What’s up!
Last weekend, I ran the San Francisco Marathon, Sutter Health Half Marathon through Golden Gate Park. And I’m still trying to process it.
A week before the race, I was sick. The kind of sick where your throat burns and you wonder if your body is quietly negotiating with you to stay in bed. But something in me wanted to show up anyway. Not to PR. Not to prove anything dramatic. Just to start.
The morning air in Golden Gate Park was cold and damp, the kind that sits on your skin. At the starting line, surrounded by thousands of runners, I felt surprisingly calm. The first few miles felt steady. My legs remembered the long runs. My breathing found a rhythm. I let myself believe: maybe this will be okay.
Mile 9 felt heavier.
And then mile 10 hit.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no cinematic slow-motion moment. Just a sudden, hollow fatigue that spread from my legs to my head. My pace slowed. My thoughts blurred. I remember thinking, this is the wall everyone talks about. After that, everything feels foggy. I blacked out the rest of the race, not literally collapsing, but mentally gone. My body kept moving, one foot in front of the other, while my brain drifted somewhere quieter.
It’s strange how the body knows what to do when the mind can’t keep up.
Somewhere in that last stretch, I heard cheering. I remember flashes: trees lining the road, sunlight breaking through, someone yelling my name. And then suddenly, the finish line was there. I crossed it not with a sprint, not with tears, just with a deep, stunned relief.
I had done it. Sick the week before. Hitting the wall at mile 10. Still finishing.
I didn’t run my fastest race..
But I finished.
And sometimes, that’s the entire point.
Live, Laugh, Love,
Jessica Ngok 🌎
Letters To Earth 