The Supershoes Lied to Me (And Other Things I Learned Running a Marathon with Toddlers)

After ten marathons, you’d think I had this all figured out.

I don’t.

And honestly? That might be the whole point.

The Plan (That Partially Fell Apart)

I knew going into this race that I wasn’t chasing a PR. My 3:02 is not happening when I’m navigating 30 to 50-mile weeks with two toddlers, a full client load, and a husband who is a D1 Track coach IN SEASON.. That’s just reality. And I had made peace with it.

What I did decide was that I wanted to run in supershoes. If I wasn’t going to be fast, I at least wanted the assist. I’d trained in them a few times. Felt good. Felt fast. One long run left my calves screaming to the point where I literally stopped mid-run to wade into a river to cool them down.

Reader, I wore them anyway.

By mile 6, my calves were on fire. Not “this is hard” fire. “Something is very wrong” fire. I had 20 miles left. I did a very quick mental negotiation with myself and decided I was finishing this thing.

So I did.

What I Was Actually Training Through

Here’s some context that matters: I was 24 months postpartum. Before kids, I ran 60 to 80 mile weeks like it was nothing. Now I was building back to 40 to 50 miles per week and celebrating every single one of those miles like I’d won something.

Because honestly? I had.

Training looked like stroller runs with a fussy baby, quick runs after daycare drop-off (bless those 12 hours a week where I had childcare), and longer weekend miles when my husband could hold down the fort. It looked like accepting help (which, as someone who used to run everything solo, took actual practice). It looked like letting some client deadlines stretch a little so I could fit in a long run, and letting some long runs get cut short so I could be present at dinner.

It was scrappy. It was purposeful. And it was nothing like my training logs from before kids.

That was okay.

Imperfect Miles Still Build Endurance

This is the thing I had to relearn, even as a ten-time marathoner: there is no such thing as a wasted run.

The run where my calves ached and I slowed way down? Still built fitness. The stroller miles where I was pushing 40+ pounds of baby and snacks up hills? Those counted. The easy days I ran embarrassingly slow because my body needed it? Crucial. The “bad” runs, the ones where nothing felt right and I questioned all of my choices? Often the most important ones, because I finished anyway.

Consistency over intensity. Every time.

I wasn’t running 60 miles a week anymore. I was running the miles I could actually recover from while also being a mom, a business owner, and a human being who needs A LOT of sleep. And I had to let that be enough, even when some part of me wanted to compare it to who I was before.

The comparison trap is brutal. And it doesn’t make you faster. It just makes you feel behind.

Race Day (Miles 1-6: Fine. Miles 6-26: Negotiating With My Calves)

Race day arrived. I laced up the supershoes. I felt hopeful.

By mile 6 that hope had curdled into “okay, we are doing this the hard way.”

Here’s what I didn’t do: quit. Here’s what I did do: adjust. I slowed down where I needed to. I checked in with my body. I stopped fighting it and started working with it. I thought about my two kids at home. I thought about how hard the last two years had been, how much I had asked of my body, how much I had asked of myself. And I kept moving.

I crossed the finish line. I ran a BQ. My fourth fastest marathon out of ten.

In supershoes that had absolutely betrayed me.

Why I’m Proud of This One

Not every race is your fastest. Not every training cycle is your cleanest. Not every run goes the way you planned.

This race was a win before I ever crossed the start line, because getting to the start line meant I had shown up, over and over, through a season of life that had every excuse built right into it.

Two toddlers. A growing business. A husband with his own crazy schedule. Postpartum recovery that no one talks about honestly enough. A body that had done something incredible twice and was still finding its way back.

I gave myself grace. I took my time. I didn’t compare my current chapter to the one before kids. And I built back to something I’m genuinely proud of.

That’s not settling. That’s wisdom.

The Part Where I Make a Gentle Business Parallel (Bear With Me)

I work with entrepreneurs every day who are waiting. Waiting until their website is ready. Waiting until it’s perfect. Tweaking the headline one more time, adjusting the colors again, not quite ready to hit publish.

I get it. I really do. Because there’s something vulnerable about putting yourself out there before you feel completely ready.

But here’s what I know from running and from watching hundreds of business owners: you cannot improve what isn’t in motion.

A website sitting unpublished is like a training plan you never start. It doesn’t get you to the finish line. It doesn’t get you traction, or feedback, or the clients who are out there right now searching for someone exactly like you.

Your first version isn’t your final version. It’s your starting line.

Progress over perfection. In running and in business. Every single time.

What “Progress Over Perfection” Actually Looks Like

In training, it looks like this:

• Running slower than planned and finishing anyway
• Cutting a long run short instead of skipping it entirely
• Showing up on a hard week even when the conditions aren’t ideal
• Giving yourself 24 months postpartum instead of 6 and not apologizing for it

It’s not lowering the bar. It’s understanding that showing up, imperfectly and consistently, is how you actually get strong.

The confidence doesn’t come from getting it perfect first. It comes from proving to yourself, run after run, that you’re someone who keeps going.

If You’re In a Hard Season Right Now

Whether you’re postpartum, burned out, coming back from an injury, or just trying to figure out how to fit training into a life that doesn’t leave a lot of margin: you don’t have to wait for the perfect conditions.

Run the miles you can run. Give yourself the grace you’d give a friend. Trust that imperfect miles still build endurance, because they absolutely do.

I crossed a finish line on calves that were screaming at me from mile 6. I got my BQ. I forgot to stop my watch and maybe collapsed? I honestly don’t remember.

And I’m already planning the next one.

Bekah Read is a 2026 Grandma’s Marathon ambassador, a web designer, and a mom of two based in Des Moines, Iowa. She has run 10 marathons and is chasing her New York qualifying time at Grandma’s in 2026. Follow her running journey (and her husband’s) at @ReadsRun on Instagram.