Mallory McDonald

People say you can’t run from your problems, but I do it all the time.

I firmly believe there isn’t anything a good run can’t solve. Heartbroken? Angry? Stressed about work? A good run may not literally solve them, but afterward you feel a little bit better about tackling the issue – like setting down a heavy load, realizing you didn’t need to carry it in the first place. 

A good run gives you the perspective you need to deal. To cope. To feel. To heal. To move on. 

A good run is also not exclusive to when things are hard. They’re perfect for making happy days happier. Sun shining? Literal birds chirping? A good run makes you see and feel all those tiny little moments in daily life that are often left unnoticed. 

Cheesy? Probably, but I believe in the power of a good run. 

If I couldn’t run, I honestly don’t know what I would do. I’m not being melodramatic. Running fuels me. Breathes life into me. Clears my head. Wipes out my dusty heart and makes room. Room for the good to find residence within me. 

In 2018, we lost our two perfect little puppies, Miss Gussie Sophia and Gracie. Running was once again there to pick me up.  And in 2019 I put every piece of pain into running the Chicago Marathon for PAWs in their honor. 

Most of the beauty of marathon training is in the unseen. It’s when you get up at the crack of dawn while traveling for work to run 400m repeats in a shitty hotel gym. It’s the getting sick in the middle of 18 miles and still finishing. It’s ice baths and endless physical therapy. It’s passing out after a grueling track workout on a blazing hot summer morning. 

It’s every little moment you put in without celebration and without recognition. It’s the days you only have you. 

And then, race day is supposed to be the fun. Race day is the withdrawal from your training bank. 

Race day finally came in 2019. It was a perfect day. A perfect race. Not only did I finish knowing I had given all of me, but I had also accomplished my goal – finishing under 4 hours. 

And it set the bar extremely high for round two. This time, I was a better athlete with the benefit of experience on my side. I had trained better. I had a plan and a new goal, and I was ready to kick ass. 

The morning of the race was more somber than it should have been. It was quiet. And lonely. But I would put everything on the pavement – just me, the road and God. 

And that’s what I did – I went balls to the wall to start. And then around mile 5 something switched. I had to pee, and I started to hear this voice. She started quiet, but she grew louder and louder. 

You can’t do this. You aren’t good enough. 

Who do you think you are? 

What is the point? What will this matter? 

Do you even matter? 

I tried to shut her up. But that made her louder. At mile 11, I was doubly exhausted – from fighting against my body and from fighting against her. 

And I wasn’t even halfway done. Could I do this? Now, she had me questioning me. 

That’s when God stepped in. To meet me exactly where I was – breaking down at mile 11 in the Chicago Marathon holding back tears and contemplating my worthiness. 

He came in the form of another runner, Alex. He saw me struggling, patted me on the back, and said, “You can do this.”  

I started to cry. “Can I? I don’t think I will get my goal and I have to get my goal.”  

Alex said, “No. You just have to finish. You probably won’t get your goal, but you can get 4:30 and that’s still pretty good.”

Pretty good. But, not perfect. 

“Is that okay? Is it okay not to have a perfect race?” 

“Honey, I’ve run 60 marathons and most of them aren’t perfect. That’s not why you do them.” 

So, I told that bitchy voice in my head to fuck off. And I kept running. 

What followed wasn’t perfect. But it reminded me of the obvious – the pursuit of perfection is fruitless, because it is in our imperfection that we find our humanity.  

And in crossing the finish line, I was full of grit and grace. 

It wasn’t the perfect race. It was the reminder that shutting up every single demon inside you saying you aren’t enough is so much more worthwhile than a perfect race. 

That’s what running can do.