I just dropped out of what was to be my first half Ironman. This came shortly after I dropped out of pacing the Fargo Marathon, and just before I dropped out of the Hospital Hill half that I run every year in Kansas City. I’ve dropped out of half a dozen races this spring, and have run only about a third of the mileage I would normally have done by now. The reason—which many reader/runners may be able to relate to—is that I’m injured.
Last year in Houston, at the age of 44, I set a new lifetime PR in the full marathon. The course is nearly as flat as a track and it never got above thirty-five that morning, so I flew. At the finish line I texted my wife back in Nebraska, wondering why she hadn’t congratulated me for being so awesome. She told me my mother had been med-evac’d to Omaha and to hurry home. A few weeks later, unexpectedly, my mother was gone. My training went to hell after that and in March in the Napa Marathon a poorly-trained and over(race)weight version of myself pulled my Achilles badly and DNF’d the first marathon of my life, less than two months after setting a lifetime PR.
Six months of rehab later and I PR’d for a second time in 2025, this time in the Omaha Marathon. I felt great. I went on to do many more races last fall, including the I-35 Challenge which I do every year (KC on Saturday, Des Moines on Sunday—you should totally try it!). I took December off to rest, enjoying the Christmas cookies and gluewein… perhaps a bit too much. I woke up January 1 with a Champagne hangover and thought I’d do an easy twelve miles up in the mountains. In the second mile I reinjured my Achilles so badly I was afraid it was going to tear and coil up in my ass (we’ve all seen those pictures, right?). I haven’t been the same since.
Why is he telling us this?
Injuries suck. They are also a completely natural part of running, a when rather than an if for every endurance athlete, and rehabbing them needs to be as well. Grandma’s sold out in hours this year, and a good many runners who are beyond excited to have gotten in are dealing with injuries right now, just like me. I’ll bet a third of us signed up for Grandma’s are dealing with some sort of pull, strain, jam, etc. Several more are getting divorced (mental/emotional injuries totally count, dude), three of you have been bit by a dog while running recently (welcome to the club), and one of you has a tattoo that got infected in a rather unfortunate location (you knew better). Injuries man, all injuries. So what do we do?
On the one hand, running can be great for that—especially for those mental injuries we all at times endure—while on the other hand, people who attempt to run through a stress fracture are, to put it mildly, very very stupid and shouldn’t be allowed to disgrace the name of runner. Don’t do that. But for those of us with more mild, more manageable injuries, here’s my thought: this is the fiftieth anniversary of the most iconic non-world major in the United States, and you got in! Even if you weren’t injured, you weren’t going to win this race, but you are running a classic course along a gorgeous lake surrounded by the Northwoods with about a billion Minnesotans cheering you on and handing out maple syrup, pickle juice, hot dogs for some reason, and whatever else they thought you might enjoy. Savor. Every. Moment.
When I run races for time, there’s no music, there’s no looking around to appreciate the views, no chatting with other runners, no high-fiving kids. When you want to PR, every second counts. You hug the tangents. You try to fuel perfectly. You control everything you can and pray for good weather. Most of all, you hope you’re not injured and don’t become so in the race.
For Grandma’s fiftieth, especially for those of us who are fighting through an injury, how about we skip all that and instead take time to appreciate this moment? I’m eager to participate this year—but not to race. Hell, I may have to drop to the half if I can’t get my Achilles to cooperate. But I’ll be there, running beside you, cheering you on, and if someone hands me a beer on the course this year by God I plan to drink it. After all, this is the one and only time you’ll get a chance to run Grandma’s fiftieth. Whether you’re injured or not, I hope you can take it all in and appreciate what’s going on, and just how special this moment truly is. Don’t race through Grandma’s this year. Enjoy every second.
Mark Gudgel
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Favorite Grandma’s Marathon Memory: Last year was wild. We had a wonderful lodge on the lake that we all stayed in, cooking and hanging out. It was great. The morning of the race, we got in the car and a tree had fallen across the road. We were sure we’d miss it but my friends–both South African–decided they could drive around the down tree and somehow did. I was wearing the bib of my friend Steve, who I was going to guide in the race (he’s visually impaired) before he wound up needing a surgery. It was an honor to wear it for him. Then at the race. I ran into another friend who I knew was going to be at the race and we did almost twenty-three miles together. Afterward, my family joined me in the VIP tent. In all, my memories from last year are numerous and so great that I knew I needed to come back for the 50th.
Reason you absolutely won’t run outside: It would take nuclear war. Or strong wind. I hate wind.
Three words to describe your training, racing, or life: Need not want.
Advice to other runners: Running is the only things humans are physically good at. We’re terrible swimmers, horrible climbers, can’t fly at all. But we are the greatest long-distance running creature ever to evolve. This is what we evolved to do, and it may look different when some of us do it, using blades or wheels or guides, but we can all do it. So do it.