Two Cities Marathon

 

Two Cities Marathon

Fresno-Clovis, CA

1 November 2026

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”— Albert Einstein

I didn’t plan on running Two Cities this year. After several years of running this marathon, and halfs, essentially in my backyard, I figured I’d had my fill of the course. I know the roads, the turns, the stretches that seem to go on forever, and the miles where my enthusiasm typically begins to wane. I’d been there, done that, and collected the finisher medals to prove it. Surely, it was time to move on to something different.

And yet, here I am, signed up for another go.

It’s not as though I haven’t been running. I’ve already checked off one marathon and two difficult half marathons this year, enough to keep me connected to the sport and remind me that I still enjoy the challenge of lining up on race day. I know from experience, a half marathon is one thing; a full 26.2 miles is another. Somewhere between those shorter races and my next big running goal, the idea of returning to Two Cities started to take shape. I can’t pinpoint exactly when the thought became a decision, but somehow, I found myself registering for a marathon I’d previously convinced myself I was ready to leave behind.

Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Maybe I was caught up in the excitement of another race season. Or maybe it had something to do with a bigger goal that has been quietly taking shape in the back of my mind: running at least 100 marathons. With 77 marathons tucked under my belt, I’m well past the halfway point and close enough to that milestone that it feels less like a distant dream and more like a goal within reach. Of course, getting from 77 to 100 still means logging plenty of training miles, putting in the time, and finding the motivation to keep showing up at the starting line. Every marathon counts, and even though I thought I’d had my fill of the Two Cities course, I can’t afford to be too picky if I want to reach that magic number. Besides, there’s something satisfying about watching the count climb, knowing that each finish line brings me one marathon closer to 100. With 23 more to go, maybe signing up for Two Cities wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

Of course, having a goal of 100 marathons doesn’t mean every race needs to be a grand adventure in a new city or on an entirely unfamiliar course. Sometimes it means returning to a place you know well, even when you think you’ve seen everything it has to offer. Two Cities has become a familiar part of my running history, and perhaps that familiarity is part of what drew me back. I know what to expect, at least in terms of the course. What I don’t know is how this year’s experience will unfold, how I’ll feel on race day, or what new lessons I might take away from running those same miles again.

The funny thing about running is that the course may stay the same, but the runner never does. Fitness changes, life happens, and motivations evolve. The person toeing the starting line this year is not quite the same person who stood there in previous years. With a full and two half marathons behind me this year and a growing collection of marathon memories, my long-term goal keeps me looking ahead. Maybe this return to Two Cities is less about the course itself and more about the bigger picture: continuing to show up, keeping the miles behind me adding up, and working toward that landmark 100-marathon milestone.

So here I am, preparing to run Two Cities once again. I may have thought I’d had my fill of this marathon, but apparently, I wasn’t quite finished with it. Whether signing up was a brilliant decision or a momentary lapse in judgment remains to be seen. For now, I’ll lace up my shoes, put in the training miles, and see where this unexpected return takes me. After all, I didn’t plan on running Two Cities this year. But with a goal of at least 100 marathons on the horizon, perhaps I should stop being surprised when another 26.2 miles finds its way onto my calendar.

The Expo/Packet Pick-up

Expo entrance

The Well Community Church campus in north Clovis served as the venue for this years’ expo. The church offers an architectural setting that reflects the agricultural heritage and rural character of Clovis and the Central Valley. Its barn-inspired design blends naturally with the surrounding landscape, incorporating the familiar look and feel of traditional agricultural structures while providing a welcoming, contemporary gathering space. The architectural style serves as a subtle nod to the area's farming roots, creating a connection between the community's history and its evolving identity. Rather than feeling out of place, the barn-style elements give the property a sense of familiarity and regional character.

Race participants were directed through the Well Coffeehouse by welcoming volunteers, where a large, open room served as the central location for race bib pickup. The spacious interior provided plenty of room for runners to gather, present their QR codes to check in, and prepare for the event. From there, participants made their way into the main sanctuary building to collect their race swag. A moderate number of vendors lined the room, adding some activity and energy to the gathering as runners moved through the area. At the designated pickup tables, participants received the traditional event hoodie along with an event technical shirt. The arrangement created a convenient flow for race-day preparation while making use of the church's expansive indoor spaces.

The hoodie caught my attention because receiving it during packet pickup represented a departure from how things were done years ago. Back then, runners had to wait until they crossed the finish line to claim their sweatshirt. You had to earn it the traditional way—by completing all 26.2 miles. There was something special about that ritual. The hoodie wasn’t just another piece of race merchandise; it was a tangible reward for finishing the marathon.

Convenient? Without question. But for those of us who remembered the old days finishing at Woodward Park, getting the hoodie before the race felt a little different. Part of the appeal was knowing that the sweatshirt was waiting for you at the finish, a reward that had to be earned one mile at a time. Still, I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to have mine early. With the expo visit behind me and my race essentials in hand, I was one step closer to the starting line.

