I Failed

Yesterday, I failed to hit my target paces in an important long run and it hurt.

In case you didn’t know, I’m currently training for my first marathon. The marathon journey is full of ups and downs but yesterday felt like I hit rock bottom. I felt like I failed.

When training for a long race, you usually aim for a target time, something realistic you believe you can accomplish. In my case, I’m using an app called Runna to manage my training, which gives me a projected marathon finish time. To aim for a specific time, you break your runs down into pace targets. Pace simply means how long it takes you to complete a mile or kilometer. For example, a 10 min/mile pace means it takes 10 minutes to run one mile.

My projected marathon pace is 8:45 min/mile. That sounds almost impossible. My conversational pace is around 10 min/mile, which means I need to run 1 minute and 15 seconds faster than comfortable—for 26.2 miles—to finish just under 4 hours. So far, I’ve been hitting about 95% of my target paces. But the closer we get to race day, the tougher the distances become.

To prepare for running four hours, I need to run for one hour, two hours, and eventually three hours in training. Yesterday was my first time reaching the three-hour range.

I needed to run 19 miles (30 km), and this was the workout:

• 11.5 miles at a conversational pace

• 2.5 miles at 8:55 min/mile

• 2.5 miles at 8:40 min/mile

• 2.5 miles at 8:25 min/mile

It was supposed to be a progressive run, getting faster over time. But my body couldn’t keep up.

It’s not that I can’t do it but circumstances matter. I had to run at the beach again because it’s the flattest, longest stretch without stops. Getting there takes at least 45 minutes, which pushed my start time to around 10 a.m. I was fully exposed to the sun with zero shade.

Two weeks ago, I ran 17 miles and hit my target paces so I thought I had figured it out. But the heat was much worse this time. I signed up for the Los Angeles Marathon in March specifically to train during winter, yet somehow winter never showed up in California. I hate the sun and the feeling of heat on my body, which is why I usually run early. But on a three-hour run, there’s no escaping it. Almost three hours of direct sun is brutal.

Then there’s what I think is my first running injury. I’m feeling pain in my right ankle, likely from a collapsing arch and overworked tendons, made worse by very cushioned shoes that I’m starting to dislike. I can still run but I know I’m in a danger zone and that’s scary.

Mentally and physically, this part has been the hardest. I’ve been eating well, sleeping better than before but still trying to maintain a normal social life. I’m taking care of myself. And that’s what hurts the most—because even then, I’m not fully in control of how my body performs.

I slept well the night before and had my usual high-carb oatmeal breakfast but I still didn’t feel great. Running a marathon sounds exciting because it’s an event with people, energy and support. But running for two or three hours alone feels like punishment. Ever since I crossed the two-hour mark, I’ve started dreading long runs, especially knowing I have to drive an hour and a half round trip just to do them.

I’m tired of podcasts, tired of music, tired of noise just to make time pass.

Starting the run feels painful until I’m actually moving. Then it becomes about surviving the time. But it’s hard when you feel the sun burning your skin, forget to apply sunscreen, feel heat trapped in black leggings and wonder how you’re supposed to speed up later when you’re already struggling early on.

Within two miles, my ankle started hurting. My thoughts went negative:

Please don’t get worse.

I’m already tired.

How am I supposed to run faster if I’m slowing down?

Don’t look at the remaining miles, there are too many.

I finished the conversational portion and pushed into the faster segment. I stayed close to my first target pace and finished only three seconds over, which was fine but I was already struggling.

I’m persistent. I hate losing and I hate failing, so I kept pushing. But my body was giving up. The heat was unbearable and I was done.

The next five miles were miserable. I couldn’t run faster than 9:30 min/mile, and eventually slowed to 10:10 to finish. It sucked. Big time.

The workout was projected to take between 2:40 and 3:00. It took me 3:08.

I know this is still a decent time. I know I should be proud for not stopping, especially given the circumstances but it still hurt.

It hurt because I’ve poured my heart and soul into this for four months so far and falling short now was discouraging. What hurts most is not fully understanding what else I can do to feel prepared when I’m already focusing on sleep and nutrition. My body can still surprise me and I can’t see a clear pattern, especially when I compare this run to my 17-mile run two weeks ago, which went well under similar conditions.

I’m sharing this on purpose.

First, to be transparent. What I post on Instagram looks perfect, but in reality, this has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, especially because I’m doing it alone.

Second, to normalize failure. Yes, running 19 miles is impressive but this was still a low moment for me and my first instinct wasn’t to share it but I truly believe vulnerability matters, especially in the age of social media and AI.

If you take anything from this, let it be this: saying things out loud doesn’t make them bigger, it often makes them smaller. And being vulnerable is a strength, not a weakness.