-list item. He let the idea drift away—until it came crashing back in the form of his friend Miles.
Miles was a colleague of Cliff’s, younger and full of surprises. Cliff had known Miles for years but never knew him as a runner—let alone a marathoner. So when Miles casually mentioned that he’d completed not one, but ten marathons, Cliff’s jaw practically hit the floor. “You’ve done how many?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.
“Ten,” Miles repeated, clearly amused by Cliff’s reaction. “And I’m not a professional runner, you know that. I’m just a doctor, like you, with a family and a crazy schedule. If I can do it, why not you?”
The words hit Cliff like a ton of bricks. Older runners were doing it. Busy people were doing it. So why not him? The thought wormed its way into his brain, growing louder and more persistent until it became impossible to ignore. He even joked with Miles about naming his newfound fear “marathonophobia.” But Miles was having none of it. “You’ve done a half marathon without breaking a sweat, and you’re scared of a full marathon? You must be kidding me!” Miles had said, laughing as he sent Cliff a quote that read, “Ordinary people know their limits. Marathoners know how to push them.”
Miles didn’t stop there. He told Cliff about an upcoming marathon in Lavishland, a place Cliff had always wanted to visit. “Come on, man, I’ll go with you. You’ve got this.” And just like that, Cliff’s fate was sealed. In a moment of impulsive excitement, he registered for the marathon before his brain could protest. But a week later, the panic set in. “What have I done?” he thought, staring at the registration confirmation like it was a death sentence.
To keep himself from backing out, Cliff did what any sane person would do—he told everyone. Friends, family, his running tribe—if he was going down, at least he’d have an audience. Sunny, one of his closest friends, was different from the rest. She had an instinct for always saying the right thing at the right time. Her constant support was like a steady hand on his shoulder, keeping him grounded as the reality of the challenge loomed larger. “You’ve got this, Cliff,” she’d say, her voice full of belief that Cliff sometimes wished he had himself.
With Sunny cheering him on and Miles pushing him forward, Cliff embarked on a rigorous 4-month training plan. It wasn’t easy, but the gradual build-up from 10K to 35K was manageable. The real challenge was finding time for those long runs, which sometimes felt like trying to squeeze a marathon into a lunch break. Cliff devised a strategy—run in one direction, and don’t turn back until you’ve hit the halfway mark. No giving his brain a chance to start crafting any clever excuses to quit early. It was a stubborn approach, but it worked.
The day of the marathon in Lavishland finally arrived, and Cliff was greeted by the vibrant atmosphere of the race village—colorful flags, lively music, and an air of excitement that was contagious. The first 21K flew by, lifted by the adrenaline and the cheers from the crowd. But as Cliff approached the 32K mark, he remembered Miles’s words: “Half the marathon isn’t 21K, it’s 32K.” And that’s when things got tough.
The last 10K was nothing short of brutal. Cliff’s knees and ankles screamed in protest, and his mind wasn’t far behind. “Why on earth did we sign up for this again?” his brain whined. Just when he thought he couldn’t go any further, he spotted a woman on the sidelines holding a sign that read, “Smile, you paid to do this.” Despite the pain, Cliff couldn’t help but chuckle. He gritted his teeth, forced a smile, and pushed on.
The final 1K was a battle between his body and his mind, but with the finish line in sight, Cliff found a last burst of energy. He crossed the finish line limping, but victorious. The pain vanished almost instantly, replaced by a sense of glory that was impossible to describe.
As he stood there, medal around his neck, the first person to greet him was Miles. They celebrated like they’d just conquered Everest, snapping photos and sharing in the triumph. When Cliff returned to work, his team surprised him with a party and a peanut butter and chocolate cake—his favorite. The numbers “42” were proudly displayed on top, courtesy of Sunny. It was the perfect end to an unforgettable experience.
Cliff was on cloud nine, basking in the afterglow of his achievement. But just as he was getting comfortable, life threw him another curveball—COVID happened…