Let’s do this

Construction activity at Clovis Community College brought a few changes to the familiar Two Cities Marathon setup this year, including a rearrangement of the start and finish areas. Runners accustomed to starting on Fine Avenue would have to adjust their expectations. Instead of gathering along the usual stretch of road, we lined up in the parking lots fronting Willow Avenue, ready to charge out toward the course. It was a subtle change, perhaps, but for those of us who had run this marathon in previous years, even a small shift in the starting location was enough to make the morning feel a little different.

The weather, on the other hand, was just about what you’d expect for a mid-autumn morning in the Central Valley. Cool temperatures and a blanket of gray clouds hung overhead, creating the kind of conditions most distance runners appreciate. The day before, rain showers had passed through the area, leaving me wondering whether we might be in for a wet race. Fortunately, the weather gods cooperated, and the rain moved out of the area for marathon morning leaving clouds of residual moisture.

I’ve logged plenty of miles in the rain and run my share of races in inclement weather. I know firsthand that once you’re out on the course, you have to take whatever Mother Nature dishes out. Still, given the choice between running 26.2 miles under a steady drizzle and enjoying a cool, overcast day without precipitation, I’ll take the latter every time. There’s something reassuring about starting a marathon without having to contend with wet shoes, soggy clothing, or the prospect of spending hours getting drenched, let alone the threat of hypothermia. The clouds could stay, the temperatures could remain cool, and the sun could take most of the morning off. As long as the rain stayed away, I was a happy runner.

Diesel-powered portable light towers cast their bright beams across the staging area, illuminating the parking lots and the makeshift starting line in the predawn darkness. The generators hummed steadily in the background as runners gathered beneath the artificial glow, stretching, shuffling about, and making those final preparations before the race. The temperature hovered in the mid-50s, making for a relatively mild morning by late-autumn standards in the Central Valley. It was cool enough to appreciate an extra layer of clothing but hardly the kind of cold that leaves you questioning your decision to get out of bed before sunrise to run 26.2 miles. For now, the weather was cooperating, and the atmosphere carried that familiar mixture of anticipation and nervous energy that comes with marathon morning.

Over the years, I’ve learned that the pre-race routine at Two Cities has its own dependable rhythms, and one thing the organizers have consistently gotten right is providing plenty of portable toilets. Anyone who has run a large road race knows that porta-potties can become a source of considerable anxiety before the starting gun. Nothing quite tests a runner’s patience like standing in a painfully slow line while the minutes tick away and the start time draws closer. Fortunately, Two Cities has never seemed to skimp on these essential facilities, and this year was no exception. Rows of portable toilets stood ready to accommodate the inevitable last-minute needs of hundreds of runners.

Best of all, the lines moved quickly. Runners cycled through in just a few minutes, leaving plenty of time to take care of business, adjust their gear, and make their way toward the starting area. It was one less pre-race worry to contend with. After all, when you’re about to spend several hours pounding the pavement, the last thing you want is to begin the morning already feeling rushed. A well-organized porta-potty operation might not be the most glamorous feature of a marathon, but ask any experienced runner, and you’ll likely find it ranks surprisingly high on the list of things that make race day run smoothly.

Beyond the porta-potty area, another small gathering had formed around the bag-drop tent. Runners crowded together, clutching clear plastic bags stuffed with jackets, sweatshirts, and assorted personal belongings they no longer wanted to carry. With the morning still dark and the start approaching, the bag-drop operation became the final stop for those shedding their extra layers. Some runners had bundled up against the early-morning chill, while others were already dressed in their race-day outfits, seemingly unfazed by the cool air.

I watched the familiar pre-race ritual unfold as runners handed over their bags and prepared to head toward the starting line. The discarded layers would soon be out of sight, leaving everyone with little more than their running shoes, race bibs, and whatever they needed to get through the miles ahead. There’s always a moment during this process when the marathon begins to feel real. The preparations are nearly finished, the gear is stowed away, and there’s no more lingering around to avoid the inevitable. Soon, we’d be off and running, trading the bright lights of the parking lot for the quiet streets of Clovis and Fresno, with 26.2 miles between us and the finish line.

Shortly after the national anthem, the race got underway promptly at 0635. To me, the number of participants seemed to far exceeded the capacity of the starting line area, creating an extremely crowded and somewhat overwhelming atmosphere. Runners were packed tightly into the corrals, almost like sardines,  with very little room to move 

Course map

freely. It was difficult to find personal space, and the sheer number of people made the starting area feel congested and disorganized. One thing that particularly stood out to me was that the race pacers were not positioned in the proper order according to their designated pace times. Ideally, they should have been arranged from the fastest pace to the slowest to help runners find their appropriate starting positions. Amid the commotion, the announcer made a special announcement that Fresno’s own elite runner, CJ Albertson, was attempting to break his own course record of 2:16.

The starting line crowd

I was in Boston and saw CJ compete in the 2026 Boston Marathon, holding his own alongside some of the world's finest runners. Although I knew there was no possibility of matching his extraordinary pace, it was exciting to think of him out there competing at such an elite level. I found myself hoping that, somewhere along the course, I might catch a glimpse of him as he raced past in the opposite direction. Our running abilities might have been worlds apart, but the prospect of seeing such an accomplished local runner in action added an extra element of excitement and anticipation to the day.

