I’ve always loved the idea of running, but never the running itself. Still, earlier this year, I decided it was finally time to give it a real shot. My older brother ran cross country in high school, which made a 5K feel both appealing and attainable. So I downloaded an app and got to work.
Once I checked that box, I pushed myself to a 10K—and then sat down with my wife for a serious conversation. I told her, “I want to run a marathon.” She was torn between thinking it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard and saying, “Of course you do,” because I’m not exactly known for doing anything halfway.
Together, we made a plan: if I could run a half marathon by July 1st and still wanted to chase the full marathon, I’d sign up for the Charlotte Marathon in November.
Fast forward a few months. The boxes were getting checked. I’d been training hard—late-night runs after the kids were in bed, pushing through minor but nagging injuries—and I was proud of the example I was setting. Then, on the Monday before the race, I woke up with a nasty cold. The timing couldn’t have been worse. I spent the entire week taking medicine, vitamins, and drinking more fluids than I ever have in my life. By race day, I definitely didn’t feel great, but adrenaline helped quiet the nerves and doubts.
The race itself was the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done. But the moment I saw my wife and kids at the finish line—cheering, smiling, proud—that made every mile, every late night, and every ache worth it.
Coy Little
Early in my training, somewhere between my 10K and half marathon, I met Carson’s dad, Jason. He shared Carson’s story with me, and it struck something deep in me. The way Carson lived created a legacy that continues to breathe life into others. I’m grateful for that inspiration. It pushed me forward and helped me accomplish something that made my family proud.
All throughout training, whenever anyone asked why I wanted to run a marathon, I always met their eyes and answered the same way:
“Why not?”
