The date is locked: May 11, 2026. Fredericton Marathon. A Boston qualifier. The second crack at a race I’ve already toed the line for once before. That first time was about finishing — pure survival. Get across the line no matter how ugly it looked. This time? The focus is different. This time it’s about racing. About sharpening the edge, pushing the body beyond what’s comfortable, and chasing the kind of improvement that makes the training worth it.

That’s seven months away. Two hundred-odd days of work between now and then. Twenty-nine or thirty weeks to prepare. It feels like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye. But the commitment is made. The start gun will fire whether the training’s perfect or not, and there’s no hiding from it.

September: The Grind

The calendar says September 28th. Two days left in the month. The mileage total? 233.0 kilometers. Seventeen shy of the big target: 250.

The ankle is swollen. The shin is tight. That whole right side is an ongoing mess. But there’s no chance of stopping here. Not after this far. Not with the finish line of the monthly goal in sight.

The challenge to run 250 kilometers in a single month wasn’t about setting some flashy record. It wasn’t about impressing anyone else. It was about seeing what’s possible when every excuse gets stripped away. When the mornings are dark, the legs ache, and the voice in the head says, you’ve done enough already.

Every runner knows that moment — the fork in the road where stopping feels logical, even smart. That’s when it matters most to push through. And September has been a month full of those moments. A month that’s demanded stubbornness, grit, and just enough faith that there’s something on the other side worth the pain.

Training for May

The plan for the marathon isn’t just about logging miles. That was the mistake the first time around — run, run, run, and hope it adds up to something. This time will be different.

The winter is for rebuilding, for training smart, for turning running into part of a bigger system. Core work. Mobility. Diet that actually fuels performance. Long runs with a purpose instead of just distance. Strength built in the gym so the legs don’t collapse on race day.

It’s going to be a four- or five-month block of work that has structure, not guesswork. It’s going to be aggressive. It’s going to require sacrifice. But that’s what it takes to shave real minutes off a marathon time.

Qualifying for Boston? Maybe not on this attempt. That’s the reality. But the goal isn’t perfection — it’s progress. The kind of progress that sets the stage for more. The kind that makes lining up at the start line in Fredericton feel like showing up prepared for a fight.

Finding Light in Dark Days

September has also been a reminder of the seasonal battle. The creeping darkness as daylight fades earlier each night. The weight that comes every year with the shift of seasons. The financial stress of the looming holidays. The emotional dip that arrives like clockwork.

It’s what has always been called “yearly maintenance.” The grind of managing those shifts without letting them take over. And this month, running has been the outlet. The place where, even when the head was heavy, the miles offered a spark of light. Proof that forward motion is possible, even on the hardest days.

There’s something powerful about that. About knowing that, no matter the storm, there’s still a way to feel human, normal, alive for a little while.

The Work Week

Outside the miles, life doesn’t slow down. The push to finish the FYI project is at full tilt. The end is in sight, but finishing is always the hardest part. Crews stacked on top of each other. Painters still cutting in while flooring needs to go down. A furniture truck scheduled for 8:30 a.m. tomorrow, and baseboards aren’t even installed yet.

It’s chaos, but it’s expected chaos. That’s how every big project ends. The sprint to the finish line, the arguments, the pressure, the stress. But also the satisfaction of knowing that when the dust settles, the building will stand finished. That’s the payoff.

Future self will thank present self for pushing through this week, even if it means a few more sleepless nights.

The Ride

This weekend offered a different kind of escape: the Bobby’s Hospice motorcycle ride. For Laura, it’s more than just a ride. It’s part of the grieving process, part of honoring her father. It’s her way of giving back, of raising money and awareness for something that shaped her life. Watching her commit to it with so much passion makes it impossible not to be proud.

The day itself couldn’t have been better. Blue skies. Warm air. The kind of weather that makes riding feel like freedom. The Harley — Blue — ran smooth. Out to Yip Cider, a few laughs, a few drinks (for her, not for me). The kind of day that recharges the soul in its own way.

Motorcycle culture is its own world. A brotherhood, full of unspoken rules and shared respect. Even stepping into it without knowing every detail, there’s still a sense of belonging. A reminder that sometimes, community shows up in unexpected places.

The Dream of Escape

But even with all that, the itch doesn’t go away. The dream of selling everything, buying a piece of land, and going off-grid. Living slower. Away from the noise. Away from the constant demands.

Reality says it won’t happen. Family wouldn’t go for it. The life that’s been built has roots. But inside, the vision lingers: chopping wood, growing food, building something simpler.

Not because life now is bad — it isn’t. The work is fulfilling. The home is stable. The family is good. But because the world feels like it’s spinning out of control. The propaganda, the constant screaming from every direction, the endless push to buy, consume, divide, argue. It’s exhausting.

There’s a desire to unplug from all of it, to slow the pace before the sprint becomes a crash.

Humor in the Fantasy

The funny part? Off-grid life would probably be a disaster. Chopping wood sounds romantic until the back gives out. Growing food is easy to picture until the tomatoes don’t survive past June. And there’s no denying that after a week of “living simple,” the temptation to fire up a generator just to check Strava would be overwhelming.

Still, the fantasy is real. The dream has a pull. Even knowing the flaws, the vision offers a kind of hope that maybe, someday, a version of it could exist.

Lessons Learned

That’s what the miles keep teaching: how to live in both worlds. The grind of deadlines and job sites and family obligations, and the dream of escape into something quieter. Running doesn’t erase the chaos, but it does prove that forward motion is always possible.

The growth comes from learning to carry both. To accept that life is a balance of realities, and progress is measured not by perfection but by persistence.

So here it is — Episode 19. The Fredericton Marathon on the horizon. The September mileage goal within reach. The project chaos at work, the freedom of the ride, the itch for something more.

At the core of it all, one truth remains: when the world is loud, when the ankle is screaming, when the weight feels heavy, there’s still a way forward. Lace up, step outside, and keep moving.

Because sometimes, in the middle of the madness, running is the only thing that makes sense.