Without any separate starts for the full and half marathons, the entire field set off together at the sound of a single “go!” In an instant, the waiting was over, and the mass of runners began moving forward out of the parking lot and onto Willow Avenue, marking the start of what promised to be a demanding and memorable race.

I was conscious that my training over the hot summer months had been somewhat mediocre. The high temperatures had made consistent training difficult, and having already completed two challenging half marathons, I knew that my preparation had not been as thorough as I would have liked. However, I also had the benefit of running in 2024 when I finished the marathon in 4:17, so I knew that a reasonable performance was still within reach. With that in mind, I positioned myself towards the middle of the queue, settling in just behind the 4:20 pace group, courtesy of Beast Pacing. This seemed a sensible place to begin, allowing me to find a comfortable rhythm without getting caught up with the faster runners near the front. With so many participants setting off at the same time, the initial stages required a little patience as everyone gradually found their pace and space on the course. I focused on keeping the 4:20 pacers within sight, recognising the importance of being realistic about my current fitness and endurance, while resisting the temptation to go out too fast in the excitement of the opening miles. My intention was to settle into a sustainable pace, conserve energy for the miles ahead, and allow the race to unfold naturally.

Within the first two to three miles, I began to realize that this was going to be a much longer day than I had anticipated. Although I was maintaining a relatively steady pace, something just didn’t feel right. My legs felt unusually heavy, my stride lacked its usual rhythm, and my focus seemed to wander. I tried to settle into a comfortable groove, hoping that my body would eventually loosen up and find its rhythm, but deep down, I knew I didn’t have it in me that morning. Whatever energy and confidence I had brought to the starting line seemed to be fading much sooner than expected.

At that point, I knew I needed to adjust my expectations and shift my mindset. Rather than stubbornly chasing the finish time I had originally envisioned, I began directing my attention toward a more manageable and realistic goal: finishing in five hours or less. A five-hour marathon was honestly the farthest thing from my mind when I started the race. It wasn’t the performance I had hoped for, but sometimes you have to listen to your body, accept what the day is giving you, and make the best of the circumstances. There was no point in fighting a battle that wasn’t going my way. My priority had shifted from chasing a particular time to conserving whatever energy I had left and getting myself to the finish line.

After a brief pit stop just beyond Mile 4, I got back into my rhythm and continued along the course. Surprisingly, I managed to maintain a fairly consistent pace through Mile 8. Although I wasn’t feeling particularly strong, I was still moving forward and reminding myself to take things one mile at a time. I knew there was still a long way to go, so I resisted the temptation to push harder than my body would allow. At that moment, simply maintaining a steady pace felt like a small victory.

Somewhere between Miles 5 and 6, along Friant Road, I finally caught sight of CJ making his way back toward the half marathon timing mat. As expected, he was absolutely flying. Even from a distance, his speed was impressive, and it was fascinating to watch the difference between a world class marathoner and the rest of us out there putting in our miles. I had wondered whether I would get the opportunity to see him running in the opposite direction, and there he was, making his way through the course with incredible efficiency and determination. The second-place runner was trailing considerably behind him, which only reinforced how dominant CJ's performance was at that point in the race.

For a brief moment, watching CJ gave me a welcome distraction from my own struggles. While I was recalibrating my expectations and trying to make it through the next few miles, he was on pace to set a new course record. We were running the same course, but clearly experiencing two very different races. I couldn’t help but admire what he was accomplishing. As for me, I had a much simpler mission ahead: keep moving, stay consistent, and hopefully make it to the finish line in under five hours.

I crossed the 10K timing mat just under 1:03, which, under normal circumstances, would have been an encouraging split. Considering how I had been feeling since the early miles, I was somewhat surprised that I had managed to maintain a relatively respectable pace. From there, I continued making my way up Friant Road toward the marathon turnaround point at approximately Mile 7.4. The gradual effort of running along Friant was beginning to take its toll, however. Although my pace hadn’t fallen off dramatically, I could sense that something wasn’t quite right. My legs were getting heavier, my energy was slowly diminishing, and I had that nagging feeling that the wheels were beginning to loosen. It was only a matter of time before my body would start demanding more than I could comfortably give.

As I approached the turnaround, I tried not to dwell too much on how I was feeling. I reminded myself that there was still a considerable distance ahead and that the best approach was to remain patient and avoid burning through what little energy I had left. Once I reached the turnaround and began heading back, the course offered a slight downhill trend, providing a welcome change from the gradual climb along Friant Road. I took advantage of the more forgiving terrain to find a comfortable rhythm, allowing the miles to unfold naturally rather than pushing the pace. Along the way, I struck up a conversation with a first-time marathoner, sharing stories and experiences from my own marathon journeys. The conversation provided a welcome distraction and made the time seem to pass a little more quickly.

The scenery also provided a much-needed distraction. Along this stretch, the views opened up to the impressive bluffs overlooking the San Joaquin River. The natural landscape was a beautiful contrast to the crowded starting area and the steady stream of runners making their way along the course. For a few moments, I shifted my attention away from my tired legs and focused on the scenery around me. It was one of those reminders of why I enjoy running races in the first place. Even when the legs aren’t cooperating and the finish line seems a long way off, there are moments along the course that make the experience worthwhile. I knew I was already fighting an uphill battle physically, but for the time being, I was still moving forward, and that was going to have to be enough.

