I’ve been chasing this one for over twenty years. Somewhere along the way, I stopped running because life, work, injuries, and excuses all piled up. The usual stuff. Then, about three years ago, I started again. Slowly at first, mostly to manage grief and clear my head. Somehow, it stuck. Running became more than exercise; it became a way back to myself.

This weekend, I finally lined up for the Marine Corps Marathon, a race that’s been on my list for decades. It was only my second full marathon, and I went in hoping to be about thirty minutes faster than last time. That didn’t happen… but I still hit every gauntlet, ran strong, and crossed the line 13 minutes and 57 seconds faster than I did last year in New York. Not the perfect race, but absolutely a win in my book. Running has this way of humbling you and lifting you up at the same time. You don’t always get the race you wanted, but you get the one you earned.

And then came the post-race plot twist.

After finishing the marathon, I had to walk a mile to the Metro station because apparently, 26.2 miles wasn’t quite enough exercise. Three stops to go until my car. Easy, right?

At the first stop, I thought, “Hmm… feeling a little lightheaded.”

By the second: “Okay, I’ll sit down and eat something when I get off.”

Next thing I know, I wake up from what was honestly the best nap I’ve had in months on the floor of the Metro train.

Hovering over me were a paramedic and an ER nurse, both of whom had also run the marathon. (Because of course my guardian angels would be equally exhausted.) They handed me some applesauce, made sure I was okay, and confirmed that yes, I had indeed passed out mid-commute. When we arrived at my stop, they helped me off and sent me on my way, just as a kind stranger was calling 911. I had to awkwardly wave her off like, “No, no, it’s cool, just a casual faint.”

A few minutes later, I got a text from Peggy asking if I was okay. Someone on the train had used my Road ID to call her. She, in turn, called my buddy Grant, who was already driving around D.C. on a rescue mission.

So to recap:

  1. Finished a marathon
  2. Took a bonus nap on public transportation
  3. Got fed applesauce by strangers
  4. Accidentally launched a mini search-and-rescue

The moral of the story? Always wear your Road ID. And maybe just maybe eat that post-race snack next time.

It wasn’t the race I imagined, but it was the one I earned a messy, humbling, funny reminder of how far I’ve come and how unpredictable these journeys can be. Here’s to long chases, second chances, and the miles (and Metro rides) that remind us who we are.