One of my friends texted me asking if I wanted to run the SF 10k. Which reminded me that the marathon was coming up.

I was terrified of doing the full thing. The last time was the most painful experience of my life, and I was now in considerably worse shape——I'd spent the last two months holed up in the office doing absolutely zero cardio.

But when I'm terrified of something, I can't stop thinking about it until I do it. So three days before the race, I resolved to send it.

I asked Claude if running this marathon would be possible, and it said: "Attempting 26.2 miles without proper conditioning puts you at serious risk for injury, including stress fractures, severe muscle damage, joint problems, and potentially dangerous dehydration or heat-related issues. Here are your realistic options: Best choice: Switch to a shorter distance."

Gulp.

Against Claude's advice, I went on two training runs. The first was six miles with some nasty elevation gain:

The second was a flat four miles:

I was worryingly sore the day after the runs (which was the day before the marathon).

Gulp again.

On the morning of, I took a short nap, woke up at 4:30 AM, biked four miles to the starting line, found a starting group, and waited for the gun.

I had that same feeling from my first century. The fear of the pain to come, the anxiety of the unknown, the thrill of the challenge. (I suspect this feeling is heightened in the dark).

And then we were off!

There's something magical about running a marathon (I mean an organized one——doing it alone was definitely not magical). Hundreds of people running in absolute silence, single-mindedly focused on the same goal. It's an individual battle yet a collective experience. There's a certain camaraderie from knowing everyone around you will undergo the same trials and pains.

The first few miles breezed by as expected. At mile six, we hit the first hill:

I tried to stay with the big shirtless guy there for a while since he already had a few marathons under his belt but maintained a similar pace to me. I ended up passing him though.

Then came the Golden Gate Bridge:

Followed by Marin:

And back across to Golden Gate Park:

At Golden Gate Park it starts to hurt. The cramps creep in, the aching sets in. (I also really needed to use the bathroom, which didn't help).

In contrast to my first marathon, when running with others I could get humbled. Bad.

I got passed by more grannies than I'd care to admit.

Then there are the ultramarathoners who are doing 52.4 miles——that means that they finished an entire marathon before I even crossed the starting line. Again, there's always levels to it.

Anyway, I continued through the streets:

And by mile 20, every mile felt like an eternity. I'd run for what felt like 10 minutes, check my phone, and see that I'd done less than half a mile.

But with every step, you get a little farther from where you started and a little closer to where you're going.

And eventually you reach the finish line: