Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon 2025 race recap
After a less-than-ideal marathon, I'm ready to put this race behind me and lock in for Chicago.
It was only a matter of time before I had a bad race, but I didn’t expect it to come so soon.
I should probably be clear — this was more of a “bad race” than a Bad Race™. I would hardly call another PR (2:47:33), 12th place overall and first place in my age group a disappointment. And given the conditions (more on that later), it’s a wonder I finished at all, especially without stopping.
Heading into this last marathon, I had set my hopes the highest thus far, gunning for a time between sub-2:40 and 2:43 — and a top-10 finish. After 15 weeks of grueling training through subzero mornings and blistering paces, I was ready to show that it was all worth it. I knew I had it in me, and it was just time for me to execute.
Neither of those lofty goals came to fruition last Sunday morning. Looking at the forecast, I knew I was in for a tough morning, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the brutality I was in for.
Nevertheless, even as I prepared for the unbelievable heat and humidity of the day, I was confident in my ability. In a show of this confidence, I pushed my way up to the very front of the corral and made a slot for myself right at the starting line.
I opened the race a little faster than the pace I had planned, but I was in control and felt steady. And for the first 10K or so, this feeling remained intact. In videos taken by family at the tail end of Mile 5, I looked strong and energetic, smiling and waving as I cruised by at a comfortable pace of 6:06 per mile.
But soon after, reality slowly began to set in. Despite feeling steady, I was dumping water over my head at every aid station, and I was drenched with sweat just a couple of miles in. The abnormal heat and humidity of the day were quickly taking a toll on me, conditions I wasn’t used to after months of training through winter in Minnesota.
After accepting that I would have to pull back a bit on my speed if I wanted to stay in the race, I eased up to a mid-6:10s pace that would keep me relatively on track for a solid time.
But even this wasn’t enough. At Mile 9, I was hit with a true gut check.
There’s a phenomenon known as “bonking” in marathon, a term for the sudden fatigue felt after running out of fuel during a race — kind of like hitting the wall — typically felt in the final few miles. It feels like your body is dropped into a giant vat of Jell-O, and it’s the worst sensation imaginable.
I focused heavily on carb loading before my race to avoid this awful feeling, forcing myself to eat more bread and pasta than I thought my stomach could handle. During the race, I diligently choked down a carb gel every 4 miles or so, and I carried a handheld flask filled with a carb drink mix and electrolytes to stay fueled and prevent cramping.
Nevertheless, around Mile 9, as I climbed a hill, I suddenly felt like the ground fell out from beneath me. My entire body suddenly felt weak, and I nearly tumbled into the asphalt. I fumbled for a gel out of my back pocket and took a deep swig from my flask, desperate to trick my body into getting over the feeling.
I was suddenly faced with two instances of adjusting expectations before I had even reached the halfway point.
Realizing my slower pace still wasn’t sustainable, I forced myself to ease my pace further yet for the next few miles. Even with this, I was still struggling as I trudged through the thick, humid air. The only “motivation” at this point was watching my fellow top runners go through the same struggles.
Never before in a race have I seen so many runners pull to the side, especially at the front. Though I have little recollection of the race because of the immense pain I was in — I could only focus on moving my foot forward for the next step, one at a time — I vividly remember the shock of seeing so many competitors doubled over, clutching their cramping muscles or nursing a cup of water or Powerade.
I crossed the halfway point in 1:21:05, but I took a nosedive soon after, my pace climbing into the mid-6:20s range. Despite the buffer my quick first half offered, I soon found myself on pace to finish without a PR. And by this point, I was actively fighting off cramps with every step I took, my legs tight and screaming in pain sooner than they ever had in a race.
My next few miles were a blur. Of the few moments I can remember, I recall: passing ailing competitors; shutting my mouth tightly to avoid projectile vomiting; tripping in a pothole and nearly crashing into a water station because of the ensuing cramp that caused almost every muscle in my leg to seize up; the course-side cheers from my and Bella’s family.
Without those sudden bursts of encouragement, there’s simply no way I would’ve finished that race. Even if I was only able to muster a slight wave as I passed by, my heart was swelling with joy, and my legs were injected with just a little bit more energy all three times throughout the course.
The final moment to push me through to the finish: When I passed by my friend Will, who was running the half marathon, he let out an insane roar to cheer me on when I needed it most. My legs were literally giving out as I was losing my ability to push through my cramping, but after this encouragement, I managed to whittle down my pace faster than I thought possible in that moment.
I surged ahead for the next mile or so on a mission.
Up until that point, I had accepted that a PR was out of the question. My pace had plummeted, putting me in a hole deeper than I thought I could escape. But as I rounded the final corners, I realized there was still hope.
With about two minutes until a PR would be impossible, I ran harder than I ever have in my life, pulling energy from deep within myself to cross the line in time for a 46-second PR.
Through all the celebration after finishing my fourth marathon and continuing my streak of running a PR in every single race, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed in myself.
Though I achieved my baseline goal of running a PR, I fell short of what I knew I was capable of. It was hard not to feel like I had wasted 15 weeks of training on a performance I know wasn’t my best.
But at the same time, I have to remind myself that this race was my best. In plus-70-degree weather — well above ideal race conditions and what my body is used to — it’s a wonder I was able to push through the heat, humidity and cramps for the entire 26.2 miles in time to run a PR.
And I also achieved my unspoken goal in any race: I ran until the wheels fell off. When I crossed that finish line, there wasn’t a single stride left in my legs — I was fully on empty.
And while I’m still getting over the disappointment of falling short of what I know was possible, I’m almost grateful. I’m somehow more confident and excited than I’ve ever been. This race lit a fire in me, and I’m already itching to start training for my next marathon, Chicago, in just less than two months.
I’m ready to work harder than I ever have in my next training block. I can’t wait to continue pushing myself beyond what I think is possible and see where I can take myself. I’m looking forward to a summer full of tune-up races to track my progress along the way.
My week in running (37.74mi):
Monday: 1 mile, the absolute most my stiff legs could handle
Tuesday: 4 miles through rain along some of my old route in Norman
Wednesday: 3.14 miles on campus through the pouring rain and several-inch-deep puddles before flying back home
Thursday: 4.06 miles
Friday: 7.25 miles along a hilly route that I’ll be running all through this brief offseason
Saturday: 7.01 miles on a beautiful spring morning
Sunday: 11.17 miles