I Ran the Boston Marathon and Regret It… Here’s Why (and How I’m Making a Comeback)

For years, the Boston Marathon was my dream. The ultimate finish line. The race every runner knows about, even if they’ve never toed the line themselves. I thought crossing that finish on Boylston Street would feel like triumph.

Instead, it felt like regret.

And here’s the thing: I’m not the only one. Most runners never see it coming—until it’s too late. So let’s talk about what went wrong, why it happens, and how I’m approaching Boston differently this time.

The First Boston: A Dream Turned Heavy

I’ve been running marathons since 2008. In my very first race, I managed to qualify for Boston. But life got in the way—money, timing, injuries. Eight years later, I finally had my chance.

And I didn’t just want to run Boston. I wanted to run my best.

I trained in extreme conditions—alone, on a treadmill, in a tiny Alaskan town above the Arctic Circle. I studied the course. I obsessed over splits. By the time I reached the start line in Hopkinton, the weight of expectation pressed down harder than Heartbreak Hill ever could.

The second the gun went off, I tuned out everything else. The crowd? The energy? The history? Gone. All I could hear was the voice in my head saying, You’re blowing it.

Halfway through, I knew I wasn’t going to PR. Eight years of chasing this race, and in the moment itself, I wasn’t even present. That realization crushed me.

I crossed the finish line on Boylston not with joy—but with regret.

Why Chasing PRs Can Break You

Runners are wired to want more. Faster times. Bigger goals. That hunger is what makes us great. But it’s also what burns us out.

Psychologists Edward Deci and Richard Ryan found that athletes who focus on external rewards—times, medals, status—are more likely to experience burnout. Those who run for intrinsic joy, connection, and the process stick with it longer.

And this isn’t just theory. Some of the greatest runners in history have walked away from the sport because it stopped being about passion and became only about performance.

That’s what happened to me in Boston. I made the race about numbers. And when the numbers slipped away, so did the joy.

What Boston Taught Me (And How to Do It Right)

It took me years—and more than a little soul-searching—to figure this out. But when I did, my racing mindset shifted completely. If you’re chasing Boston, or any big race, here’s how to avoid the regret I felt:

1. Set an Experience Goal: Before race day, decide what memories you want. Maybe it’s high-fiving kids at mile 10, thanking volunteers, or soaking in the crowd at the top of Heartbreak Hill. Performance fades; memories last.

2. Talk to Other Runners: Your competitors aren’t just competitors. They’re people with stories just like you. Connection can be more powerful than a finish time.

3. Celebrate No Matter What: No one cares about your official time as much as you do. But they will remember how you felt crossing the finish line. Let yourself celebrate the achievement—because it is one.

My Second Chance

I've been haunted by my mental approach to that race, leaving a sour taste in my mouth thinking about it.

Now, ten years later, I’m going back.

But this time, it’s not about chasing a 2:43 marathon shape. After a summer of injuries, I’m nowhere near my peak form. And honestly? That’s okay. Because this time, it’s not about speed—it’s about redemption.

I’ve built a training plan. It’s not elite. It’s not flashy. It’s just the plan that got me into Boston in the first place—adjusted for real life. And I’m sharing it with anyone who wants to follow along: the workouts, the wins, the failures, all of it.

Boston is still the dream. But the lesson I learned the hard way is this: if you only run for PRs, you’ll never be satisfied. Because once you get that goal… then what?

The real victory is loving the process—and letting yourself enjoy the journey, not just the finish line.

Your Turn

If you’re chasing your own big race—Boston, your first marathon, or even a comeback 5K—don’t make my mistake. Don’t let the pressure to perform rob you of the joy.

This time, I’m doing it right. And if you’re chasing your own comeback, maybe we do it together.

Let’s go.