Full Benefit: The Story of My First Marathon
Marathons are strange beasts. They don’t just test your body — they test your mind, your soul, and your purpose. On November 24th, at the Philadelphia Marathon, I learned that lesson firsthand. At Mile 23, the beast had me cornered.
My hamstring seized up, and a lightning bolt of pain shot through my body. I gasped for air and thought - This is it. My race is over.
But marathon stories don’t end at the wall. That's just where you decide who's really telling the story…the beast, or you.
The long journey to my first marathon had culminated on Sunday, November 24th, though not quite as planned. There's so much to be said about what it takes to prepare for a race like this: the hours upon hours of running every week; the constant awareness of diet and sleep; teaching myself how to fuel during my long runs; the aches and pains that migrate throughout your body while you hope they'll subside on race day; the fatigue from training your body to run while tired; the personal and family sacrifices just to get a run in.
As a first-time marathoner, you're constantly dealing with the voice in the back of your head questioning whether or not you can make it to the finish line—even though you know you're prepared and ready. This was training for the mind as much as for the body.
The Road to Philly
How does one make the decision to run a marathon? For me, I'm a lifelong runner. I've had seasons without running, but I've always laced back up at some point and hit the road. I've been running consistently over the past six years and have kicked it up a notch over the past two years by competing in our local Bucks County 5K Series. I've trained hard for the series each year and was happy with my results, finishing second in my age group both years. For a competitive person like me, that was enough fuel to keep the fire burning. I'm ambitious, but I'm not delusional. Placing in my age group felt very rewarding.
One morning, I happened to see an ad for the Philadelphia Marathon. It was a little over three months away. I had always envisioned myself running a marathon one day, but whenever I thought about the training, I had an adverse reaction to the commitment required to pull it off. I decided to research some marathon training plans, and to my surprise, I realized that my current weekly running plan was close to the plans I came across. If I added an extra few daily miles, some speed work, and a long run once per week, I could match the plans I saw.
To be honest, I didn't think much further than that. I figured I'd fill in the blanks later. I thought to myself, now's the time.
On August 14th, I made the decision to run the Philadelphia Marathon. I went back to the website, signed up, and the journey began. The race was set for November 24th. I had three months and ten days to get myself ready, and I was already ahead of the game. I set a goal of finishing the race in 3 hours and 30 minutes.
Well Laid Plans
The plan was that I would take an Uber to the city, and my family would arrive later to cheer me on.
Timeline:
5:30 a.m. Wake Up, shower, eat oatmeal and a banana
6:30 a.m. Depart home
7:30 a.m. Arrive in Philly
7:45 a.m. Warm up, stretch, fuel, evacuate the plumbing and prepare mentally
8:30 a.m. Race Start
The night before, I finished packing my gear and laid out everything I planned on wearing. I strategized my layers so that I could peel off a disposable sweatshirt at the starting gun. I told Alexa to wake me up at 5:30 a.m., and hit the sack.
In what felt like a blink of an eye, it was 5:30 a.m. I popped up out of bed, showered up, made my way downstairs, let the dogs out, and sat down to eat some oatmeal and a banana. My Uber driver pulled up on time at 6:30 a.m. I took inventory of my gear one last time, kissed my wife goodbye, and headed out.
My Uber driver dropped me off exactly at 7:30 a.m., a couple of blocks from the start. I made my way to Ben Franklin Parkway and the security checkpoints. I was pleasantly surprised that there was no line, and was waved through quickly.
I thought to myself, wow, this was easy...too easy.
Pin the Bib on the Donkey
As I was walking to the bag check area, I noticed many runners at the starting area looking like they were ready to go. Really ready to go - as in, all gathered at the start. Hundreds of people. I heard the man on the loudspeaker announcing corrals, and in that moment my heart sank.
Holy crap, I must have gotten the timing wrong.
