The 2012 Olympic Marathon Trials was not my greatest race. As a matter of fact, it was one of the most dreadful races in my career. I can look it many ways, and I choose to see it with optimism and an uneasy heart.
For a while now I felt that the marathon would be my perfect racing distance. I am a very efficient runner, and I can rhythm run with the best of them.
However, the marathon fabricated alternative plans for me. Instead of a big slice of congratulatory cake, I got served (in my coach’s words) a big shit sandwich.
I do not like shit sandwiches. My mom always made me try things before I declared whether or not I liked it… I tried the shit sandwich. Next time… I’ll opt for cake.
So many friends and family have offered their congratulations, which I am grateful for. I am tremendously fortunate to be surrounded by positive energy, support and optimistic people. However, they must realize that in my eyes, a 2:27 and almost last place in a marathon is perceived as a failure. The only trivial triumph from January 14th was not quitting.
I blame no one but myself and even so, I have no regrets. I would run the race exactly the same a second time, knowing completely well the outcome.
I know I didn’t train enough, but given my preparation time, I did what I could.
I know I went out too fast, but I didn’t want to walk away from the trials wondering how well I could have done.
I wanted to compete in the Olympic Trials. Not run… compete. If I had run a conservative race, maybe I would have run a decent time, but I wouldn’t have been satisfied knowing I let the race get away from me.
I get to spend the next four years of my life running as much as humanly possible. Not just training harder, but training smarter than any of my competitors. I still trust that I will be the best marathoner in the country and compete amongst the best in the world, and I realize now how much time and work it will take. Over the next four years I will gain maturity, strength, race experience and I will build a callous to pain.
On January 14th I ran a marathon. The result plunged me into a depression I stewed in for a week. I needed to be miserable. I needed to be irate. I needed to taste a shit sandwich. Being in a state of angst and melancholy yields you an enhanced appreciation for the more decent chunks in life. And if you are lucky enough, you can return from the slums with vengeance. As trite as it is, you can’t have a rainbow without the rain. Or better yet, chocolate cake taste even better after a shit sandwich.
I know, in time, I will run faster and finish well in many marathons, but that marathon showed me more about myself and that distance than a great race ever would have.
Thanks to the lessons it taught me, the Olympic Trials Marathon might just have been my greatest race.