At approximately Mile 10, the course split, with marathon runners veering right into Woodward Park while the half marathon participants continued straight. Making that turn brought back a sense of familiarity, as I had run the Lewis Eaton Trail and roads throughout the park in years past. It was somewhat comforting to be on familiar ground, especially as the fatigue was beginning to creep into my legs. I recognized portions of the park and knew what to expect from the winding pathways and surrounding landscape. At the same time, I was becoming increasingly aware that I still had a long way to go.

For the next two and a half miles, I had one particular milestone in mind: reaching the half marathon timing mat. It wasn’t necessarily the distance itself that I was looking forward to, but rather what crossing that mat would represent. Once I made it past the halfway point, I could finally begin counting down the remaining miles instead of constantly thinking about how many were still ahead of me. There is something reassuring about seeing the miles remaining shrink, even if the physical effort required to cover them seems to grow with each passing mile.

I'm sure this is a psychological game that many distance runners play. Rather than overwhelming yourself with the thought of having another 13 or 14 miles to cover, I break the race into smaller, more manageable goals. First, get to the next mile marker. Then reach the next aid station. After that, focus on the next turn or timing mat. Each small accomplishment provides a little mental boost and gives you another reason to keep moving forward.

For me, reaching the halfway point had become an important mental milestone. I had already come to terms with the fact that the ambitious finishing time I had originally envisioned was probably no longer within reach. My body was constantly reminding me that this wasn’t going to be an easy day, but I was still moving, cutting the tangents of each meandering curve, maintaining a reasonably steady pace, and making forward progress. Sometimes, that's all you can ask of yourself during a marathon.

As I exited the park, the halfway point lay just ahead. Unfortunately, I had to make a brief stop at an aid station just a few feet before reaching the timing mat to grab some hydration and to drink some of my maple syrup. In my opinion, the aid station placement could have been better. It would have made more sense to position the aid station just beyond the timing mat, giving runners an opportunity to cross the halfway point without interruption and perhaps pick up their pace as they approached the marker. I managed to cross the half-marathon timing mat in 2:14. It wasn’t the split I had hoped for when the race began, but given how the morning had unfolded and how my legs were feeling, it wasn’t particularly surprising or disappointing. I was halfway there, and at that point, simply putting one foot in front of the other and getting to the finish line had become the priority.

After making a left turn back onto Sheppard Avenue, I settled in for what would be a long, seemingly endless three-mile stretch before reaching the next turn at Willow Avenue. Without a doubt, this was probably the most uneventful and mentally challenging section of the course. The road seemed to go on forever, with little variation in the surroundings to break up the monotony. By this point, I was already feeling the effects of the miles behind me, and the thought of running another three miles along a relatively straight stretch of road wasn’t particularly appealing. It was one of those sections where you had to rely more on mental toughness than anything else to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

This was also where the marathon runners began sharing the course with the half marathon participants, many of whom were working their way through the final four miles of their race. Watching them brought back memories of my own half marathon experiences. I could recognize the familiar signs of fatigue: runners slowing to a walk, others stretching out their strides in an effort to maintain their pace, and some simply putting their heads down and concentrating on reaching the next mile marker. I knew exactly how they felt because I had been in that same position many times before.

There was a certain irony in seeing half marathoners making their way to the finish line while I still had another half marathon's worth of running ahead of me. For them, the hardest part of the race was nearly behind them. For those of us tackling the full marathon, the real test of endurance was still unfolding. I couldn’t help but sympathize with their struggles, even as I was dealing with my own. We were running the same stretch of pavement, but our finish lines were very different distances away.

As I continued down Sheppard Avenue, I tried to keep my attention on maintaining a steady rhythm and not getting caught up in the monotony of the road sometimes engaging in conversations with other runners. It was another reminder that a marathon isn’t always about spectacular scenery or exciting moments. Sometimes, it's simply about enduring the less memorable stretches, engaging in coversations about running, managing your energy, and finding the mental strength to keep going when the road ahead seems to have no end.

Shortly after passing Mile 16, the course split once again, with the half marathoners veering off at Willow Avenue while those of us running the full marathon veered onto the Clovis Old Town Trail. From there, we settled into what would be a four-mile trek toward downtown Clovis through four pedestrian tunnels. By this point, the race had taken on a different feel. The half marathon participants were beginning to make their way toward the finish line, while the full marathoners still had a considerable distance ahead of them. There was also a noticeable contrast between those of us grinding through the second half of the race and the faster runners who were already making their way toward the marathon finish.

As I continued along the Clovis Old Town Trail, I knew I was well into the part of the race where endurance and mental toughness would become increasingly important. My legs were carrying the weight of the miles already covered, and I was no longer thinking about running an impressive time. Instead, I was focused on maintaining a manageable pace and making steady progress toward the next milestone walking when I needed to. Four miles might not sound particularly intimidating, but after running 16 miles, even a relatively short stretch can feel considerably longer.

