This post is written by Kate Walton, a BAMRbassador who has written for us about her hysterectomy, college drop-off with her oldest daughter, and more.

A marathon always serves up life lessons, and Grandma’s Marathon last Saturday was no exception. It was my seventh marathon, and my second time running this 26.2. My first Grandma’s Marathon was 10 years ago—and my personal best finish. A lot has happened in the intervening decade, including hip surgery, a few more marathons, and a total hysterectomy.

I planned the trip with Julie and Melissa, two very dear friends who I wouldn’t know without Another Mother Runner. Julie was also running the full, and Melissa the half. Training officially kicked off in early February, and we shared our ups and downs from three different time zones, all while giddily planning our upcoming time together. 

Melissa, Julie, and Kate together again

The spring is my busiest season professionally, and I am proud of how closely I adhered to my plan. Training for a marathon means running. A whole heap of running. Yet I also prioritized strength, mobility, and nutrition better and more consistently than I ever have. 

Despite some struggles on a couple of long runs, I arrived in Duluth feeling confident and proud of my progress. Talking about pace can be awkward—I realize my fast might be your slow, and vice versa. But for context, I have always been a middle-back pack runner. My marathon PR is 4:29. A decade later on the same course, my training indicated I had a chance at squeaking in under five hours if everything lined up correctly.

My race plan was to start at the pace I needed to come in under five hours, assessing all along if that was reasonable for the day. We had cool temps, a slight tailwind, and overcast skies, which quickly turned to rain. My pace for the first 17 or 18 miles was remarkably consistent: I felt great; my heart rate was low; I executed my fueling strategy perfectly; I didn’t feel like I was pushing myself. Around Mile 15, I did some runner-math, and said to myself “Kate, you can do this!”

Plenty of gas still in the tank

Yet 30 minutes later, it was like someone pulled the emergency brake on the car. I didn’t exactly bonk, but all of a sudden, I just couldn’t make my legs move any faster. I took some fuel earlier than planned; slowed my pace; walked through an aid station; drank two full cups of water; and started back up. My pace plummeted, first by about 30 seconds per mile, then even more. I was still able to run, but let’s be honest—it was more of a shuffle.

I felt discouraged, yet still determined to run my way to the finish line the best I could. Julie caught me around Mile 23, on her way to obliterating her own personal best time. She offered quick words of encouragement and seeing her boosted my spirits. I was so happy she was having an amazing race. A mile later, I saw a trio of badass mother runners, Melissa, Alana, and Erin: They hit me with every bit of positive energy they had, and their support buoyed me to the finish.

Julie and Kate with those post-finish smiles

I crossed the finish line in 5:12. This is the fastest marathon time I’ve run in eight years—by quite a lot. Does this make it a Masters PR? An age-group PR? Or just the personal best I needed after a great training cycle, even if it wasn’t the number I was hoping to see. Whatever I call it, the joy I felt last weekend filled my cup to the brim.