Now, I had no time to beat myself up as to how that happened; I scrambled, grabbing a volunteer to confirm what I suspected. Yep, start time was 7 a.m. And they were announcing the start of the second-to-last corral. If I hurried, I could get in the last corral—the 4:50+ runners, an hour-plus slower than my anticipated time.
I hurried, peeled off my layers, applied some Body Glide, slapped some tape on my knee, checked my gear at the UPS trucks, and ran to the start. The second-to-last corral was off, and I still needed to attach my bib. I frantically searched for pins, but couldn't find them. Panic set in.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to make an announcement…this is an official train wreck!
I approached a couple volunteers and asked if they had safety pins - they didn't. But one of the volunteers said he would go try to find some for me.
As the announcer gave one last shout-out to fire up the final corral of runners, I looked back and saw my volunteer, my savior, running towards me, with his hand outstretched like a relay runner handing off a baton. But instead of a baton, it was 4 safety pins. We had an Olympic quality exchange, I gave him a quick pound, thanked him, pinned on the bib, and took my place at the very back of the last corral. With no seconds to spare, my marathon story began.
Playing Catch-Up
My plan was to run at an 8:00 per mile pace, but being caught up in a slower-paced corral made that very difficult. I spent about seven miles weaving through people, intermittently sprinting ahead. After the first couple miles, around Ben Franklin’s grave, my watch revealed that I was running a 7:30 pace. This fast pace concerned me—it wasn’t the way I had planned to start.
The one part of my strategy that I was fixated on throughout training was to not go out too fast, and I was doing the exact opposite. However, I had no choice, I needed to get into open spaces. If I stuck with the packs, I would be running three minutes slower than my goal pace.
I kept making my way through the crowded streets of Philadelphia. I was Frogger, jumping up on the curb, and back to the street, hopping between people, and hoping not to trip myself or someone else in the process. I remember running past Independence Hall and a woman yelled “Holy sh*t, the British are coming!”. I glanced to my left and noticed a runner with a Union Jack on his race shirt, and couldn’t help but let out an audible chuckle. My spirits were up and I was feeling fresh and bouncing along in my Puma Deviate Nitro Elite 3’s.
By mile 13, I was running a 7:45 per mile average pace — 15 seconds ahead of my goal pace. I was feeling good and decided to try to keep that pace, thinking that every mile at that speed was 15 seconds of equity I could cash in later when everything started to break down.
The Unraveling
I was floating through Fairmount park, enjoying the peace and quiet as the only part of the course without large crowds. Through mile 15, I felt solid.
At mile 16, I started to feel my legs tightening up a little. At 18, right as we transitioned onto Ridge Pike, I noticed some Port-A-Johns with no lines (rare). I couldn't help but make the pit stop. By mile 19, as we made our way through Manayunk, running amidst the huge crowds my hip flexors started to tighten up. This prevented me from stretching my stride out. Ridge Pike into Manayunk is a long slow incline, which wasn't helping. At the turn-around I faked a smile and a thumbs up to the camera man. Heading out of Manayunk, around mile 21, everything from the waist down was tight. Even the bottoms of my feet were sore. The tightness from the waist down and the foot soreness were two things I never felt during training. I anticipated my usual knee pain around 15 miles, but that never happened. This was all new territory. Things were very uncomfortable.
We finally hit Kelly Drive, running along the Schuylkill River. My pace was suffering, and I started to clock 8:30s. I had cashed out the equity I stacked up through the first half. No more house money.
Mile 23
If the race was a sculptor and I was a block of stone, with every step, I realized she wasn’t the one holding the chisel…I was.
At Mile 23, my calves were screaming, my hip flexors felt like concrete, and the bottoms of my feet were on fire. My pace was slowing to a crawl. I knew if I stopped, even for a second, it might be impossible to start again. But I needed to loosen up my lower body, it was too tight, and I had to stretch.
Leaning against the curb stretching my calves, I had the bright idea to reach back and grab my foot to stretch my thigh. That’s when it hit—a lightning bolt of pain that shot through my hamstring and my entire body. I gasped for air.
My mind was racing: This is it. My race is over.