It wasn’t long before I had another reminder of just how different the race experience could be for faster runners. Bicyclists approched from the opposite direction telling runners to stay right as the lead female marathoner came flying past me, seemingly effortless in her stride. She moved with an impressive combination of speed, rhythm, and efficiency, making it look as though she had barely broken a sweat. I couldn’t help but admire her performance. I estimated she was on track for a finish somewhere around the three-hour mark.

It’s always fascinating seeing these faster athletes in action. It was another humbling reminder that we were all out there running the same 26.2 miles, but experiencing entirely different challenges. For the faster runners, the finish line was already within reach. For me, there was still plenty of work to be done, and downtown Clovis was the next destination on my increasingly long journey.

To take my mind off the challenge at hand and help the miles tick by, I found myself looking for distractions along the route. Fortunately, there was no shortage of them. Homemade signs, posted along the way by spectators, provided plenty of entertainment and gave me something to read as I pushed forward. Whether the signs were intended to encourage, entertain, or simply bring a little humor to the day, I appreciated the effort. Sometimes, a few clever words were just what I needed to take my mind off the growing fatigue in my legs.

One particular sign caught my attention and made me chuckle. It read, “Due to inflation, the marathon is now 29.9 miles.” I had to smile at that one. As if the standard 26.2 miles weren’t challenging enough! It was a welcome reminder that humor can go a long way when you're deep into a marathon and every mile seems to take a little more effort than the last.

Of course, not everything along the route was entertaining. Sharing the trail with other users presented its own set of challenges. Speeding e-bikes, electric scooters, and skateboards were constantly weaving their way through or around the same space occupied by runners. At times, it was downright annoying. As runners, we were already focused on maintaining our pace, preserving trail etiquette, managing fatigue, and conserving energy. Having to remain alert for someone approaching from behind or suddenly cutting across our path added another layer of distraction. It also introduced an element of danger that couldn’t be ignored. A moment of inattention or an unexpected maneuver by someone on wheels could easily result in a collision or a fall. It was a reminder that, even during a race, you couldn’t completely let your guard down. You had to keep your eyes open, be aware of your surroundings, and always be prepared to move out of the way.

Adding to the entertainment were several unofficial, privately organized “aid stations” set up along the route. These weren’t your typical water stops. Volunteers and spectators had gone out of their way to offer runners an assortment of treats and refreshments, including candy, Gatorade, beer, Coke, pickle juice, and even doughnut holes. Since the race took place the day after Halloween, I couldn’t help but wonder if some of those candy offerings were also a convenient way for households to get rid of their leftover Halloween stash. Rather than letting all that excess candy sit around the house, why not pass it along to a few hundred passing runners? The creativity and generosity were impressive, and it was clear that people were genuinely enjoying their role in helping runners get through the day.

Doughnut holes? I had to do a double take at that one. As tempting as they might have been under different circumstances, the thought of putting a lump of dough into my stomach didn’t sit well with me. The last thing I wanted was to introduce something unfamiliar into the mix and risk upsetting my system. I politely passed on that offering. At this point in the race, I was more interested in keeping my stomach happy than satisfying a craving. Still, I appreciated the spirit behind every one of those makeshift aid stations. They added a little personality, humor, and much-needed encouragement to the journey.

At around Mile 19, runners finally departed the trail and made their way onto the streets leading into downtown Clovis. After spending so many miles on the trail, the change of scenery was a welcome one. The prospect of getting closer to the finish line also provided a little psychological boost. As I cruised down Pollasky Avenue, I couldn’t pass by the Ken Curtis “Festus” statue (Gunsmoke fame) without tipping my cap. It seemed only fitting to acknowledge this familiar landmark as I made my way through town. There were a few spectators gathered nearby, and as I tipped my cap, I wondered if they thought the gesture was directed at them. They enthusiastically waved and called something out in my direction, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Regardless, I returned the acknowledgment and kept moving. Even these brief exchanges with spectators helped break up the monotony and made the final stretch a little more enjoyable.

Shortly after Mile 20, I made the final turn around back toward the finish-line. My time was now around 3:38, and there was no turning back. With roughly a 10K remaining, I started doing some mental calculations. Six miles. That didn’t sound too intimidating. After all, I regularly run six-mile training outings, and some of those are completed at a pretty respectable pace. How difficult could it be to squeeze out one more six-mile run? If I could cover the remaining distance in about an hour, I'd be a happy camper. Of course, there was a big difference between running six miles on fresh legs during training and doing it after having already covered 20 miles.

Just before the turnaround in Clovis

I also knew it was time to give my body another little boost of energy. Over the previous ten miles, my homemade pure maple syrup concoction had been providing a steady supply of much-needed glucose fuel. It had become an important part of my race-day fueling strategy, helping me maintain my energy as the miles accumulated. I had about half of my remaining syrup mixture set aside for the final miles, and this seemed like an appropriate time to start using it. I took some, knowing I'd need every bit of energy I could get to carry me through the closing stretch. At this point, I wasn’t about to underestimate the importance of keeping the fuel tank from running empty.

