My second Chicago Marathon didn’t end the way I’d hoped. But sometimes the hardest part of pursuing a big goal is accepting when things don’t go according to plan.
Last Sunday, I stood at the starting line of the 2026 Bank of America Chicago Marathon alongside thousands of other runners, each of us with our own reasons for taking on 26.2 miles. For me, this was my second Chicago Marathon, and while I knew the day would be challenging, I was excited to be there.
There’s something extraordinary about marathon morning in Chicago. The energy of the crowds, the anticipation at the starting line, and the overwhelming sense of possibility as thousands of people prepare to do something incredibly difficult. I’d imagined what it would feel like to cross that finish line, receive my medal, and celebrate accomplishing something that required every ounce of determination I had.
Unfortunately, that’s not how my day ended.
My marathon ended at mile 11.
Eleven miles into a 26.2-mile race, I became one of the runners whose results would be marked with three letters: DNF. Did Not Finish.
And a week later, I’m still disappointed.
This marathon was about more than running. I was participating in support of the Respiratory Health Association, an organization whose mission is deeply personal to me. From my own experiences with respiratory health challenges to the years I’ve spent working in health education and advocacy, helping people breathe easier has long been something I care deeply about.
Having the opportunity to raise funds and awareness for such an important cause made this race particularly meaningful. Every donation represented someone who believed in the mission and wanted to help make a difference. I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who supported my fundraising efforts, and I know that the impact of those contributions isn’t diminished by the number of miles I completed.
But I still wanted to finish.
And I think it’s important to be able to say that without immediately following it with an inspirational lesson.
One thing I’ve noticed about disappointment is how quickly we feel compelled to make it positive. When something doesn’t go according to plan, we’re encouraged to focus on what went right, celebrate what we accomplished, and move forward. I’ve certainly appreciated everyone who has reminded me that completing 11 miles is still an accomplishment.
But I’ve also realized that it’s possible to be grateful for an experience and disappointed by its outcome at the same time.
I can appreciate the opportunity to participate in the Chicago Marathon while wishing desperately that I’d been able to finish. I can recognize that 11 miles is a significant distance while feeling frustrated about the 15.2 miles I didn’t complete. And I can understand that stopping was the right decision without being happy that I had to make it.
Those feelings don’t cancel each other out.
I’ve always been someone who sets ambitious goals. Whether it’s my career, education, business ventures, or personal life, I tend to approach challenges with the belief that if I work hard enough and remain determined enough, I can figure out a way to make things happen.
That mindset has served me well in many ways, but it also has a downside. When you’re accustomed to pushing through challenges, it can become difficult to distinguish between perseverance and pushing yourself too far. You start to believe that determination should be enough to overcome almost anything, and when it isn’t, the outcome can feel like a personal failure.
I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit since the marathon, particularly in the context of what it means to live a balanced life.
The irony isn’t lost on me that I write a blog called A Well Balanced while regularly struggling to find balance in my own life.
Between a demanding career, running a business, pursuing my doctorate, raising a family, and the seemingly endless list of ideas and goals I want to pursue, I frequently find myself trying to squeeze more into each day than realistically fits. I love being busy, I love learning, and I genuinely enjoy having new challenges to work toward.
But I also know that constantly operating at full speed isn’t sustainable.
And perhaps that’s why this marathon experience has been so uncomfortable. It forced me to confront a limitation that I couldn’t negotiate with, work around, or overcome simply by trying harder.
I think many women can relate to that feeling, even if they’ve never considered running a marathon. We spend so much of our lives managing competing responsibilities and expectations. We want to be successful in our careers, present for our families, supportive of the people we love, and attentive to our own health and well-being. And when something inevitably falls short, we often interpret it as evidence that we should have done more.
Worked harder. Planned better. Been more disciplined.
But what if the answer isn’t always to do more?
What if sometimes the healthiest decision we can make is to recognize that something isn’t working and give ourselves permission to stop?
I wish I could say I’ve fully embraced that perspective and that my marathon experience has given me a newfound appreciation for slowing down. The truth is a little more complicated. I’m still disappointed. I’m still thinking about the finish line I didn’t cross. And there’s a part of me that would love nothing more than to rewind the clock and have the day unfold differently.
But I’m also trying to give myself the same understanding I would offer someone else in this situation.
If a friend told me she’d made it 11 miles into a marathon before having to stop, I wouldn’t think she’d failed. I’d recognize the effort it took to get there, appreciate the courage it took to attempt the race, and remind her that one disappointing experience doesn’t define what she’s capable of accomplishing.
Why is it so much harder to extend that same grace to ourselves?
As I reflect on the experience, I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who made those 11 miles meaningful. To everyone who donated to the Respiratory Health Association, encouraged me along the way, or reached out afterward, thank you. Your support means more than I can adequately express. I’m also grateful for the volunteers, spectators, and fellow runners who make the Chicago Marathon such an extraordinary experience. There’s something special about watching an entire city come together to cheer for people they’ve never met.
I don’t know exactly what comes next for me when it comes to running. I’m not ready to make any grand declarations about another marathon, and I think there’s value in allowing myself time to recover and reflect before deciding what my next challenge will be.
What I do know is that this experience hasn’t changed my desire to pursue big goals. If anything, it’s reminded me that I need to be more thoughtful about how I approach them.
That’s really what A Well Balanced has always been about for me. Not achieving some perfect state of balance where every aspect of life receives exactly the right amount of attention, but learning how to navigate the competing demands, ambitions, and priorities that make life both wonderful and overwhelming.
Sometimes balance means pushing ourselves to accomplish something extraordinary. Other times, it means recognizing when we need to stop, even when stopping is the last thing we want to do.
I’m not going to pretend that I’ve discovered some profound wisdom that makes the disappointment disappear. I haven’t. I still wish I’d finished, and I suspect I’ll feel that way for a while.
But I’m learning that I don’t have to choose between being disappointed and being proud of myself. I can feel both.
I went to Chicago hoping to complete 26.2 miles. I completed 11.
It’s not the story I wanted to tell, but it’s the story I have.
And perhaps part of finding balance is learning to make peace with the difference.
