It took me two years to run my marathon.

Two years!

It’s probably the longest I’ve ever committed to something in the future.

The date was set, and I knew what I had to do to get there. I had to run more consistently. I had to sign up for at least nine races and one volunteer event to qualify through NYRR’s “9+1” program. I had to build up my strength to avoid injuries. I had to change my sleeping habits so I could wake up early enough to run before work. I had to adjust my diet to help my runs feel lighter and less sluggish. I had to research the right kind of shoes for my stride and body.

All of this. Just for one day.

A day when I’d willingly wake up at 3 a.m., take a bus at 5 a.m., and ride out to Staten Island just to wait in the cold for two to three hours before running 26.2 miles back to the Upper West Side.

Typing it out now, I can hardly believe I actually did it.

And I don’t mean that in a humblebrag sort of way. I genuinely can’t believe how much my life shifted in order to make this goal happen.

But even more surprising is how much changed after.

Since crossing that finish line, I’ve been on a different kind of marathon. A personal one. One where I’ve started finding a version of myself that’s less afraid. Less afraid to be seen. Less afraid of what people might say or think. Less afraid of criticism or rejection. Less afraid to say “no” and protect my time, my energy, and my peace. Less afraid to be, fully and unapologetically, me.

I found a version of myself that I really love.

A version I’m excited to keep discovering.

A version I didn’t even know was in there.

And yes, he’s still afraid sometimes. He still has doubts. He still wonders if what he’s doing makes any sense, or if he’s just a hopeless dreamer who should give it a rest. He still worries about what people think. But it’s a lot quieter now. And it’s not running the show anymore.

He’s more comfortable trying things without knowing how they’ll turn out. He’s starting to enjoy the unease, the butterflies, the leap into the unknown. He’s finding joy in showing up anyway.

I’m learning that fear isn’t a sign to turn back. It’s just a part of it.

Just like the hard work. Just like the doubt. Just like the wins, the losses, the boredom, the joy. They’re all part of the road.

And all of them serve a purpose.

They make the destination sweeter. More earned. They make the entire experience feel worth it. They make life feel worth living. Worth waking up for.

And honestly, that might be the best gift we ever get:

To live a life that feels worth living.

A life where we’re open to everything it has to offer.

Where we appreciate the good when it’s here, and stay open-hearted when it’s not.

Where we learn in the lows and heal as we go.

Where we seek out growth, challenges, and restarts that pull us back onto the path.

That’s the journey I’ve been on. And it all started with a moment I barely thought twice about — cheering on my friend at mile 22 of the NYC Marathon. I turned to my now-wife and said, “I’m going to run this.”

Just a small step.

But it led to unbelievable change.

And I have this deep, unshakable feeling that it’s going to lead to even more. Just like I couldn’t imagine crossing that finish line when I first made the commitment, I can’t imagine what comes next. But I’m ready to find out.

Life is full of surprises. And the best ones?

They’re the ones you give yourself.

So here’s my question:

What’s one step you can take today?

Even if you don’t know where it’s going.

Even if there’s no finish line in sight.

Even if it just feels like a whisper of a dream.

What’s one small step you can take to wake up a version of you that’s been waiting patiently to be called up?

To be tapped on the shoulder and told:

“Hey kid, you’re up.”

I’m right here with you. I’m on the same road.

Let’s do this together.

What’s your “mile 22 moment”? Let me know in the comments or share this with someone who’s ready to take their first step.