FID recharge basin

Dry Creek trail

My body was beginning to remind me of the distinction between training and marathon running. My calf muscles were starting to cramp, and I wasn’t entirely confident they would cooperate for another hour. The thought of a little pickle juice was becoming increasingly appealing. I knew it could help, at least based on my past experience, but I would have to wait until I came across another aid station. In the meantime, I tried to keep my stride comfortable, take in my maple syrup fuel, and avoid doing anything that might aggravate the developing cramps. The finish was getting closer, but there was still plenty of work to do.

As I passed Mile 21, I reached for a few cups of Coke for a much-needed boost of sugar and caffeine before heading onto the Dry Creek Trail, which meandered alongside Dry Creek. The route took us past a Fresno Irrigation District groundwater recharge basin, circled around Cottonwood Park, and eventually retraced our steps back toward the Clovis Trail. Much like the Judgment Day Half Marathon, there was some interesting engineering to observe along the way. Passing the groundwater recharge basin provided a welcome distraction from the growing discomfort of a long run. I’ve designed many recharge and retention basins during my career and I have always found these types of infrastructure projects interesting, and taking a moment to recognize the engineering and appreciate what was happening around me helped take my mind off the miles still ahead. At this stage of the marathon, any distraction was welcome, and it was nice to have something other than the pavement and my increasingly tired legs to focus on.

One of the more welcome features of this stretch was the shade provided by the mature trees lining the trail. With temperatures gradually rising, those shaded sections offered a much-needed respite from the sun. It wasn’t excessively hot, but after more than three hours of running, even a modest increase in temperature could make a difference. A fairly stiff breeze also provided some welcome cooling relief. Between the shade and the breeze, conditions were reasonably comfortable, and I wasn’t about to complain. At this stage of the marathon, I'd take whatever advantages Mother Nature was willing to provide.

Still, I couldn’t lose sight of the task ahead. The miles were dwindling and my energy reserves seemed to hold steady; however, my calves were beginning to protest, and that six-mile training-run comparison was starting to feel a little less reassuring. I kept reminding myself that I didn’t need to do anything extraordinary. I just needed to keep moving, manage the cramps, find that pickle juice, and chip away at the remaining distance. The finish line was within reach, even if my legs weren’t quite convinced.

As I rejoined the trail and through the tunnel under Minnewawa Avenue, it was an essentially a 5K run to the finish line. Spectators were telling runners “only a 5K to go! You can do it!” Easier said than done, but I admit, it sort of lifted my spirits.

The final three miles turned into a combination of running and walking as my body began to protest the distance. Both calves were cramping, and I found that walking for a bit helped ease the pain enough to resume running. It became a matter of managing the discomfort, keeping moving, and finding whatever rhythm I could to get myself to the finish line.

As I approached Mile 25 near Sheppard Avenue, I passed the mile marker flag and could see the “One Mile To Go” banner and timing mat in the distance. From where I was standing, however, it sure looked like considerably more than 0.2 mile! At this point, every step seemed to require a little more effort, and the finish line couldn’t come soon enough.

Somewhere along this stretch, I found myself being paced by a teenage girl riding a bicycle and enthusiastically cheering, “Hang in there. You can do it!” I initially thought she was directing her encouragement toward me, but it turned out she was cheering for her dad, who was running just behind me and seemingly mirroring my every move. When I ran, he ran. When I walked, he walked. It was almost comical, as though we had somehow become running partners without ever exchanging a word. Every so often, I could hear him telling his daughter, “It's harder than you think!” I couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. He certainly wasn’t kidding! Unbeknownst to both of them, she provided the encouragement I needed.

I crossed through the “Final Mile” timing station in 4:45:46, which was a welcome sight on the timing clock. I knew then that I was “comfortably” on my way to finishing under five hours. With the finish line finally within reach, I was beginning to feel a sense of relief that the ordeal was nearly over.

With roughly 500 meters remaining, my unofficial running companion decided it was time to pick up the pace. He moved ahead and passed me, but I simply didn’t have the stamina or inclination to respond. Normally, this would have been the perfect opportunity to reach into my bag of tricks and put Operation Let No One Pass into motion. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have dug deep, summoned whatever reserves I had left, and done my best to keep someone from passing me so close to the finish. But this wasn’t an ordinary day. My calves were cramping, my legs were spent, and I had little interest in engaging in a final sprint, which would’ve only exacerbated the cramping. I watched him pull away and let him go. Quite frankly, I didn’t care anymore. Getting to the finish line was all that mattered.

Closing in on the final meters

As I crossed the finish line in 4:58:17, I made my way over to the corral barrier and leaned against the railing beside him to regain my composure. After catching my breath, I congratulated him on a good run. We had spent the better part of the final mile running and walking in tandem, albeit without ever formally introducing ourselves. It seemed only fitting that we should share a few words at the finish. After 26.2 miles, there was a certain camaraderie in having endured that final mile together, even if our race-day goals and circumstances may have been quite different.

