Started with the Marines — Kicking Off the 2026 Running Season
I finished the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) Historic Half today. 1:44:33.
My original goal was sub 1:40. But somewhere between life and the start line, finishing became the goal — and that is not a cop-out. There is a lot going on across every dimension of my life right now. In tech, it feels like the Hunger Games on repeat — almost every week, a new round of cuts, friends waiting to hear, some skidding through, others not. I am in the waiting game myself. And there is the body to tend to — some health things to work through that have been demanding their own attention. Finishing was enough.
I’m a runner
In 2024 I finally admitted it to myself — I am a runner. What started as COVID sanity strides became the core of how I stay balanced. My wife is my safe space. Running is my quiet space.
When I run I am usually lost in a podcast or an audiobook. Rarely music — because then I start counting songs and I know exactly how long I have been out there. When it is music, it is live worship, where one song can run ten minutes and time disappears. Today it was The Hiding Place — Corrie ten Boom being challenged to see her imprisonment by the Nazis not as suffering, but as mission. Her witness, in the middle of the worst of humanity, as an act of worship. I could have run until the book was done.
I think about why I run. It is not for show. Not for bragging rights. And it is definitely not great for the knees. Around miles two or three I am always telling myself — why are you doing this, it sucks and you are not getting younger. But that is exactly the point. Running pushes me past my limits — physically and mentally. It is where I am alone with my thoughts. Where I grow. Where I worship — through song, through prayer, through observing the beauty of creation. It is where ideas get generated, problems get solved, and where I get to talk to — and try to hear from — God.
Running my own race
Last year I ran this same course and got humbled. I had a goal time in my head, something to prove — to whom, I still do not know. I stopped running my race and started running someone else’s. Tired myself out chasing a woman at least twenty years older than me who passed me like I was standing still. The harder I pushed, the wider the gap got. She looked graceful. Effortless. I looked like I was fighting the course.
Running disciplines. Running humbles.
Today was different. From the start I ran my own race — disciplined on hydration, breathing, cadence. I took in the course. I took in the significance of where I was running.
Around mile 6 the temptation crept back in. Push the time. Show up big. I fought it off and ran harder for it. This race was never about the time — it was about building a sustained cadence. Training the discipline. Preparing for the full MCM Marathon later this year, and aspirationally, a run through the Andes between Argentina and Chile in early December.
The process was the purpose.
MCM is Uniquely Special
There is something about the MCM that gets me every time. The prayer before the race. The national anthem. Everyone standing at attention — fully engaged, not performing. Men and women in uniform out on the course encouraging, helping, keeping us safe. A section lined with American flags — the symmetry of it, the story of it — something about it brings a sense of hope and wholesomeness that is hard to put into words.
The field itself is something to witness. Blind runners. Wheelchair athletes. Foreign military. International runners. Weekend warriors. Professionals. People running for a cause, for a family member, for something larger than a finish time. Two guys celebrating their 25th consecutive MCM. One runner casually mentioning running 1:07 last year. Last year’s top finisher just hanging around before the gun, chatting with a few folks.
Experience and discipline over youth, every time.
What I love most about the running community is how runners look out for each other out there. Someone slowing down gets a word of encouragement, maybe someone running alongside for a few, offering to help carry the load — literally pushing a wheelchair. The diversity of the field is next level and it is one of my favorite things about this sport.
Running in the DMV — DC, Maryland, Virginia — does not hurt either. The trails and courses here are something else.
The thread
I started the examined life to write from where I actually am — not from a stage, not with answers packaged up neatly. Just witnessing what I have seen, lived, and am still working through. A few years ago I came across Titus 10 — a framework that fundamentally changed how I process and prioritize everything. Four domains, in order: self, church, family, and work. Simple on the surface, but getting the order right changes everything. Today’s race touched all four.
Grounded in who I am. Deliberate in how I show up. Curious about what is around me — the stories, the people, the beauty of the course. And faithful — still working that one out, like Corrie in that prison, finding the mission in the middle of the mess.
More to come — on security, on building things, on faith, on the Hunger Games that is tech right now, and on whatever the road ahead looks like.
Paul D. — send me › paths walked with intention