Crossed the finish line today. Another marathon done. A personal best, actually. Knocked a full four minutes off my previous time. My family called – my sister, God bless her, practically wept. "Our little warrior!" she kept saying. My son, he just said, "That's incredible, Dad. Really amazing." I nodded into the phone, tried to sound like I felt it. Incredible. Amazing. Stood in the cooling tent, all damp towels and lukewarm water. Legs felt like jelly. Chest still heaving a bit. The kind of exhaustion that usually feels… earned. Right? The kind that's supposed to make you feel like you just slayed a dragon, or at least a very long road. But I just stood there, looking at the free banana, thinking, "Is this it?" Because the feeling, the one that’s always there, it didn’t budge. Not an inch. This nagging little voice, always whispering, "Not good enough. Not quite." You'd think running 26.2 miles, faster than ever before at 71 years old, would shut it up. For a minute, at least. But no. It just moved on to the next criticism. "Well, you still only came in 400th for your age group, you old fart." Anyone else get that? The instant pivot to the next perceived failure? My parents, bless their souls, came here with nothing. Built everything from scratch. Worked themselves to the bone. My father always said, "You must strive. Always strive for better." And I did. Straight As, good university, stable career, nice house, two wonderful kids. You tick all the boxes. You do all the things. You achieve. And achieve. And achieve. I remember my father watching me practice for my first marathon, maybe thirty years ago. He was quiet, just watching. Afterwards, he just said, "You are strong. But strength is not enough. Discipline is what makes a man." No "good job," no "proud of you." Just… more expectation. More to reach for. It wasn't criticism, not really. It was just how it was. The bar was always moving. So I kept running. And running. And working. And providing. Did I ever just… exist? Feel contentment? I honestly don’t know. This persistent low hum of inadequacy – it’s just background noise now. It’s part of the landscape. It’s who I am. Sometimes I think, maybe this is just how people like me are wired. Generations of striving. Of proving you belong. Of trying to be “better” than what you left behind, but never really escaping the feeling that you’re still not quite there. Caught between two worlds, perhaps? Too Western for the old country, too old-country for the West. Always a little off-kilter. And now I'm retired. More time to think. More time to run. More time to… not feel better about myself. I thought this running, this pushing, it was supposed to be my thing. My way to prove something, not to anyone else, but to that voice. But it’s still there. Humming along. Louder now that there are fewer distractions. So here I am, 71 years old, a personal best under my belt, and I’m just… tired. Tired of trying to fix something I can’t seem to fix. Am I the only one who feels this? Like you could climb Mount Everest naked and still wonder if your socks matched? Yeah. That’s about it.