2025 Greater St. Louis Marathon
“What’s your PR again?” Ryan asked me this as we approached mile 23 of this year’s Greater St. Louis Marathon. “Who cares?” I responded from somewhere deep inside the pain cave. Ryan laughed at me, and we kept running. “Well, you’re going to PR by a lot today, so let’s be smart and just finish.” My previous marathon attempts have been anything but smart, but by this point in the race I was too tired to be reckless.
The unrelenting hills and oppressive heat of Bowling Green, KY, the seven bridges of Chattanooga, 50,000 other runners amid the celebratory fervor of Chicago, overtrained, undertrained, confident, plagued by doubt—the settings and circumstances have never much mattered. I start out too fast, hit the wall somewhere between mile 18 and 20, and struggle for the duration, crossing the finish line at anywhere from 3:44 to 4:09.
I understand the concept of pacing, but I’ve never had the discipline to execute it properly. With Ryan’s help, however, I approached this marathon differently. It sounds cliché, but by focusing on the process more so than the final result, I actually improved my overall time significantly, finishing this year’s Greater St. Louis marathon in 3:34:50.
I’d be lying if I claimed to have fully trusted the process, though. At times, our pace for the first half felt a bit too leisurely to me. We stayed between 7:48 and 8:24 the whole time, stopping at most of the aid stations along the way. This is a drastic departure from my typical marathon experience. I’ve been known to go 13 miles without drinking anything, clicking off 7:15s and 7:30s in a desperate attempt to beat the clock ticking so loudly in my frantic, misguided brain. I never checked my watch during the race, and I never asked Ryan about our pace, but I remember thinking on multiple occasions that this feels too easy. Is this really going to get us to a 3:30?
I don’t mean to create the impression that everything was smooth and effortless. At one point, I think around mile 8, a guy just ahead of me slowed suddenly and we got tangled up. I was only on the ground for a second but long enough to leave some skin behind. Shortly thereafter, my right foot landed in one of the many potholes and random crevasses along the route, rolling my ankle in what was probably the most painful moment of my race. I didn’t react much to it, though, and the discomfort faded pretty quickly.
My stamina never faded, however, at least not completely. As it turns out, sensible pacing and hydration makes the latter stages of your marathon far more pleasant. Who knew? Another adjustment I made this time around was saving my music for the second half of the race. In the past, I’ve kept an ear bud in the entire time, allowing loud, angry rock songs to set me on an overly aggressive pace destined for ultimate bonkitude. By waiting to hit play, the music became an extra energy reserve I could tap into when I needed it the most.
As we warmed up and made our way toward the start area that morning, Ryan said it would be a day for learning—for learning how to run a marathon. Honestly, that isn’t what I wanted to hear, this being my seventh marathon and all. But it is what I needed to hear. It was a lesson I needed to learn. And I am grateful for every moment of it.