It was early. I sat there in the cool and quiet terrace, sipping my instant coffee and incessantly clicking refresh on my browser. The coffee was shitty, but comforting. In a world with so few luxuries and so many uncertainties, I’d grown to appreciate it.

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. I took another sip and looked out the window to see the sun cresting the peaks of the Cordillera Blanca in the distance. I impatiently clicked refresh again, awaiting the results. I was cold and tired, over 6,000km away from home, sitting in a hostel in the town of Huaraz in northern Peru, surrounded by some of the most stunning mountains in the world. But all I could think about was running.

Refresh. Since arriving in South America in late August, I’d barely run over the last two months. I’d welcomed the break and enjoyed partaking in other activities, challenging my body and mind in different ways. But it was becoming very apparent that running was not just a hobby, it was my absolute passion. And I needed it back in my life.

I clicked refresh again, expecting the race results at any moment. My buddy Scott was running the Marathon du P’tit Train du Nord and was expecting to finish in 2 hours of 45 minutes and I couldn’t wait to see those numbers pop up on my screen. Refresh.

2:41

I was floored. This is an outstanding result, to say the least. After a few tough years of training and racing, Scott had a breakthrough year in 2018, slicing his personal best in the marathon from 3:11 to 2:51 and now to 2:41. I was beyond inspired. After many excited and congratulatory texts to Scott, I opened a new tab in my browser and wrote an email to Hugh Langely.

Hugh, who occasionally ran with the same run club as Scott and I had in Ottawa, had taken Scott under his wing in 2018 and coached him to these incredible results. After experiencing a few tough years of marathoning myself, I thought I’d maybe plateau’d at the distance. But witnessing Scott’s growth, progress, and performances reignited my passion. I knew I had more in me, but I needed to help to get there. Less than an hour after Scott crossed the finish line, I wrote Hugh asking if he’d be willing to help me get to the next level. My goal was to run under 2 hours and 50 minutes in 2019. I’d be travelling for the remainder of the year, but I’d be back home come January, ready to start running and training again with Boston on my race calendar in April. Hugh agreed and was confident that we could do it.

Non linear

My relationship with the marathon was an arduous and complicated one, and was certainly not linear. Since running my very first marathon in 3 hours and 33 minutes in May of 2013, I’d run 3:05 the following spring, barely missing my Boston qualifier. Later that fall, I ran a 2:59 in Toronto, officially punching my ticket to Boston. I was confident that I’d cracked the marathon code and that I had this thing figured out. That’s when the marathon fought back and put me in my place. Boston 2016 did not go well, ending with me blacking out the final 5 kilometres of the race in which I finished in 3:10, followed swiftly by a visit to the medical tent. The following year I stubbornly trained through a nasty case of plantar fasciitis which kept me off the start line in Ottawa. After diligently rehabbing all spring and summer, I was back in fine form and set my sights on Chicago in the fall. Unfortunately, the sun, my poor race tactics, and my utter disregard for the signs my body was sending me that day lead to a much worse outcome than Boston, ultimately landing me in the hospital for several hours after collapsing at kilometre 40.

I was lost, confused and discouraged. I’d thought I was on the right path, but suddenly after nearly 3 years of beating my head against the wall, I’d made no progress with the marathon. In fact, I’d gone backwards, questioning whether I could — or should — give the distance another shot. As we planned out our year of travel, Katie and I talked about it at length. Deep down, I needed some redemption. I wanted to give the marathon another shot before we left. But I had to do it the right way. While the thought of me running another marathon so soon after Chicago likely terrified her, Katie knew how much it meant to me and gave me her full support. I’d grown and learned from my mistakes. I knew where I needed to make changes in my training and how to look out for the warning signs during a race. I knew that the marathon is a nasty beast and that sometimes it’s just not your day. And if not, you gotta be okay with that. But most importantly, I learned that no matter how much I love running, family and friends are the most important thing in the world to me.

That spring, I got my shit together, trained harder, and got the redemption I wanted, running a 2:56 just a week before leaving on our trip. I was satisfied - or so I thought.