RACE STATS:

Distance: Marathon (Garmin measured 26.29 mi)

Date: 1 November 2026

Bib No.: 940

Weather at the start: 53°F, mostly cloudy, broken cloud deck

Average cadence: 151 spm

Gun time: 4:58:17

Chip time: 4:59:32

Average pace: 11:22 per mile

Overall rank: 630 of 916

Gender rank: 495 of 666

Division rank: 16 of 20

Age graded score: 50.66%

Age graded time: 3:58:02

 

Mile splits: 9:43, 9:49, 9:54, 9:46, 11:03, 9:58, 10:09, 9:54, 10:28, 10:28, 11:08, 10:35, 10:29, 11:57, 11:11, 12:25, 12:10, 13:34, 11:58, 13:38, 12:01, 12:21, 12:23, 11:32, 13:23, 13:11, 11:19 (remaining 0.29)

LIKES / WHAT WORKED:

• Pancake flat course.

• The cool temperatures.

• Very well-organized event from packet pick-up, the multiple aid stations along the course.

• Super friendly volunteer support.

• Good theater at the finish, but miss the breakfast burritos and hot fudge sundaes as in the early years.

• No significant climbs.

• Easy parking, but became very congested as race time approached. Get there early!

• FINISHING!!

 

DISLIKES / WHAT DIDN’T WORK:

• Uneven pavement along Dry Creek Trail due to tree-root intrustions. Watch your footing.

• Being annoyed with my quad pain and calf cramping during the last 10K.

• There seemed to be a lack of spectators course-wide compared to previous years.

• Running through eight pedestrian tunnels.

It was certainly rewarding to cross the finish line and bring the day’s effort to a conclusion. The post-race festivities offered an opportunity to relax, catch my breath, replenish some calories, and reflect on the experience. There was a decent selection of food available, including tacos, Halos (mandarin oranges), beef sticks, bananas, and various other snacks. With the half-marathon, 5K, and 10K participants all finishing and making their way through the post-race area, there was still ample food to go around. However, the selections were somewhat different from what I remember in previous years, and I couldn’t help but miss a couple of longtime post-race favorites: the breakfast burritos and hot fudge brownie sundaes that had become something of a tradition.

Those were always welcome treats after putting in the miles and gave runners something special to look forward to at the finish. I really believe these items should be brought back. There is something particularly satisfying about finishing a long race and enjoying a hearty breakfast burrito or indulging in a warm brownie sundae topped with hot fudge and whipped cream. Those were more than just post-race refreshments; they were part of the experience and a little reward for getting through 26.2 miles. As Louisianans affectionately say, they were a little lagniappe—an unexpected something extra that makes an already good experience even sweeter. While the tacos, fruit, beef sticks, and an assortment of snacks were certainly appreciated, bringing back those traditional favorites would add a familiar touch and make the post-race celebration that much more memorable.

Adding to the atmosphere was live entertainment on the Michelob Ultra stage from Motel Drive, a local band whose sound blends country, rockabilly, and rock ‘n roll. They provided some good music and a collection of catchy tunes that helped create a festive atmosphere around the finish area. It was a nice touch and gave runners and spectators something to enjoy while celebrating the accomplishments of the day. After all, finishing a marathon is an achievement in itself, regardless of the time on the clock, and a little live music certainly helped make the occasion feel special.

One of the things I was curious about was whether CJ had managed to break the course record. As I settled in to enjoy my delicious tacos and an ice-cold beer, I pulled up the race results to see how he had done. Sure enough, he had accomplished what he set out to do, finishing in 2:08 and change, thus establishing a new course record that will undoubtedly be tough to beat. That was an impressive achievement! What made it even more remarkable was the perspective it gave me on our very different race-day experiences. By the time CJ had crossed the finish line, I was still six minutes away from reaching the halfway point of my own marathon. Talk about two completely different paces! I couldn’t help but shake my head in amazement. Incredible.

Final thoughts

Thomas Paine once wrote, “I offer nothing more than simple facts, plain arguments, and common sense.”

With marathon No. 78 complete, these words seemed particularly appropós when reflecting on my marathon preparations and, ultimately, how the race unfolded. The simple facts were that my training over the hot summer months had been less than ideal. My consistency had suffered, some of the longer runs had not gone as planned, and my endurance was simply not where I had hoped it would be heading into race day. Looking back, the warning signs were there. Common sense should have dictated a more conservative approach, particularly when it came to pacing. Rather than attempting to keep up with the 4:30 pace group, I probably would have been much better served settling in with the 5:00 group and allowing the race to develop at a more manageable pace.

Unfortunately, race-day excitement has a way of clouding even the most reasonable judgment. There is something about standing among hundreds of runners at the starting line, feeling the anticipation in the air, and listening to the countdown that makes even the most conservative plans seem unnecessarily cautious. Optimism takes over, adrenaline kicks in, and suddenly the pace that seemed sensible during training no longer feels quite as ambitious. I convinced myself that I could run with the faster group, perhaps hoping that fitness and determination would make up for the shortcomings in my preparation.

Experienced runners know that the marathon is rarely forgiving when ambition gets ahead of preparation. The early miles can be deceivingly comfortable, and it is easy to convince yourself that you are running well within your capabilities. But a marathon has a way of exposing weaknesses, particularly when endurance and pacing are not where they need to be. What feels manageable in the opening miles can become a very different experience as the miles accumulate.