I swore I could hear the seconds ticking as I realized my 3:30 goal had slipped away. 3 miles to go felt more like 30 miles to go. How can I run like this?
Right now, I needed grit.
The Crossroads - Finding My Why
I regained my composure, stretched a little more and talked to myself:
This is not over. This pain, this moment, this is the experience. This is your marathon story. Every single part of it. From the timing mishap, to the effortless feeling you had through the first 15 miles, to the torture you're enduring right now at mile 23. You knew it wasn't going to be easy like a long run on Sunday. Signing up for a marathon requires payment in money, but running a marathon, you pay with your mind, body, and soul. Payment is due. Everyone is waiting for you at the finish line. This is the test you wanted to take. This is the hill you chose to run. This is your defining moment, your crossroads. How do you want this story to end?
I could hang it up right here, stop the pain, and be done. Then I could wallow in my disappointment and tell a sad story. I'd still get an "A" for effort, and a pat on the back, but I'd be disappointed in myself for a very long time.
Or, I could leave no regrets, and get my ass moving.
I reached down one last time for some inspiration, looking to remind myself of my purpose... my why. What the depths of my soul revealed to me was a vision of my wife and kids cheering me on. I could vividly see their faces and hear their voices. I thought about all the mornings my wife had gotten up early with the kids so I could get my training runs in. All the family events we'd planned around my long runs. All the silent support she'd given me through this journey. All of the training my kids witnessed, and all of the build up to the marathon. I didn't want to let them down.
I didn't want to let myself down, and I decided not to.
The Final Miles
I walked a few steps, then started jogging, and miraculously the hamstring loosened up enough that I could keep going. I knew if I stopped one more time this whole thing would be over. I eradicated that thought from my mind.
I gritted my teeth and turned myself into a machine. I was the operator. I commanded my body to run, staying completely focused on the pavement in front of me. My wife was tracking me and had been sending text messages. Siri was reading them off: "You worked so hard for this. Keep going", "You're so close". Her text messages were exactly what I needed.
As I moved through the final mile, I was overwhelmed by the people who came out to support all of us lunatics. Along the entire course, the sidewalks were packed with fans cheering for friends, family, and absolute strangers.
They were waving and holding signs that read messages like, "Tap here to power up!" or "26.2 because 26.3 would be crazy." And my personal favorite: "We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."
Throughout the race, every now and then I'd hear someone say, "Go Charles!" and I didn't think much of it. Then I made eye contact with someone who said, "Looking great, Charles, keep it up!” and I realized they were cheering for me—my formal name was on my bib, Charles instead of Chas. These people were quick to use your name, and I was humbled by the effort they put into motivating us to keep going.
Crossing the Line
With half a mile to go along the last part of Kelly Drive, I was intently focused on my jog, one step at a time. My body was moving like a machine now—automatic, unthinking. I peeled my eyes off the ground for a minute to take in the energy of the crowd and look for my wife and kids. Amongst the roar of it all, I heard my wife's voice slightly behind me and to the right, "Chas!"
I quickly turned to look back in that direction and caught eyes with my wife. For a brief moment, time slowed. I felt the weight of every early morning run, every sacrifice she’d made so I could train, and every step that had brought me to this point. I pushed through the final stretch with all I had left.
As I crossed the finish line, I didn’t feel the surge of triumph I expected. I simply felt… done. Exhausted. The enormity of what I’d just accomplished hit me in waves. Wrapped in my Philadelphia Marathon HeatSheet , I shuffled forward with the rest of the walking dead. I made my way through a tent, grabbed some water and snacks, and began looking for my family.
I made my way into the main area and found them on the other side of the fence. When I saw their smiles, I nearly broke down. It wasn’t just the race—it was everything that had gone into it. The entire journey, from signup to finish line, all crashed into me at once. I wanted to let go of everything I’d been holding back.
My wife could read me like a book, she knew I was about to crack, and gave me a kiss through one of the openings in the fence.