Ends of the earth

It was new year’s eve. As 2018 came to a close, so was our epic adventure. In just a few short days, we would be flying to San Francisco to visit family for a few weeks before finally making our way back to Ontario after 9 months on the road. We were fresh off an epic ten day trek through Chile’s Patagonia region, an unforgettable trip of a lifetime that we were fortunate enough to experience with our good friends Darren and Shelley, who had since left on their own travels home. We were in a hostel in the town of Punta Arenas in Chile, literally at the end of the earth. As the final hours of one of the wildest years of our lives ticked away, we was thinking about the future. 2019. What did this new year have in store for us? A new city. A new home. New jobs. A new life. With so many unknowns, we were filled with mixed emotions. We sat there quietly, sipping wine, each writing down our 2019 goals in our journals. At the top of my list: run a sub 2:50 marathon.

I’d kept in touch with Hugh over the last few months since Scott’s race. Between the hiking and the travel, I ran when I could. It wasn’t much, but that would all change tomorrow. January 1st, 2019 would be my first official day of training.

After that first run back, I remember being filled with so much emotion. I was happy and excited, but terrified. I had so much work to do, but I was up for it. I remember the pit in my stomach as I sent this tweet, putting my audacious goal out there in the open. There was no turning back now.

Boston

I hit the ground running with Hugh. He threw me right into 100+km weeks and workouts that pushed me further than I’d ever pushed myself. The learning curve was steep. I was tired and hungry all the time, but I adapted pretty quickly. My progress was undeniable, but I struggled at times with my pesky imposter syndrome. Hugh kept me level headed and on track. “We don’t have to go after sub 2:50 in Boston” he reminded me. “Sub 2:50 is your 2019 goal. Your build has been great, but it’s only been 15 weeks. And Boston is a tough course.” He was right. I needed to be patient, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I had sub 2:50 in me that day. I thought I might. But after being dealt another hot and humid race day, I was forced to change my plan early on. It paid off. I finished, clear headed and fist pumping down Boylston Street, in 2:52:45, a four minute personal best. Elated. Proud. Hungry for more.

Toronto

After my Boston breakthrough I took my off season seriously, cycling and doing plenty of yoga while running lower mileage to maintain my base. I embraced the break from early morning runs and punishing workouts. Katie and I were busy, commuting 3 hours a day into the city where we were settling in to new jobs. By July, we found our dream place and finally moved to Toronto. Our new place was well situated between some of the east end’s best running locales, with the Beaches, the Lower Don Trail, the Martin Goodman Trail, The Spit and an amazing outdoor track all within a few kilometres of our front door.

The constant 100km weeks started again. Some of them were 120 or 130 kilometres. I began run commuting to work. Sometimes both ways. I was at the track once or twice a week, grinding out the latest insane workout that Hugh had sent me the previous Sunday night. I ate well and slept well. I took my workouts seriously, but my recovery even more seriously. I built a community of running friends in Toronto. Some were old friends from a past life, others were new friends from work. Some I knew only on Strava and others I met at races. Some I ran with, others I kept in touch with over text. I embraced and cherished this community. I knew - I had learned - that family and friends was the most important thing, inside and out of running. Remember that.

As race season approached, I couldn’t help but get excited. I’d had a dream build. I had stayed healthy, despite a nasty tumble on my bike that could have ended up so much worse. I’d nailed nearly every workout and seen so much progress. As I combed through my training logs back to that first run on January 1st in Chile, I was dumbfounded by my progress. It was almost unbelievable. When we started training together, my marathon pace was a 4:19. By the time Boston rolled around it was a 4:04. And now, in the final weeks leading up to my fall race, it was all the way down at a 3:47. I’d gotten to a point where I would run an awesome workout and then not believe it was me when looking back at my Strava data. It was like my brain couldn’t keep up with how fast my body was progressing. I don’t know how he did it, but Hugh had unlocked something in me that I did not know was there.

No Human Is Limited

During the final weeks of my build, I was feeling great albeit a bit anxious. I tried to stay busy, knowing that my upcoming taper would drive me insane. I threw myself deeper into work and put my running fan hat on. Fall is such an exciting time for the sport and this season did not disappoint.

