Beyond the Finish Line

The things we can't outrun.

When I crossed the finish line of the Miami Marathon back in January, I had no idea that one race would shape the next season of my life.

In many ways, the months that followed became an unexpected epilogue to that race. The marathon itself had gone well, but within hours of finishing, something wasn’t right. My left foot became swollen and noticeably discolored, and by that evening I could barely walk.

In hindsight, I suspect I strained a tendon at some point toward the end of the race. What initially seemed like something that would resolve in a few days gradually became a stubborn case of posterior tibial tendinitis that refused to go away. Speed workouts disappeared. Long runs became short walks. For weeks, running gave way almost entirely to physical therapy exercises, time on a stationary bike, and a growing appreciation for resistance bands, balance drills, and foot-strengthening exercises that, admittedly, are far less exciting than mountain trails.

Initially, I found the experience incredibly frustrating. Running has been a constant companion for most of my adult life. It has carried me through difficult seasons, introduced me to lifelong friends, taken me across deserts and mountains, and allowed me to experience some of God’s most beautiful creation. Having that rhythm interrupted left me wondering not simply when I would race again, but whether I would ever truly enjoy running the same way I once had.

As the weeks passed, I began to realize God was doing far more than healing a tendon. One rainy morning in March, while quietly pedaling on my bike before the rest of the house had awakened, I found myself reflecting on Jesus' words in Matthew 23:12 that I had heard in a recent sermon: "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Reading back through my journal, I realized the injury had exposed far more than physical weakness. Somewhere along the way I had begun measuring myself by things like career success, race times, and productivity rather than my identity in Christ.

Eventually I realized my frustration wasn't really about my foot at all. The injury had simply exposed deeper disappointments and unresolved grief that I had spent months trying to outrun.

During an honest conversation with my wife, Sarah, I apologized and asked for her forgiveness after allowing some of that frustration to spill over into our home. I believe that conversation marked an important turning point. God wasn't simply interested in healing my foot; He was inviting me to surrender the bitterness that had quietly taken root and replace it with deeper gratitude, healthier habits, and a renewed dependence on Him.

That conversation didn't magically fix everything, but it marked the beginning of a much brighter season. Instead of dwelling on disappointment, I began focusing on the next faithful step. I completed my physical therapy exercises, strengthened muscles I had neglected for years, and slowly learned to appreciate incremental progress instead of chasing immediate results. There were no finish lines, medals, or personal records: just the quiet discipline of showing up day after day, trusting that consistency both physically and spiritually would eventually bear fruit.

Then came the National Police Week 5K. Every May, it is one of the events my family and I most look forward to. Supporting the law enforcement community remains one of the most rewarding aspects of my career, and seeing thousands gather to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice never fails to leave an impression. One of the most memorable moments of the day occurred before the race even began, as I had a chance encounter in the parking area. While unloading equipment, managing my dog, Bud, and juggling more items than I had hands for, a young Army National Guard soldier named Alex immediately stepped in to help without hesitation. We struck up a conversation, and I learned he had personally known Specialist Sarah Beckstrom, who was tragically killed in last fall’s cowardly terrorist attack in Washington D.C. His willingness to help a complete stranger spoke volumes about his character and reminded me that servant leadership is often demonstrated through the smallest acts of kindness.

Before the race, I told my friend Tim that this was going to be a “family fun run.” Unfortunately, nobody informed Bud. The moment the starting horn sounded, my faithful four-legged training partner exploded off the starting line with all the enthusiasm of a sled dog beginning the Iditarod. At one point my watch briefly displayed a 5:45-per-mile pace, and for the next twenty-one minutes I simply tried to keep up. Bud, meanwhile, seemed absolutely convinced that we were qualifying for the Olympic Trials. We crossed the finish line in 21 minutes.

For a few moments afterwards I simply bent over with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath while Bud stood beside me looking immensely pleased with himself, tongue hanging out, as runners continued streaming across the finish line behind us. Several minutes later, Tim dropped down on the curb beside us with the unmistakable expression of someone who had just given absolutely everything he had. He leaned back, stared at the sky for a few seconds, then turned toward me and said: “Family fun run, huh?!" We spent the next several minutes laughing while we recovered, watching hundreds of runners continue pouring across the finish line. Looking back, it was probably my favorite memory of the day. The finish time itself wasn’t special. I’ve certainly run faster races over the years. But after months of physical therapy, modified training plans, and wondering whether I’d permanently lost a step, simply being able to run hard again, and discovering that my foot actually felt okay afterward, was an incredible gift. Bud, of course, remains convinced he won the race outright. The Police Week 5K proved something I desperately needed to know. I could still run fast. That realization changed the rest of my spring.

A couple of weeks later, I traveled to Denver for my employer's annual Customer Success Summit. While I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect going into the week, it ended up being one of the most enjoyable work trips I’ve experienced in years. Each morning before our meetings began, I laced up my shoes and headed out for an easy run beneath the Colorado sunrise. Snow still blanketed portions of the Rocky Mountains in the distance, providing a spectacular backdrop as the morning light slowly illuminated the peaks. My pace wasn’t all that impressive, but it no longer mattered. For the first time in months, I found myself smiling simply because I was running.