Behind the fence, I felt like the dad in Red Dawn, yelling to his kids "Avenge me!" Except I wasn't a prisoner, and this personal achievement didn't need to be avenged by anyone.
I told my family that I needed to grab my stuff. I walked a bit further and realized another 25 feet led me out of the prison yard and directly into freedom. Fitting, for the birthplace of the Declaration of Independence.
We made our way to the gear trucks. I exchanged my ticket for my bag and then collapsed to the ground and sat there motionless for a few minutes taking it all in. I absorbed a few wise cracks from my son and daughter who found my fatigue amusing. I managed to pry off my race kicks, threw on some sweats, and composed myself for a few pictures.
Beyond the Finish Line
As they walked and I hobbled back to the car, I looked up my official time: 3 hours 42 minutes, 88th place (out of 431) in my age group. Twelve minutes off my goal. It wasn't exactly what I expected, but it was exactly what it was meant to be.
A week later, I’m still reflecting on that day. The marathon didn’t go as planned. I missed my 3:30 goal and faced challenges I never saw coming. But marathons aren’t about perfection. They’re about finding out what you’re made of when things get hard.
The Navy SEALs have a phrase: “Full Benefit.” It means that when a mission goes sideways or fails, you get the full benefit of learning something new about yourself. That’s exactly what I got out of those final miles. I discovered a level of mental toughness I didn’t know I had—the ability to push through when every fiber of my being wanted to stop. I learned that a race isn’t just about the training—it’s about the moments when you dig deep, when your reasons for starting carry you to the finish line. The sight of my family cheering, the texts from my wife, and even the encouraging voices of strangers along the route all helped me push past my limits when my own belief wavered.
Am I stronger and wiser from running a marathon? I think so. What I'm absolutely sure of is that I learned a lot about myself—about my mental fortitude, my physical toughness, and my ability to stand in the fire, refocus on my purpose, and complete the mission.
I didn’t finish in 3:30, but I finished stronger and wiser. And now, with that same confidence, I’m ready for whatever comes next.
Bonus
Advice for First-Time Marathoners
If you’re planning your first marathon, here are the lessons I learned the hard way:
Expect the Unexpected
No matter how well you plan, things will go wrong. Whether it’s a timing mix-up, forgetting gear (hello, safety pins), or unexpected physical pain, adaptability is key. Stay calm, problem-solve, and embrace the chaos—it’s all part of the adventure.
Prepare for Mental Crossroads
At some point, you’ll hit a wall—your "Mile 23 moment." Know your "why" before race day. For me, it was the thought of my family cheering me on, and that vision pulled me through when my body wanted to quit. Find your why, and hold on to it.
Pace Yourself Early
Don’t make my mistake and go out too fast. Trust your training and stick to your planned pace, even if the adrenaline is telling you otherwise.
Embrace the Emotional Rollercoaster
Marathons are as emotional as they are physical. Be ready for tears, laughter, doubt, and pride—sometimes all at once. The experience is as much about your heart as it is about your legs.
Logistics Matter
Test your gear, know your start time (ahem), and have everything ready to go. It’s amazing how small details can make or break your morning.
Trust in the Power of Community
The cheers from strangers, the high-fives from kids, the funny signs along the way—they all matter more than you think. Let that energy lift you when the miles get hard.
Remember, running a marathon isn’t just about crossing the finish line. It’s about finding out who you are along the way.
Marathon Logistics & Race Day Gear:
Location: Philadelphia, PA
Weather: Cloudy 44 F degrees | Feels like 36 F | Humidity 76% | Wind 10.2mi/h from W
Gear:
Sneakers: Puma Deviate Nitro Elite 3
New Balance Mesh Tee
Under Armour Running Shorts
Tifosi Track Sunglasses
Fuel: Maurten Gel 100 x4 (every hour)
Run Philly Marathon Hat
Airpods Pro
Apple Watch Ultra
KT Tape Pro
Spi-Belt Duel Pocket Pro
Body Glide
Grit - Not for purchase