First up was the Berlin Marathon, a world major and a notoriously fast race where the elites ran insane times and world records were often set. But I had my eyes set on my friend Alison from work, who I’d convinced earlier in the year to start training with Hugh. She’d seen her own insane gains over the summer, running a 3:14 in Berlin, over an hour faster than she’d ever run a marathon before. What a beast. I was so stoked for her.

The next weekend, my friend Tannis (also from work) served up her own dose of inspiration, running a 2:50 in The County Marathon, a 10 minute personal best for her. And the best part? She won. The entire race. She beat all the men and all the women. She demolished the field, beating the next fastest runner by 5 minutes. She later told me that when she was leading at 25k, people on the sidelines were cheering and shouting “It’s a girl! A girl is winning!”. When she heard that, she told herself that “there is no f—ing way that I’m not winning this thing!”. That story, and her performance, proved to be a great source of inspiration for me.

And finally, on Thanksgiving weekend, just one week out from my race, the greatest marathoner that ever lived, Eliud Kipchoge, took his second shot at running a sub 2 hour marathon in Vienna. And he did it in stunning fashion. Eliud’s historic achievement was driven my his “No human is limited” mantra, a fact that he proved to the world on that day. His dedication, humility, and grace has always been an incredible source of inspiration to me. No human is limited. I thought about this a lot.

With all the progress I’d made over the last few months, my goal of sub 2:50 no longer felt like a stretch. In fact, it was almost a given, if there was every such a thing in the marathon. But my training and workouts indicated a much faster possible result. When planning my race strategy, I couldn’t help but think that, if I got an absolutely perfect day, a sub 2:40 was maybe possible. Sure, it was a pie-in-the-sky, best case scenario, stretch goal. But it was there, somewhat within the reach of my outstretched fingertips. I’d apprehensively told a few friends of my crazy goal before the race, most of whom responded with a simple “wow.” “I know, I know, it’s crazy” I’d say, retreating on my silly statement. But…was it? With all of this “no human is limited” talk, I couldn’t help but dream. Katie told me to go for it. “Don’t sell yourself short” she encouraged me. “You’re in incredible shape and no matter what you’re going to have an amazing race. Go for it. Why not. You’ve worked too hard to go easy now.”

Race Day

5:00 AM

I barely slept a wink. My body was buzzing with excitement all night. I dragged myself out of bed and began my race morning routine. Coffee, oatmeal, banana, and two bottles of Maurten, my go-to high-carb pre-race drink that would help push me through in a few hours.

7:00 AM

We left the house before dark and made our way downtown. Katie and her parents were just as excited and nervous as I was.

8:00 AM

We said our good lucks and good byes, and went our separate ways. They were headed for Bathurst and Adelaide to their first cheering station, at about the 6km mark. I went to University Street to begin my 10 minute warm up. Stay calm. Stay focused.

I made my way into the starting corral where I ran into some old friends from my run club in Ottawa, Patrick Hailstone and Nic Beland. And then I saw Hugh, who jumped the fence with his wife, Meredith, and came over to join our group. He was jacked up, bouncing around, hooting and hollering. He’d be running the half with Mere. A minute before the gun went off, he grabbed my shoulders, squeezing them, telling me that I was ready for this.

8:45 AM

Go time. Butterflies flew about my stomach as we took off. This was it. This was my chance.

“run hard. run smart.”

Scott had texted me this the night before. I’d texted him a million times over the past few months, asking for his advice and point of view on everything from pacing to workouts to recovery techniques. He always put me at ease, pointing me in the right direction and giving me the confidence boost I needed. His simple pre-race message stuck in my brain. “Run hard. Run smart.” I told myself over an over.

The first half was all business. I locked into my goal pace, trying not to get too excited or ahead of myself. I focused on my turnover, my breathing, and my 5km splits, which I’d planned to be 19:00 flat. I smiled with confidence at every split, amazed by the accuracy of my pacing, despite the wonky GPS in downtown Toronto. I cruised through my first four 5km splits in 19:04, 19:00, 18:58 and 18:51, right on track. After passing Katie and her family at 19km and my parents at 20km, I crossed the halfway mark in 1:20:02, right on pace to break 2:40 if I was able to negative split in the back half

Halfway

Shortly after crossing the half way mark, I saw my friend Nic ahead on the course. As I caught up to him, he was clearly struggling, jogging at a much slower pace than he’d gone out at.