The summit itself exceeded expectations. I had a wonderful dinner conversation with Gabe, a fellow ultrarunner who is preparing for Canada’s legendary Fat Dog 120. As ultrarunners often do, we quickly abandoned normal dinner conversation in favor of discussing hundred-mile races, mountain trails, recovery strategies, and training philosophies that probably sounded completely ridiculous to everyone else at the table. Another unexpected encouragement came from my teammate Emily, who shared that she occasionally reads this very blog when she needs motivation before a marathon. That conversation genuinely humbled me. We rarely know how God might use something as simple as sharing our own journey to encourage someone else. Between the morning runs, the laughter at the Office Olympics, spectacular views of the Rockies, and meaningful conversations with teammates, I boarded my flight home realizing that the trip had renewed both my enthusiasm for work and my appreciation for the global running community.

The very next weekend, I found myself back in the mountains once again, this time during my church’s annual men’s retreat. On Friday evening we were asked a simple question: “What’s the one thing you hope to get out of this weekend?” My answer came immediately. “Wisdom.”

Looking back now, I believe God answered that prayer far more generously than I expected.

Several of my favorite moments of the retreat happened while running alone. Both Saturday and Sunday mornings began with sunrise runs through the mountains. Rabbits darted across the trail. Deer bounded effortlessly through nearby fields and forests. The cool mountain air reminded me why I have always preferred trails to treadmills. With nowhere to be beyond breakfast, I found myself simply thanking God for allowing me to run at all. Those runs weren’t particularly fast. They didn’t need to be. The greatest gift isn't always speed. Sometimes it’s simply the joy of moving through God’s creation while your heart catches up with your legs.

The retreat also included a beautiful group hike to a historic monument overlooking miles of rolling countryside. As with so many hikes, the conversations were every bit as rewarding as the scenery. We talked about faith, family, adoption, careers, evangelism, and God’s calling on our lives. By the time I drove home that Sunday afternoon, I felt refreshed physically, mentally, and spiritually.

A few weeks later, our family packed up for our annual trip to the mountains of western North Carolina. If Denver reminded me how beautiful mountains could be from a distance, western North Carolina reminded me how humbling they could be on foot. I couldn’t resist getting in a few runs during the week, and the elevation was no joke. The climbs were relentless, the descents punished muscles that hadn’t seen that kind of terrain in months, and my pace was far slower than it would have been back home. I loved every minute of it. There is something deeply satisfying about mountain running that road running can never quite replicate. The cool morning air, winding roads disappearing into the trees, the constant challenge of climbing, and the quiet beauty surrounding every turn made each run feel like an adventure rather than a workout.

Our family spent the rest of the week exploring those same mountains together on foot. We hiked one of our favorite mountains before an impromptu pull-up competition broke out in one of the pavilions, and on another day, an unexpected road closure sent us on an entirely different adventure than we had planned. Rather than becoming frustrated, we discovered another beautiful trail, enjoyed a picnic beside a mountain creek, and watched a deer quietly wander through the woods. Those hikes and mountain runs are already some of my highlights for the year.

God has a remarkable way of reminding us that the destination often matters less than the people we’re with along the journey. My own journey back has reflected that lesson. Recovery hasn’t been perfectly linear. Some runs still feel better than others. My easy pace remains slower than it was before Miami, and long runs still require patience, post-run rehab, and the humility to stop before my body tells me to. But the progress has been unmistakable. Just recently I completed my longest run since January, a fourteen-mile effort that left me tired but encouraged. It was only a few months ago that I was struggling to average twelve-minute miles while wondering whether another marathon was even realistic. Today, while I’m still working my way back, I am grateful to be running farther, faster, and with far more confidence than I was at the beginning of the spring.

Looking ahead, I’m excited about several new goals. I want to continue rebuilding the functional strength that served me so well during my Spartan Race days. Burpees, an exercise I genuinely enjoy despite many runners’ opinions to the contrary, will once again become a regular part of my routine, along with the strength work I should have prioritized all along. Becoming a Spartan SGX Coach taught me years ago that strong runners aren’t built by mileage alone, and this injury has been a timely reminder not to neglect those lessons. I also want to spend more time running mountains instead of roads, keep hiking as a regular part of my training, and continue approaching running as a gift rather than an expectation.

And yes…if recovery continues, I have my eye on something that sounds just challenging enough to be fun: completing back-to-back marathons in two New England states on consecutive days this October as I continue pursuing my long-term goal of running a marathon in all fifty states!

Back in January, I thought the Miami Marathon was the story. It turns out it was only the first chapter. God used the months that followed to teach me patience, humility, gratitude, and a healthier perspective on a sport that I have loved for many years. He reminded me that slowing down isn’t failure, that mountain hikes can be every bit as restorative as mountain runs, that strength isn’t built only by piling on miles, and that our identity should never rest in our accomplishments—even good ones.

This morning, I ran ten miles through Ocean City, including several miles along the iconic boardwalk beneath hundreds of American flags celebrating America's 250th birthday. The cool ocean air felt incredible. At a 9:51 pace, it was my fastest long run since Miami. But the pace wasn't what stayed with me. For the first time in months, I wasn't thinking about my watch, my foot, or the miles ahead. I spent nearly the entire run smiling.

Recovery isn't finished.

Neither is the lesson.

When I crossed the finish line in Miami, I thought the race was over.

It turns out God was just beginning one of the most important training seasons of my life.

That's what I found beyond the finish line: not another race, but a heart that's learning to live and run with gratitude.