Running Through Pain: For Him, For Me

I’d had a high school friend pass away. He was a gifted runner.

In his memory, I decided to push my limits and run a half marathon.

I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but I wanted to find out physically and mentally.

To see what I was made of.

I started with small runs: 3k, 5k, 10k. I handled the distances okay.

One day, I did a 10k along Beach Road in Melbourne with a mate. As we said goodbye, something kicked in.

A sudden inner burst. What if I just kept going?

So I did.

I pushed out another 5k and finished the day with 15k under my belt. That moment gave me confidence.

If I could do 15, I could do 22.

Race day came. The only thing I wanted to do was finish. I didn’t care about my time.

The gun went off.

I ran.

The first 10km I smashed in 42 minutes. I felt strong.

But then disaster struck.

Somewhere after 10k, I went slightly off balance. A sudden jolt of pain shot through my leg. My knee.

It was bad. Ten out of ten pain. Agony.

I knew right then that if I stopped, it was over. There would be no finishing.

So I made a decision. I would keep going, even if it meant surgery. Whatever the cost, I had to finish.

The next stretch was hell. I was running in constant pain but I refused to quit.

Because I knew that if I gave up now, I would give up again later in life, in other things. I had done it before.

But not this time.

My split times dropped fast. To give you a sense, my last 3km took 18 minutes.

I had to stop multiple times in the final kilometre. My body just wouldn’t move.

The race ended on the MCG. It should have been euphoric but I could barely stand.

My whole system was flooded with pain, adrenaline and confusion.

Still, something had shifted.

I knew I had crossed a barrier.

Not in my legs but in my mind.