In hindsight, this race was not indicative of what I believe I am capable of as a runner. It was simply a particularly difficult day and, more than anything, a long training run in preparation for the races still ahead. While the finishing time may not have been what I wanted, there are lessons to take away from the experience. Perhaps the most important is a familiar one: respect the distance, trust the training, and don’t let race-day enthusiasm dictate a pace that the preparation hasn’t earned. Sometimes the simplest facts really are the hardest ones to ignore.

Still, despite the challenges of the day and the less-than-satisfying result, I don’t walk away from this experience with any regrets. Every race offers something unique, and not all of them unfold the way we envision when we toe the starting line. Some leave us celebrating a course record, personal best or BQ, while others serve as reminders of our limitations and the importance of patience and preparation. This one was perhaps more of the latter. But it also gave me another opportunity to test myself, spend time on a familiar course, and add another race-day experience to my collection. With that chapter now behind me, it seems fitting to look ahead, both to the races still on my calendar and to whether Two Cities will remain part of my running future.

As for whether I’ll sign up for another Two Cities Marathon in 2027, my answer right now would probably be no. After so many years of running this course, both the full marathon and the half, I feel as though I’ve experienced just about everything it has to offer. I know the roads, the familiar turns, the long stretches, and the parts of the course that test my patience and determination. There’s something comforting about that familiarity, but there’s also something to be said for seeking out new challenges and experiences rather than continuing to revisit the same ones. At this point, I think I’ve had my fill of Two Cities, at least for a while.

That said, I’ve learned not to make definitive statements about my running future. Circumstances change, priorities shift, and sometimes an unexpected reason is all it takes to bring an old race back into consideration. If I do decide to return in 2027, though, it will most likely be for the half marathon rather than another full 26.2 miles. I’ve had my share of experiences with this course at the marathon distance, and perhaps cutting the distance in half would offer a way to revisit familiar roads without taking on the full challenge all over again. I wouldn’t rule out another appearance entirely, but I’m certainly not making any plans. For now, I’m content to have another Two Cities experience behind me and to leave the door open, even if just a little, for whatever the future might bring.

Beyond reflecting on whether I will return to the course in the future, there was another aspect of the event that caught my attention. The marathon offered an interesting opportunity to examine not just how I felt during the race, but also how I actually performed though the use of AI-generated analytics available through the marathon’ss website.

Each runner was provided with personalized race reports breaking down their race performance, offering valuable insights into various aspects of their running experience. The reports included performance analysis, areas of focus and improvement, pacing and split times, as well as passing analysis that showed how runners performed in relation to others throughout the course.

What made this feature especially impressive was how the information was presented in an engaging and easy-to-understand format. The race reports incorporated informative graphs, maps, and charts that allowed runners to visually track and interpret their performance. Rather than simply providing finishing times and overall results, the AI analysis offered a deeper understanding of how each runner approached the race, where they performed well, and where there might be opportunities for improvement. Ultimately, I thought this was an innovative use of technology that transforms race results into a personalized learning experience, helping runners better understand their performance, recognize opportunities for improvement, and prepare for the challenges ahead.

As I reviewed my own race report, I also had to keep in mind that this particular race was not truly indicative of what I am capable of as a runner, and AI failed to acknowledge that. I had a particularly difficult day of running, and my performance was not what I had hoped for. However, I viewed this race as little more than a glorified long training run and an opportunity to continue building toward my upcoming races. While the results may not have reflected my potential, the experience itself still provided valuable feedback and insight into areas I can work on moving forward. In that sense, the report was especially useful, allowing me to look beyond the finishing time, evaluate different aspects of my performance, and take away lessons that I can apply to future races.

On a final note, I experienced moments when I honestly felt like giving up. My body was exhausted, my legs were cramping, and during the final 10K, every mile seemed harder than the last. There were times when I questioned whether I could finish and when stopping felt so much easier than continuing. I especially remember seeing the official medic golf cart pass by on several occasions, and in those moments, I was tempted to stop and give myself a reason to quit. It felt like an easy way out when my body was telling me it had very little left to give. But despite the pain, exhaustion, and discouragement, I kept pushing forward.

Recently, I noticed a Bible verse scribed on a piece of In-N-Out packaging, Proverbs 24:16 (NIV), which says, “For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.” I find this verse especially meaningful because it’s a reflection of my marathon experience. It makes me realize that falling, struggling, or feeling weak does not mean I have to give up. Just as the verse teaches us to rise again after every fall, perseverance means continuing even when the journey becomes difficult. Strength is not always about how fast you run or how strong your body is; sometimes, it is about having the courage to keep going when every part of you wants to stop. Crossing that finish line meant more than completing a race. It reminded me that with faith, determination, and God's strength, I can overcome moments when I feel like giving up. I may have struggled along the way, but I kept going, and that is what made finishing so meaningful.

As always, onward and upward.

“In running, it doesn’t matter whether you come in first, in the middle of the pack, or last. You can say, ‘I have finished.’ There is a lot of satisfaction in that.”— Fred Lebow, co-founder of the NYC Marathon

Finisher medal with kickstand