17. The Finish Line

As I sit here at the airport waiting to go home, my feet ache, my chest hurts, and, weirdly, for some reason, everything around my scar hurts.

But my heart is happy.

Yesterday, I ran a marathon.

And honestly, I’m still trying to get my head around that sentence.

Because this wasn’t the marathon I had planned.

I hadn’t been able to train.

My body has been struggling with relentless fatigue, brain fog and poor recovery. For weeks, my focus had been on getting through work, being Mum, being a wife, looking after my health and simply trying to give my body what it needed.

Training had become almost impossible.

So I arrived in Sydney with one goal:

Just get to the start line.

I’d already given myself permission to stop.

I didn’t need to finish.

If my body told me it was too much, I would listen.

And I genuinely believed I would.

But then the race started.

And something changed.

One foot in front of the other

There were so many moments yesterday when I wanted to stop.

So many times I thought:

This is far enough.

I can’t keep doing this.

I made a deal with myself.

As long as I was passing people, I would keep going.

So I did.

One foot in front of the other.

Pain with every step.

And I was constantly having conversations with myself.

Sometimes encouraging.

Sometimes negotiating.

Sometimes just telling myself to make it to the next kilometre.

I was inspired by the people around me who were doing exactly the same thing.

People who were hurting.

People who were walking.

People who were struggling.

But people who weren’t giving up.

And somehow, that kept me moving too.

My why

At the 21km mark, I texted my husband:

“I’m hurting 😔.”

Later, I messaged my son:

“I’m so sore.”

But the messages were coming through from my children at home and friends that were tracking me as I went.

Keep going Mum!

You can do this!

30k in! You are amazing! Way to keep going!

Last 7 kms to go!

Bloody star.

Those messages meant more than they will ever know.

Because by that point, this wasn’t really about running anymore.

I had started the day giving myself permission to stop whenever I needed to.

But once I was out there, something inside me changed.

I needed to finish.

Not because I had anything to prove.

But because I needed to reclaim something.

A little piece of the identity I had felt I’d lost over the past few months.

I wanted to show my children that sometimes things don’t go to plan, but you can still find a way forward.

I wanted them to see that your circumstances don’t always have to determine what you’re capable of.

And I wanted to do it for the people who would give anything to be out there moving their bodies, running, walking, racing, simply living an active life—but can’t.

That became my why.

And every time I wanted to stop, I reminded myself.

I wouldn’t recommend this!

Let’s be very clear…

Doing a marathon with essentially no training is not something I would recommend!

My body is currently making that very clear.

But yesterday did teach me something.

It showed me just how incredibly strong the mind can be.

There were tears.

There was pain.

There was doubt.

There were countless conversations happening inside my head.

But there was also determination.

Sometimes the body says stop.

Sometimes the mind says one more step.

Yesterday, I had to find the balance between the two.

And somehow, I found enough to keep moving.

And then came the finish line

There have been a lot of finish lines in my life.

Literal ones.

Mental ones.

Some have been exciting. Some emotional. Some have represented months of hard work and training.

This one felt completely different.

As I got closer, I was alone. My family and friends weren’t there physically waiting at the finish

line. But somehow, I didn’t feel alone at all.

I could feel them with me.

I thought about Glenn. About my kids tracking me from home and the messages telling me to keep going. About the friends who had encouraged me, checked in on me, believed in me and followed this journey. About all the people who had reminded me that I could do hard things when I wasn’t sure I could.

They were all there in that moment, even though they weren’t physically beside me.

And then Sweet Caroline started playing.

And I could hardly breathe.

The tears just kept coming.

That song belongs to a wonderful man we lost to MND.

Someone who should have had so much more time.

Someone who would have loved to be able to do the things I was doing yesterday.

And in that moment, it felt like a sign.

Like someone somewhere was saying:

Thank you for not giving up.

Not just for me.

But for all of those people who would love to be able to run.

To walk.

To move.

To be active.

To simply have the opportunity to live their lives to the fullest, but whose bodies or circumstances don’t allow them to.

And suddenly, every painful step felt like it had a little more meaning.

As I walked through the finish area to collect my medal, I realised something.

I might have crossed it alone, but I certainly didn’t get there alone.

That finish line carried every person who had supported me, encouraged me, loved me and believed in me along the way.

What I take from yesterday

Yesterday wasn’t about a time.

It wasn’t about a PB.

It wasn’t even really about the marathon.

It was about getting to the start line when I wasn’t sure my body could.

It was about taking one step when the finish felt impossibly far away.

It was about listening to the voices of the people I love when my own voice was telling me to stop.

And it was about remembering that I am still me.

My body has changed.

My circumstances have changed.

My training has changed.

But I haven’t disappeared.

I’m still here.

Still a wife.

Still Mum.

Still an athlete.

Still figuring things out.

Still learning to trust my body.

Still showing up.

And yesterday, I crossed a finish line I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach.

Today, my feet hurt.

My chest hurts.

My scar hurts.

I’m exhausted.

But my heart is incredibly, overwhelmingly grateful.

Because sometimes the finish line isn’t just where the race ends.

Sometimes it’s where you find a little piece of yourself again.

And yesterday, I found mine. 🦋💜