“Nic!” I shouted “come with me man!”

“Not today man” he responded. “I’ve got horrible cramps. Go get it buddy!” he encouraged.

I continued on, holding steady on my pace which surprisingly wasn’t hurting yet. As the course headed east of downtown, the crowd thinned out. With the half marathoners gone, it had become quiet, and I found myself mostly running alone, usually not a great thing in a marathon.

Eastward

Following the awkward loop on Bayview that contains some twists and turns, and an annoying hairpin which stops you in your tracks, we headed over the Don Valley into the east end. After a relatively cool morning, it was starting to warm up. It was by no means getting hot, but the sun was out and I ditched my gloves at 26k.

By 30k, things started to get a bit uncomfortable. The wind was blowing just hard enough into our faces for it to be noticeable and the pace that I’d been holding was starting to wear on me. As we reached the far east portion of the course in The Beaches, my pace was finally beginning to slow - not a lot - but just enough. By the time I reached the turnaround at 33.5k, I knew that my dreams of sub 2:40 were fleeting, but I wasn’t about to start worrying. I was still in good shape. With about 8km to go, I knew from experience that the real race was starting now. This would be as much mental as it would be physical. Let’s do this thing.

As we headed back west towards the city, the wind that was once in our faces was now at our backs, a welcome turn of events. “Go get ‘em Jason!” I heard from the other side of the course. It was Nic, who was still running east towards the Beaches, giving me a huge lift with his words of encouragement.

Alone

I soon found myself very alone, running west along Lakeshore Boulevard in Toronto’s east end. The pain, which had been around for a while now, was starting to get real. Very real. It was uncomfortable, but familiar. The sun was becoming more present. Since I’d ditched my gloves 10km earlier, I’d also started pouring water on my head at each aid station as a preventative measure.

I knew this section of the course well. I’d probably run it a hundred times since we moved into the area in July. This was my daily commute to work. But this time, it was different. On a normal day, I’m wearing a backpack, listening to a podcast, and running a relaxed 5:00/km pace. I was usually running on the bike path where cyclists whizzed past without ringing their bells, and the poor souls who chose to drive into downtown were gridlocked on Lakeshore, likely frustrated that this dude running with a backpack was making more progress than they were.

But today wasn’t a normal day. There was no traffic. There were no bikes. There was no backpack or entertaining commentary in my ears. I was all alone, running smack dab in the middle of one the city’s busiest streets, which was now a ghost town. Today was race day. And shit was getting real.

I was digging as deep as I could to hang on to anything that resembled the 3:48/km pace that I’d set out with over two hours earlier. But as I reached Leslie Street, I saw another familiar face. My buddy Jeff was at the intersection, going bonkers with his son Elliott, screaming my name and jumping around. This gave me the jolt I needed and broke me out of my struggling, clunky stride. I notched the next kilometre at 3:42, a pace that was fuelled by friends, but not realistic to maintain for the remainder of the race. I no longer felt so alone.

Downtown

After passing Jeff, I made the right on Carlaw followed by a left on Eastern Avenue which lead us over one of the course’s few hills, the overpass that brings you back into the downtown core. It sucked, but I made it though.

With 3 kilometres to go, I was searching for anything to help me through the pain. I looked around for familiar faces. I thought back to my hardest workouts. “Ten more minutes!” I told myself. “9 minutes. 8 minutes” I counted down, doing rough math in my head. I then thought about Tannis and her “there is no f—ing way I’m not winning this thing!” story. It gave me chills and a boost. I thought back to five years ago to the day, October 20th 2014, when I first ran this race in 2:59:17, my first big breakthrough in the marathon. I was going to do it again, I promised myself. I was going to find that next breakthrough.

