For years, if I felt someone expected something from me, I either rebelled or shut down altogether. I said I hated expectations because they were “boring” or “unnecessary.” The truth? I hated the pressure. I was terrified of letting people down.

And sure, you shouldn’t live your life based on what others expect of you. But I found expectations have a double edge: when you ignore expectations long enough, you start expecting less from yourself. And no expectation carries more weight than the ones you set for your own life.

I always liked being fast. Rushing in, rushing out. Like that line from the song Can’t Help Falling in Love:
“Wise men say only fools rush in.”
That has my name written all over it. I rushed into love and rushed right out of it. I ran away from most relationships before they ever had the chance to grow or hurt me.

Then I met a girl who made me want to slow down—just a little. She was quiet, gentle, loved cute things, cared deeply about everything. For once, I wanted to stay put. We dated for a year. I started to picture a future with her in it. And then, just as fast… she was gone. No explanation. No goodbye.
Turns out she was a runner too.

Love always felt fleeting to me. Fickle. Something you chase only to lose. But one day I heard a saying:
“Love is never late.”
And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’ve been running in circles chasing something that isn’t meant to be chased. Maybe the only thing I’ve really outrun all these years… is myself.

One day I was walking with an old college friend and admitted, “I hate running.”
He shot back, “So why do you run?”

At the time, I didn’t have a good answer. I mumbled something about “getting miles in” and “seeing how far I can go.”
But after thinking about it, I realized the deeper truth:
I hate running because I’m tired of running away.
I hate the feeling of exhaustion, burning lungs, heavy legs.
But I run because of who I become through the process.

Running is simple: the more you do it, the farther you can go.
And somewhere along those long solo miles—just me and my thoughts—I realized life really is just you vs. you.

There’s a therapeutic quality about running.

Running sharpens my mentality, my persistence, my discipline, my grit.
I run to catch up to the version of myself I’ve been running away from.
To become someone I’m proud of.
Someone who meets challenges instead of avoiding them.
Someone who honors the past but doesn’t drown in it.
Someone who feels emotions without letting them wreck everything.

I run because I want to know what it feels like to run toward my goals instead of away from them.

I really started taking running seriously in December 2024 when my brother took me to a 5K where Nike let runners test out a prototype shoe. My legs felt stiff like timber afterward. I hadn’t run like that in years.

Then, after my slow, painful finish, my friend jested, “Congrats! You just completed 10% of a marathon!”
She meant well—she’s sarcastic like that—but hearing 10% lit something in me.
I didn’t want to complete 10% of something. I wanted to complete the whole damn thing.

So I started running. First around the block, then 2 km’s, then 5 km’s, then 10 km’s. I ran nearly every day: short distances on weekdays, long ones on the weekend.

Truthfully, I could have run my first marathon months ago. I ran my first half marathon in May. Physically, I was ready.
But mentally… I hesitated.

I was scared of failing.
Scared I wouldn’t meet the challenge.
Scared I’d cross the finish line and lose the one goal that had kept me moving all year.

So I procrastinated. Delayed. Told myself “later.”
Until suddenly, the year was almost over and I had to choose:
move forward or stay the same.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to stay the same.

I chose the Death Valley Marathon for three reasons:

A perfect stage with the perfect challenge for my story.

But life, as always, had its own script.
A week before race day, I got the email:
“Due to the recent rains and resultant flooding last week… this race has been cancelled. Westside Road is closed indefinitely and currently is impassable.”

Of all things… rain. In Death Valley.
Life really has a sense of humor.

But that’s life. Things fall through. Plans collapse. Disappointments show up uninvited.
You’ll be denied over and over again.
But the one thing you must never do—
is deny yourself.

Sometimes you have to create your own opportunity.

So on Saturday morning, December 6th—marathon day—I laced up my shoes and went to the Rose Bowl. They have a 5 km loop there. And I ran my marathon.

Lap 1. Easy.
Lap 2. Quarter of the way.
Lap 6. Trouble.

The beginning of lap 6 I start experiencing intense cramping in my quads. I tried to push through but the pain was too much so I stopped to take a stretch break. The stretch got rid of the cramps but my legs were shot. If I tried to run I would just cramp up again.

But my legs didn’t stop.
Something in me refused.

After everything I’ve been through—everything I ran from—I wanted to become undeniable to myself.

Nothing drives a man like the chip on his shoulder.

I walked to finish lap 6. 30 km in — the farthest I’ve ever gone.

Lap 7. Lap 8. Slow steady walk
And 2.2 kilometers past my eighth lap… I crossed, or more accurately, I limped past 42.2 kilometers.
26.2 miles.
A full marathon.

Not for a medal — there wasn’t one
Not for competition — there wasn’t one
Not for the crowd — there wasn’t one

But as a testament to myself:
I can meet the challenge.
I can change my life.
I can rise to the expectations I set for myself.
I can become undeniable.

Because I’m a runner.
Not the kind who runs away anymore—
but the kind who runs toward the man he’s becoming.

But maybe not anytime soon because my legs can barely move haha.

The marathon got canceled… but the commitment didn’t. Most breakthroughs happen when you decide to move anyway.

For most of my life, I ran from pressure, expectations, and emotion. This run forced me to confront the truth: growth requires facing yourself, not escaping yourself.

There was no crowd, no medal, no race-day hype—just a promise I refused to break. Discipline grows louder when the world goes quiet.

Life canceled the race. I created my own finish line. Sometimes the door isn’t locked— you just have to stop waiting for it to open.

42.2 km wasn’t about distance. It was about proving to myself that I can meet the challenge, honor the goal, and step into the person I’m trying to be.

Until next time,