Feb 01, 2026
Flat as a pancake—no hills or long inclines. Over 26 miles, there’s just 35 feet of total elevation change. The Galveston course is also two loops, which provides a mental boost when you are struggling during the final miles—knowing exactly where you are on the course allows you to visualize the path to the finish line.
While this race has the potential for fast times, it depends on the weather more than other races. The course runs entirely along the beach access road and seawall, so if there’s a strong wind, it's brutal. I know from experience; I’ve run it twice before. At the midpoint of my last Galveston race, I was on pace for a personal best when a strong wind woke up midmorning. I slowed by 30 seconds per mile, losing six minutes on the back half of the course.
The weather today was not perfect, but solid. A gun-time temperature of 38 degrees and a high of only 48. The cloudless, sunny sky was not optimal, but it was not a great worry either, given the low temperatures. The wind was within a tolerable range, blowing from the northeast at 10–20 mph.
The only remaining issue was that I had no plans to run this race. A week before the Houston Marathon last month, the forecast was a complete coin flip. Everything depended on a cold front that might (or might not) sweep in the day before. Not wanting to leave things to chance, I entered the Galveston Marathon as a backup in case I decided to forego the Houston event.
I pushed myself to the limit in Houston just three weeks ago, hobbling around like a zombie for three days afterward. After taking a week off and then logging 35 strong miles the following week, I decided to roll the dice and line up in Galveston given the favorable weather forecast.
As we queued in the chute, I knew I still had not fully recovered. I accepted that I would not beat the 3:27 I posted in Houston and set a goal of 3:40. One minute before the gun, I felt unfocused without a challenge. “That goal is too reasonable,” I thought.“ Let’s ruin it—3:26 or better!" The gun fired, and we were off.
One mile in, I approached approximately ten runners following the official 3:30 race pacer. I expected that if I maintained my natural stride, I would pull in front of the group. However, a minute later, the pacer accelerated 50 yards ahead.
At mile three, we turned northeast and directly into the wind. Again, I came up alongside the 3:30 pacer, and again, he accelerated, pulling 30 yards ahead as we reached mile five. Concerned, I looked at my watch for the first time; I was on a 3:29 finish pace.
We turned right
and ran along an uneven, sandy access road toward the beachfront for the next
mile and a half, then U-turned just feet away from the thick sand. For
the next five miles, the wind would be at our backs; I hoped that my stride
would increase and bring me on pace for a 3:26 finish time.
At mile seven, I approached one of the few spectators on this section of the course—the 40-degree temperature this early morning kept most sane people indoors. Within a few yards, I saw it was a beautiful woman who, to my surprise, yelled out, “You look great,” and leaned forward to hand me a water bottle. My wife then jumped in her car and drove to wait for me at the other end of the looped course.
Reaching mile 11, I glanced at my watch a second time and began to worry. The good news is that I was still running at exactly a 3:30 pace. The bad news is that we had completed another U-turn and started another long stretch directly into the wind. I conceded defeat.
I would not beat my Houston 3:27 time today. My disappointment manifested into serious self-doubt, and I began to question my ability—commitment—to even finish the race. I completed the first lap on a 3:31 pace and was struggling both mentally and physically, which isn’t a pleasant combination when you still have 13 miles remaining.
However, experience has taught me that when a major goal looks doubtful, setting mini-goals can keep you going. As I began passing runners coming in the opposite direction (still completing their first loop), I estimated that I was running in the top 10–20% of the field.
Approximately 900 runners had entered the race, but three-fourths of them were running only the half-marathon. I believed that if I could just hold on to mile 20, I might finish in the top three in my age division for the full marathon.
Reaching the beach a second time at mile 19, I was cooked and planning to finish using an alternating run-walk-cry strategy. Fortunately, after the U-turn, the wind would once again push me for the next five miles. Barely holding on, I set mile-by-mile goals: “Make it to mile 20, to 21, to 22. Don’t lie down on the road…”
Once I reached the last U-turn at mile 24, the final two miles would be directly into the wind. However, now only full marathoners remained on the course, and I suspected that I was probably in the top 10%.
Though at a slower pace, I pushed through and ran all the 26.2 miles. I crossed the finish line at 3:36:07, qualifying for next year’s Boston Marathon, placing 26th out of 251 full-marathoners, and first place in my age division.