And then I heard a familiar noise. Cowbells. Screams. Shouts. I looked to the right to see my crew, going ballistic as always, lead by my one and only in full force. Katie was out in front of the gang, crouched down clapping and screaming as hard as she could.

My heart grew three sizes and I powered on, pumping my fist as I passed to let them I know that I had this.

Right on Bay

After making that final right hand turn from Wellington onto Bay, I knew I was almost there. I only had a few hundred metres to go, but it was all uphill. I gritted my teeth and went deep inside for everything I had. “Go Jason!” I heard from the right hand side where my parents were posted up with 500m to go. Another boost. Time to bring it on home.

As I reached Queen Street I took one final look at my watch, confirming that I would not go under 2:40, but I would in fact shatter my previous personal best. I emptied the tank in the last 200m, bursting with emotion, dumbfounded by what had just happened.

2:41:03

No words.

I got my medal. I got a warming blanket. I got a lot of water. I looked back at the finishing clock and then down at my watch. 2:41:03. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t comprehend it. It did not make any sense. Despite all my hard work - the hours of training, the thousands of kilometres, the self doubt and the confidence, the punishing workouts - the numbers two forty one would not register with me. I’m still not sure if it has.

I staggered my way through the finishing corral, bewildered by the insanity of the morning I had just had, grabbing all the tiny cups of water I could. My mind was racing, trying to process it all. How? What? I looked back at my watch, cracked a huge smile, and revelled in the time that looked back up at me. I screamed and shouted with joy, fist pumping by myself, hugging volunteers and random strangers. I then caught a glimpse of Katie through the crowds. I shouted her name, but she couldn’t hear me. My feet were on fire but I made my way to her as quickly as I could. I reached up and grabbed her by the backpack from behind. She spun around, screamed my name, and gave me the biggest hug. My body almost immediately went limp as I finally let go of it all. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have fallen over at that point.

My usual post-race routine began. We made our way to the Sheraton Hotel across the street where I flopped on to the floor and chugged a beer that had been handed to me at the finish.

I then peeled off my shoes and socks to assess the damage. My feet were sore and tender and I prepared myself for the worst. Two large blood blisters, one on the outside of either toe, had developed over the last few hours. After getting changed into some warm and clean clothes, we made our way to the bar for some post race celebrations - family, friends, burgers and beer. I was on cloud nine, but I still didn’t quite understand what had happened.

What had happened?

It’s now been nine days since I ran the Toronto Waterfront Marathon in 2 hours 41 minutes and 3 seconds. Even as I write those numbers, they don’t make sense to me. I know I put in the work. I know I ran hard. I know I ran smart. But how the hell did I run a 2:41? Was it a fluke? Did I cut the course? Was it the cheater shoes? This was more than a breakthrough for me. This result was so far beyond anything that I ever considered to be possible for myself in the marathon. Sub 2:50 had felt like a pipe dream. Hell, for a long time, going sub 3 felt like a stretch. But I’d done it. I’d stuck with it, even through the difficult years, and kept showing up. I tried new things and gave it everything I had. I found a system and routine that worked for me and optimized my life towards it. I surrounded myself with positive people and rid myself of negative things.

Many people have reached out to me since my race, asking me what my “secret” was. Honestly, there is no secret. You can’t hack your way to success. But I was able to make a large jump in a seemingly short period of time. And as I reflect on it, I’ve concluded that it all came down to a few key things.

Consistency. Show up every single day. A strong marathon build is about consistency, not any single killer workout or massive long run. Every little piece matters and, when added together, they build up to something that is greater and stronger that the sum of its parts. If you trust the consistency, you’ll have a lot less anxiety about your training and a lot more success.

Simplicity. In the past, I often overcomplicated things. Every time I went out for a run, I was trying all these wacky workouts and paces that made no sense. Hugh taught me how to simplify my training. Every week I had a mileage target and two key workouts. All other running was easy, broken up how I saw fit. I was only given one week of training at a time, usually on Sunday evenings, so I wasn’t able to get caught up in next week or the week after. Simple. Straight forward. Uncomplicated.

