As this newsletter hits your inbox, I’m just over 300 hours out from the Tunnel Marathon in Seattle, and from my second attempt at the elusive sub-3 hour marathon.

When I first got into endurance training, I floated through the process in a blur: train, eat, sleep, repeat. I didn’t take much time to reflect. The miles were logged, but the meaning behind them often went unnoticed.

In past issues, I’ve shared thoughts after races like Hyrox and last year’s sub-3 attempt. But I’ve never documented my mindset in the middle of the process - mid-prep, mid-doubt, mid-discipline. So today, we break from the usual format for a more personal entry.

I have a rough framework of thoughts in my head, but I’m letting this flow. Because the truth is, in any 12–20 week block of real training, you’re going to experience dizzying highs and uncomfortable lows. Both are equally necessary. Both contain the actual gold of the journey.

So here we go - brain dump - Sub-3 Hour Marathon Attempt #2 - 2 weeks away.

In 2020, I knew I needed a change. I’ve told that story a hundred times, so I’ll spare you the rewind. Fast-forward through the pandemic, the weight loss, and my early steps into endurance training, I got hooked on a powerful question:

“If I could do that, what else is possible for me to do?”

That question carried me through a fast half-marathon, an Ironman 70.3, a sub-3:30 marathon, and even a 50-mile ultramarathon. Then I landed on a goal I knew wouldn’t go down without a fight: the sub-3-hour marathon.

This was the first goal I set in fitness that I didn’t accomplish. I trained hard. I showed up ready. And I failed - publicly. It took time to mentally move past that moment, and I’ll admit, it shook my confidence. For the first time, I wondered if I had met my match.

The sub-3 isn’t just an endurance challenge. It’s a test of speed, discipline, mental resilience, and precision. It demands that every training session have purpose. It’s a balancing act of increasing volume, running at faster paces, and staying healthy while training on the edge.

For all my previous races, I’d self-coached with YouTube and instinct. And it worked, until it didn’t. This time around, I brought in a coach. I needed structure. I needed a second set of eyes from someone who’s been where I want to go.

The biggest difference this time? Systems.
Like James Clear reminds us, goals don't accomplish themselves , systems do. Wanting a sub-3 wasn’t enough last year. This year, I had to build the system that could get me there.

That system started with volume. Last year I peaked at 56 miles per week. This year? Six weeks over 60 miles, topping out at 64. But volume alone doesn’t get you across the line. The real magic came in structured speed work.

Every Wednesday and Sunday long run included speed, from slightly slower than marathon pace to progressively faster efforts. Week by week, I ran longer, quicker intervals, building strength and efficiency.

These two pieces - higher mileage and progressive speed - form the foundation I’m bringing into race day. They’ve given me what I was missing last time: proof.

And that’s what builds confidence - not hope or hype, but evidence.
Proof that I’ve gone far. Proof that I’ve gone fast.
Proof that come race day, I’m ready.

And here is for a moment of transparency. As I type this newsletter today, I can admit a few things:

1. I am proud of this training block. Since April 23rd, I have run 733 miles in training. On 6 days a week of training, there were only 2 days the entire prep where I was scheduled to get in miles and didn’t - one due to travel, and one due to nursing an injury.

2. I am nervous about the race day. Period. This is the personification of confronting failure with another attempt. And for those of you who have run a marathon, you know. Just because you train hard does not guarantee the desired result. There are so many variables that go into showing up on a race day and having a good race.

The truth is, running at this pace is hard. It doesn’t magically get easier just because you do it more, not like building volume does. When you’re pressing the edge of your top-end speed, it’s a different kind of battle. One that demands a rock-solid fueling strategy. One that pushes the limits of how long your body can sustain a soaring heart rate. One that tests your mind just as much as your legs.

There were plenty of days during this prep where I hit mental lows. Speed sessions on tired legs where I just couldn’t hold the pace. Long runs in the heat that chewed me up. Even easy days that turned out to be anything but.

I’ve had dozens of mornings where the first thing I thought about was a reason not to run. Nagging injuries (mostly my Achilles and glute this time around) gave me every opportunity to ease off the gas. And on more runs than I care to admit, my mind tried its best to convince me to stop early.

But here’s the thing I am proud of: I kept showing up.

Even now, with race day just ahead, I can feel these small, subtle waves of confidence surfacing. Not because everything went perfectly - far from it. Maybe it was dumb to run through that glute injury that left me sleeping on only one side of my body for weeks (don’t do that, by the way). Maybe there were days when rest would’ve been the smarter call. Maybe cutting some workouts short could’ve helped long-term recovery.

Maybe.

But I showed up anyway. And that matters.

So while the nerves are real and rising - I’m choosing to spend the next two weeks proud. Proud of the process. Proud of the effort. Proud of the quiet mornings no one saw, the tough runs no one applauded, and the miles hammered out when my body and brain begged for comfort.

Whatever happens on race day, those quiet, gritty wins are the true markers of progress. The race is the show. But the work…the lonely, disciplined, relentless work - is the win.

And after all that, I can’t lose now.

Coming off last year’s failure, it would’ve made sense to lower the bar.

I’d tried to make a massive leap, from a 3:29 marathon to a 2:59. A jump most runners would tell you isn’t advisable. And they’d be right, at least on paper. Those same people might suggest I go back and take a more reasonable swing - maybe shoot for a 3:15 first. Or a 3:09.

But I’m just not wired that way.

For better or worse, I set goals that keep me up at night. Goals that wake me up in the morning. Even after falling short, even after doing the mental gymnastics to bury the disappointment, I couldn’t shake the voice in my head, the one that whispered I needed to try again. The voice that reminded me I wasn’t done.

And honestly? That scared me.

But that’s exactly why I knew I had to do it.

Fear became the signal. I realized I was hesitating not because the goal was impossible, but because I had made it emotionally heavy. I’d given it too much weight, as if missing it again would somehow mean something about who I am. But the truth is, no one else will care all that much. I might get a few kudos, some applause, and then life will move on.

So this goal has to be for me.

It has to come from a place of internal drive, of choosing something just beyond my current ability, designing a plan to chase it, and seeing it through. Not for the validation. Not because it looks good. But because I will know what it took. I’ll know what it means.

Too often, we set goals that are just far enough outside our comfort zone to impress others, but not far enough to scare us. We dress them up, but we play it safe. And we know it.

I’ve spent weeks sitting with the doubt, the fear, the inner tension. And I’ve come to understand that’s exactly how this is supposed to feel. A meaningful goal lives in the unknown. It isn’t comfortable. It doesn’t come with guarantees.

If I knew I could do it, I wouldn’t have trained as hard. If it felt safe, it wouldn’t matter as much.

Doubt is part of the process. It’s a sign you’re aiming high enough. Invite it in. Let it sit at your table. Stare it down. And then keep going.