The shoes I chose for my marathon weren’t new. They weren’t sleek, carbon-plated, or “optimized for performance.”
They were my old Adidas Ultraboosts—shoes I’ve had for years. The same shoes I started running in. The same shoes that carried me through countless 5Ks and 10Ks. The same shoes that saw every win, every setback, every excuse, every comeback.

By the time marathon day came, I had already replaced them. The soles were thinning, the rubber was peeling, and honestly… they were hanging on with the same delusional optimism I was. But I wanted to take them out for one last run.

They started the journey with me. I wanted them with me when I finally went the distance.
Call it loyalty. Call it symbolism. Call it a slightly stupid decision—I’ll accept all three.

Running in the marathon in them was like running on flimsy feet. I felt every crack in the road. The cushioning was nearly non-existent. And I could feel the bottom rubber flapping around. It was… an experience. A painful one at that. By the halfway point, sharp pain shot through my feet. Blisters forming, hot spots burning, and honestly—Feels like I earned a stress fracture or two.

So the question remains. Was this a good idea?

Probably not.

I literally ran holes through these shoes.
The bottom rubber? Falling off.
The blisters after? Horrific.
The aching stress in my feet? Also not ideal.

But I wouldn’t change a thing.

Those shoes were more than gear. They were a reminder of where I started, what I committed to, and what I proved to myself by the end. They were a symbol of the moment the goal was born—and now, a symbol of the fact that I actually did it.

Every ache, blister, and sore step was worth it.
Because I’m a sucker for a good story.
And these shoes deserved to be part of the ending.

(Though to be clear… I will not be running my next marathon in them. They’ve officially been changed to “weightlifting-only” status. haha.)

later,