Quality. Quality running. Quality recovery. Quality food. Quality sleep. No more “garbage in, garbage out”. If you run too hard too often, you’ll likely get hurt or burnt out. If you eat shitty, overly processed foods, you’ll feel like junk. If you don’t get enough sleep, you won’t be ready for your workouts. I made the point of setting an intention with every run I ran. On my easy runs, I forced myself to go slow. Really slow. On my workouts, I gave everything I had right to the end. I cleaned up my diet, going mostly plant-based and reducing the amount of foods that came wrapped in plastic. We invested in a king size bed and I’ve never slept better.

Support. You can’t do it alone. At least I couldn’t. My support system of family, friends, co-workers, fellow runners, strangers on Strava, the random guy you wave to on your run. They all matter. They are the ones who motivate and inspire me, pushing me to explore what’s possible. Scott showed me the way. He lead by example and planted the seed of what might be possible in my mind. Thank you, friend. You’re an incredible inspiration.

Trust. You need to trust yourself and trust your training. You need to commit fully to the process and believe that you are on the right path. And come race day, when your weeks of training tell you that you can probably run a marathon in some ungodly pace, you need to trust that and go for it. This was one of the most challenging things for me. Trusting and believing that I could in fact run a marathon at a 3:47 pace. Committing to that pace early on, running hard and smart, and believing that your body wouldn’t fail you was hard. It was terrifying. I felt like I was jumping into the unknown. But let me tell you, that unknown ended up being pretty cool place.

Opportunity. I’d be remiss to not touch on how much opportunity I have had. I am so incredibly fortunate to have been able to train the way I did. Unlike many of my running friends, I don’t have kids. I don’t have a horrible 2 hour commute where I sit in traffic. I don’t have a job with rigid, demanding hours. What I do have is a loving, supportive family that encourages me to go further and explore my potential. I have a commute that I was able to run most days to a job with flexible hours at an office that has full shower facilities and towel service. I am healthy and fit. I can afford to buy new running shoes every month and pay for a coach. I feel incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to explore my potential in this sport that I love so dearly.

Coaching. He takes little credit for any of this, saying things like “you did all the work, I just offer a bit of guidance here and there”, but let me tell you that Hugh Langley is the man! And he offered me far more than “a bit of guidance here and there” over the last 10 months. I have learned far more about this sport than I ever thought possible and he handed me the keys to unlocking that next level in my training. He took me on, a fragile, self-doubting 2:56 guy, and turned me into a confident, laser-focused 2:41 guy. Hugh, my man, this was not possible without you. As you said the afternoon of the race “let’s keep this crazy train going. 2:35 next go!”

Katie. She has been my constant through it all. From my first horrible experience in the marathon after which I swore I’d never do it again, to the first time I broke 3 hours, to the hospital bedside in Chicago, to that final mile in Boston, to last Sunday in Toronto. But it’s not just race day. Just like training for a marathon, Katie’s contribution is like an iceberg - there is so much more below the surface than what the eye can see. She’s my biggest supporter every day. She challenges me to find more in myself and tells me to go after it. She doesn’t let me settle for just okay, because she’s convinced that I still have some untapped potential. It’s this confidence, love and belief that she has in me that has pushed me to explore it for myself. She was the first one who suggested we run a half marathon. She told me that I could qualify for Boston and that I could break three hours. She encouraged me to get a coach when I wanted to find that next level. She bought me my VaporFlys and new racing kit because she knew I wouldn’t get it for myself. And she was the one that said “you gotta go for it” when I sheepishly suggested that sub 2:40 was maybe, somehow, on my radar. Without her, I probably would have never run a marathon. I wouldn’t be where I’m at in my career. I sure as hell wouldn’t be the man or husband I am today. From trying to figure out who we were in our early twenties, to choosing to sleep in the wilderness for months, to exploring the other side of the world, to building and defining our new lives in Toronto, she’s the one who pushes me further and supports me no matter what. She’s the one who squeezes every last ounce of potential out of me. She’s the one who tells me to go for it, when I’m too scared to say it myself.

So what’s my secret? Well, it’s her.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for you ongoing support. I love you all.

Time to rest up these legs. I got a lot of work to do in 2020.