🏁 Mile 23 Broke Me: How My First Marathon Took Me Apart and Put Me Back Together

By Marie from Tips with Marie

Let me be clear…

I did not overthink this. I signed up for a full marathon kind of the way you sign up for a free trial… casually and with zero clue of what’s coming next.

I didn’t even really look at the course until the week of. That should tell you everything.

🏃‍♀️ Training? Let’s call it… vibes.

I joined a local run club and followed whatever schedule they had going on.

Mondays: 4 miles Tuesdays: Track (when I could keep up) Wednesdays & Fridays: 4 to 6 miles Thursdays: Glorious rest Weekends: Long runs that increased by a mile each week

I got up to 15 miles, hit a wall, cried a little, backed off, and built back up to 20. Was I ready? Meh. But I knew I was finishing.

My only real goal: don’t die and maybe sneak in under 5 hours.

☀️ Race Day: Energy? Immaculate.

I woke up on race day like a golden retriever on espresso.

Happy. Energized. Borderline delusional.

The first 10 miles? An actual blast.

I was smiling like I was in a Nike commercial.

Runner’s high? Baby, I was flying.

Mile 15–20? Still good. Suspiciously good. Something felt off, but I ignored it because ✨ vibes ✨.

💥 Mile 23: When Everything Fell Apart

Mile 20 is where the cracks started. I called my kids. Then my friends. Then my parents. I needed voices that knew my heart.

At mile 23? Everything hurt. Walking hurt. Running hurt. Stopping hurt.

And then, the worst pain: my own mind turned against me.

The self-doubt was so loud. I was mean to myself. Ugly. Cruel.  

That’s when it hit me:  

How we talk to ourselves matters. Especially when no one’s watching and everything is on fire

It felt like a movie.

I flashed back to the little me. I saw things I had blocked out for years. While still moving forward. My body was done, but something deeper pushed me.

🏅 The Only Thing That Kept Me Going

My kids.

I told them I’d come back with a medal. There was no turning back.

Every step hurt, but my mantra played on repeat:

Put in the work. Rest at the end.

It’s what I tell them before their soccer games. That day, I needed to hear it from them. So I called them again.

🏁 The Finish Line Felt… Complicated

I crossed it.

But I didn’t take pics. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile.

I felt numb.

Instead of joy, I felt like a failure. I thought, “Who do I think I am?”

And just like that, I stole the moment from myself.

💤 Aftermath: Grandma Limping + Electrolyte Love

It took a full week to function again.

I swore I’d never run another marathon.

Spoiler alert: I’m already looking for the next race.

🧠 What the Marathon Gave Me

It gave me… me. A new me.

One who understands that the voice in your head can either drown you or carry you.

One who still has self-doubt, but also a new rule:

“We don’t stop just because it gets hard.”

I still sometimes catch myself feeling like I’m failing at life but I’m learning that failure doesn’t define who you are.

You can always rewrite your story.

Running stripped me down. And in that rawness, I saw how much I’d been blocking the very things I once prayed for.

Love. Joy. Peace.

The marathon didn’t just give me a medal.

It gave me my power back.

✨ Final Thoughts:

Thinking of running a marathon? Do it.

Not for the pace. Not for the medal.

Do it to meet the version of yourself who’s waiting on the other side of pain.

She’s strong. She’s soft. She puts in the work.