Everything in my body said stop. One thing helped me keep going.

We know intuitively that to get where we want to go, we just have to keep going.

It’s that feeling at the start of a marathon:

I know the finish line is exactly 26.2 miles away from where I’m standing right now. And I know the only way to get there is to move my body from here to there. Step by step. Inch by inch.

I can’t fake it. I can’t cheat it. I have to earn every single mile. And let me tell you—a lot comes your way in a race. At any distance.

Your body gets tired. Your muscles ache. Your mind starts begging you to slow down, take a break, walk it out, quit. Try again another time.

Your heart rate spikes. Your breathing gets ragged. Your stomach turns. You start questioning everything. Why am I doing this? What was I thinking? And you truly begin to doubt whether you’re going to finish.

I’ll never forget just how broken down and small I felt at mile 19.

I was unraveling. I didn’t know how I’d make it to the end. I even pulled out my phone and tried frantically to call my wife to tell her I might quit. That’s how real it was. I was seeking permission from someone I love to walk off the course and try again next year.

Why?

Because I had missed over four weeks of peak training due to injury. I had never run more than 18 miles—and that 18-miler is what injured me. It had been over a month since I’d gone that far.

All of this was spiraling in my head. The crowds around me faded. My vision darkened. All I could hear was that voice saying:

I took a breath.

A real one. Deep. Slow.

The kind of breath that halts your thoughts.

I’ve been meditating for years, and something inside me whispered: Come back to your breath. It’s always with you.

There’s real science behind that. Breathing is automatic, yes—but it’s also controllable. The same mechanisms that speed it up in moments of panic can be used to slow it down.

When you consciously breathe, you shift your body’s chemistry. You activate the parasympathetic system. You start to calm your heart rate. Your thoughts begin to lose their grip.

That breath saved my marathon.

Light came back to my vision. The world returned to focus.

I was on 1st Avenue. I had already run 19 miles. I looked at my watch—my heart rate was surprisingly low. My leg? It felt fine. Energy? I still had gels. I had more in the tank than I realized.

Worst case, I could walk the final 7 miles.

I texted my wife, my friends, my trainer waiting at mile 22.

I told them: I might be late, but I’m coming.

They texted back:

I get chills thinking about that moment—because it’s true not just in races, but in life.

There will always be moments when the pressure is too much. The light disappears. The world spins. We feel small and lost. We panic. We want to quit.

But then we breathe.

And we remember:

We’ve already come so far. We’re not as broken as we think. We’re not alone. We still have fight in us. As long as you have your breath, you still have fight.

Fight to keep running. Or walking. Or crawling forward. Fight to resist the pressure. Fight to build the life you want. Fight to launch the thing you’ve been dreaming of—your podcast, your bakery, your business, your book.

Whatever your long race is…

You have more in you than you know.

Sometimes it just takes that breath. That pause. That reconnection to your body. That reminder: