I just… I gotta get this out somewhere, you know? Like, nobody in my actual life would ever get it. Or they’d just say “good job” and change the subject. But I just ran my personal best marathon time today. Ever. Like, I’m 52, my knees creak when I stand up, and I shaved a whole EIGHT minutes off my last time. I crossed that finish line and I felt… nothing. Well, not nothing. Just… kinda empty? And now I’m sitting here in the cooling tent, all sweaty and gross, trying to look proud for everyone who keeps like, clapping me on the shoulder, and all I can think is “is this it?” I trained my butt off for this, you guys. Every single day, every day for months. Woke up at 4:30 while everyone else was asleep, ran in the dark. Missed dinners, you know? My wife’s like “another run, honey?” and I just smile and say “gotta hit those miles!” And I did. I hit every single one. Even when my parents were calling me every five minutes about their leaky faucet, even when my boss was breathing down my neck about Q4 numbers, even when my grown kids were asking for “just a little help” with rent again. I thought if I just pushed hard enough, if I just proved myself enough… something would click. Something in my head would finally quiet down. Because that voice, the one that tells you you’re not quite good enough? It’s ALWAYS there. Like, at work, I nail a presentation, and then I’m immediately thinking about what I could’ve done better. Or my kids tell me they love me, and I’m like, do they *really* love me, or are they just being polite? It’s crazy, I know. I’m a grown man, I’ve got a good job, a good family, a house that’s mostly paid off. But that little knot in my stomach, that feeling like I’m constantly falling short, it just… never goes away. I truly thought this marathon, this PB, would be it. The big achievement that finally shut that voice up. I pictured myself crossing the line, arms raised, like in the movies, and feeling this huge wave of relief, of *worth*. And I did raise my arms, because everyone else was. But inside, I just felt… tired. And then immediately, like, “okay, what’s next? What else do I have to do?” It’s exhausting, honestly. Every single day, every day it’s something. So here I am. Covered in glitter from some random kid’s sign, drinking lukewarm water, and feeling like a complete fraud. Like, I’m supposed to be celebrating, right? And I am, kind of. But mostly I’m just wondering why the finish line for *this* race didn't feel like the finish line for the other, bigger race that’s always going on inside my head. Will that one ever end? Or am I just gonna keep running until I can’t anymore? It kinda sucks. It really, really sucks.