My 2024 didn't exactly kick off spectacularly well. My 3rd CHM was a strong performance that I'm proud of; But I ultimately did not leverage my strengths when it comes to tackling these kinds of challenges. For instance, I took it too seriously and did not utilize that inner joy of mine (as fuzzy and weird as that sounds). I was aware of this problem and signed up for the Seabrook Lucky Trails Marathon (SLT for short) as a means to help get my mind back into gear and respark that rambunctious, jolly personallity of mine while on the race course. Then life hit me with a different kind of blow that really shook the boat. Now personal drama was placed into the mix. I won't go into too much detail, but the toll created a real tsunami within me. I'm pretty grounded and stable, and perhaps that's normal for guys like me. But I wasn't ready for this flood. I subconsciously thought I had an impenetrable set of armor that no calamity could shake. Well, turns out I'm just another guy! I'm not invincible, and strangely enough, I'd never felt more alive. After picking up the peices as best I could, I pushed forward. Throwing yourself a pity party is no way to solve your problems. No one was going to save me but myself. So I faced and accepted the storm for what it was; And it felt like a giant mass of energy, both in negative and positive forms. Energy is still energy at the end of the day, we just have to channel it in a positive direction for the good of ourselves and others. This is the difference between heros and villians. A villian will channel that energy in a way that harms themselves and others, but a hero channels it in a positive way to better themselves and the people around them. So that was my goal: to transform all of that energy into something positive and beautiful.

I drove through Pasadena for the first time on my way to Seabrook. It's the other side of Houston. Instead of upscale restaurants serving hand-helds and sharables, you're greeted by the ominous array of oil and natural gas refineries lit up to the tee in lights over every single peice of machinery and supporting structure. It gave me this strange dystopian, cyber punk sense as I drove East on highway 255 that morning. I kind of liked it. When I rolled up to the start line in Seabrook I could tell right away that this was no big, grandiose marathon full of hype and hullabaloo. This event was much more lowkey and down to Earth. I felt like a humble outsider stepping into a local event greeted with open arms. I loved those vibes. The weather wasn't perfect, but it's Houston. 68-ish degrees at 94% humidity, but overcast skies with a gentle breeze from the bay. It could have been much worse. This race is a looped course where you run 4 10K-ish laps along some nice crushed granite trails. Steve had sent me a check list full of pointers to help set my expectations. Just about everything he said was true. Like having to snag your own water at the furthest water station, and the quick, narrow 180 degree turn through the western water station. But one peice of advice burrowed its' way into my mind like a worm, "Start out in front, there will be very few people running at your speed." This race was ment to be a fun run for me, but I couldn't help but think "What if?" to myself.

And so, I put my best foot forward. I would've done so regardless. I started out in front with a few other guys, but I had my own race to run. I slowly settled into my pace as I chatted with a kind soul. His name was Kerry, Steve's alledged "archnemesis" (but all in good fun, of course). Kerry gave me the scoop on the fast rabbit out in front of us named Chris. They were close friends and both of them were capable of strong marathons. The catch is they were more than 20 years older than me! It's a trend I see often, and it always reminds me to never underestimate anyone! Throughout the race, I found this wild sense of peace within me as I locked in my stride. The great thing about looped courses is that you'll see other runners, spectators, and volunteers often. I employed a new strategy for this marathon, one gel per lap. And it worked great. Every 10K I fueled up with a little bit of calories and electrolytes, and ended up finishing the race with no leftovers! As the race progressed though, I knew that final lap was coming. Throughout the entire race, I had been riding this strange peaceful sense of nothingness; Like I just existed in this mere moment. I could see everyone around me so clearly, I was in tune with my body and how I felt. All of the gears moved in unison as I strided along. The waves crashing along Pine Gully Park felt so ethereal. However, I knew that feeling would come toppling down and shatter for the final lap. The last 6 miles of any marathon are often the toughest. The toll on your body and mind begins to show as the full weight of it all materializes into reality. I was edging sub 7 minute miles but slipped into 7:15-7:30's for the remainder of the race. But who cares? I trotted through each water station with a smile and a thanks. I passed go each lap with a look of fearless serenity on my face. This was no CHM. I had found it once again, that inner joy and wild animal within. All of the anguish I had felt over the past month manifested into a powerful energy coalescing in a 2nd place overall finish. It was as if all of my suffering had been converted into joy in that one moment. I am no peacock, but perhaps I was a dragon this day. I felt like I could fly and breathe fire once again; And it felt like a force for good.

Of course I was excited to have won something. In fact, I rarely ever win anything. However, it's not about the trophy or medal. Chasing that gold will only lead to emptiness because your reason needs to be deeper than that. It's about each step taken to get there, no matter how small. The path you have carved out to make it to this milestone; One of many more milestones to come. I finished in 3:07:51, a time that I am proud of all things considered. You never know what you're capable of unless you try.