Let go

I didn’t enjoy that run.
Awkward. Heavy. Slow.

Six miles down, eleven to go.
I stop. I walk. I breathe.

Why am I doing this?

Achilles tight. Knee unstable. Hip gnawing.
But I push forward anyway — discipline, grit, the grind.

Voices play on repeat:
David Goggins. Jocko Willink. My parents.

A sub-3 hour marathon. That makes sense.
I ran 3:09 last year. The next logical step is sub-3.
That’s when people take you seriously as a runner.

Then maybe a triathlon. Ironman one day.
Throw in a Hyrox or two.
An 18-minute 5k. A sub-40 10k.

The house is nearly renovated — then what?
More holidays? Marriage? Children?

This is all the what.
There’s nothing wrong with the what.
Goals give direction. They’re the compass.

But if the compass is faulty, you won’t end up where you truly want to be.

So — why a sub-3 marathon?

Because people like it when I achieve something.
My parents are proud. My teachers were proud.
Friends notice.
It must be because of what I can do.
Look at me.

My self-worth shaped by how others see me.

But it should be shaped by love for myself.

Other people’s opinions matter — they can reveal blind spots.
But they should never outweigh my own inner voice.

So… what do I actually want?

I want a body that feels good. Supple. Functional. Strong.
I want to move because I love the feeling of movement.

I want to run the Chicago Marathon without suffering — to savour every minute.
To share 26 miles with thousands of others, cheered on in a city thousands of miles from home.
What a gift.

I’ll finish when I finish. Whatever the time.

I can run sub-3.
But I don’t want to.
Not for the wrong reasons.

I’ll just run.
Because it feels good.
Because I want to.

Love,
Luke.