Running for Help

3 hours 32 minutes 15 seconds.

That’s the time I crossed the finish line at the California International Marathon (CIM) last Sunday. An 8:06 min/mile average pace. A 26-minute personal record improvement that shattered my 2022 time.

But the real story isn’t in the numbers.

This year broke me in ways I didn’t expect. I resigned from a career I’d invested so much into. I questioned decisions I’d made. I wondered if I was doing right by my family. The kind of year where you’re just trying to keep your head above water.

So I did what I often do when life gets heavy: I started running.

Finding My Rhythm Again

March marked the beginning of something I didn’t fully understand at the time. I wasn’t training for a PR. I was just… running. Consistently. Three, four, five times a week. The miles were slow and few at first since I haven’t run long distances consistently for a year. But over weeks, and then months, the mileage started adding up—55 in my peak week. Starting in October, I actually enjoyed 20-mile sessions.

Running became my processing time. Every stride helped me work through the sacrifice of leaving a career in law enforcement. Every early morning run cleared the fog of discouragement. That runner’s high everyone talks about? I chased it like medicine, and it worked.

By December, I’d crossed a threshold I never imagined: over 1,000 miles in a single year. Since I started running consistently in 2019, this was my first time hitting four digits. Each of those miles was a conversation with myself, a meditation, a small act of showing up when I needed it most.

The weird part? My body started changing in ways it never had before. I got faster. Stronger. That stubborn butt hurt injury I’d been carrying for years—finally released its grip. All that foam rolling never quite did it, but apparently 55-mile weeks could.

I’m in the best shape of my life at a time when a lot in my life felt uncertain. And somewhere along those thousand miles, I found something beyond fitness—I found happiness again. Real, grounded happiness. The kind that comes from having a clear sense of purpose and the discipline to pursue it one step at a time.

The People Who Run Beside You

Here’s one thing I loved most about this year: reuniting with a running community who are the most authentic people I’ve ever known.

They were there through my law enforcement journey. They stuck around after I left. On the days when I was so down on myself I couldn’t find words, they’d just run shoulder-to-shoulder with me. No questions. No judgment. Just presence. They knew I was hurting and they would often talk about their personal struggles: family dynamics, getting laid off, health issues, and loss of loved ones. We bonded and were there for each other.

And on that last Sunday? Many in our running club who weren’t racing in CIM drove all the way to Sacramento to watch us race.

I can still see their faces along the course—jumping, cheering, willing me to press on when my legs were screaming. The smiles. The pure joy. Knowing they made that drive just to be there for our little community of runners. It’s one of those moments that redefines what support actually looks like.

Running gave me more than fitness. It gave me people who show up.

Running On Solid Ground

There’s something clarifying about finding solid ground after a year of instability. My role at The Dorris-Eaton School isn’t just a job—it’s a place where I can actually be present. Where I’m not constantly wondering if I made the right call or sacrificing what matters most.

I got quality time back with my wife and kids. Real time, not just being in the same room while my mind churned through work stress. I socialized with friends again.

The flexibility of being a Communications and Debate Coach meant I could protect what mattered—those early morning miles that kept me sane.

And somewhere in all of that, racing 26.2 miles at an 8:06 min/mile pace stopped feeling impossible.

When Everything Clicks

Crossing the finish line, the pieces finally came together. Sometimes the hardest years teach you what you’re actually capable of—not just physically, but in every way that counts.

The running was the mirror. The early mornings, the long runs, the consistency even when I didn’t feel like it—they showed me I could rebuild. That I could make hard choices and come out stronger. That taking care of myself wasn’t selfish; it was necessary.

I don’t know what I expected when I signed up for CIM. Maybe just to finish without the wheels coming off. Instead, I found proof that even in the toughest years, growth is possible. That sometimes you have to lose your footing to find better ground. And that the right people will drive to Sacramento just to remind you you’re not running alone.

Maybe I’ll push for 2,000 miles next year. Not because I need to prove anything, but because I’ve learned what running really gives me: clarity, community, and a daily reminder that I’m capable of more than I think.

3 hours 32 minutes 15 seconds is more than a time. It’s evidence that I’m exactly where I need to be.