Little Rock Marathon: From the Couch to A 2:33 Debut Marathon

The taper felt longer than the training block.

Garmin declared me ready. My body disagreed. Small aches surfaced in quiet places. Nothing catastrophic — just enough to invite doubt.

Racing at home has advantages. My own bed. Familiar streets. Routine. Andy and Steven in town added a layer of calm. Andy and I had mapped out race morning in detail — where to meet, which gels to hand off, contingency plans. Structure quiets nerves.

Sleep was light but predictable. I woke on time, espresso first. Breakfast was simple: white rice. It’s unconventional, but it works. Leadville taught me the value of simplicity — carbohydrates and hydration over theatrics.

We staged out of the Garver office, a few blocks from the start. I wanted the morning to feel normal. One small wrinkle: one of the e-bikes Andy and Steven rented to support was flat. They adjusted. I focused on staying even.

I’ll never forget jogging down President Clinton Avenue toward the start, Steven and Andy flanking me on either side, music already in. Jaime called in from Spain to wish me luck. I did strides along the barricades. The bass from the speakers rattled the portable toilets. The city was awake. So was I.

There are moments before a race when everything sharpens. This was one.

On the line, I met Aaron Soltmann — the competitor I’d been watching on Strava for weeks. We exchanged goals. Similar finishing times, very different strategies. He was relaxed. I appeared to be.

The gun went off.

As expected, the opening pace surged. It felt easy. Too easy. I let Aaron drift ahead. Eight hundred meters in, headphones went in — Caamp, low volume. I glanced at my watch: 5:20 pace. I backed off immediately and spent the next few miles letting the pack move ahead, trusting the plan.

The plan, built with Matt and Andy, was simple: target six-minute pace, never dip below 5:50. That was the back-off line.

Early on, 5:45 felt sustainable. Relaxed, even. It would have been easy to justify holding it. In hindsight, it may have been the right effort. But restraint mattered more than ego.

Fueling began early. A SiS Beta gel on the line, and another at mile four — heavier than the isotonic ones I prefer, but efficient. They sat slightly dense in the early stages, then settled. After that, I adjusted gel timing slightly later than planned.

The half and full course split awkwardly before rejoining. When the half marathoners peeled off, the race clarified. Aaron was well ahead. Rodrigo in orange sat in second. A runner in a white jersey just in front of me. A surge from a runner in grey tightened the pace briefly — we were averaging around 5:44 through that section — then settled. I let it happen without reacting.

Through halfway: 1:15 and change. Fully controlled.

The idea of sub-2:30 surfaced — not as fantasy, but as possibility. The revised plan: stay measured through the hills from 13 to 17, then press after 20.

The hills felt familiar. Roads I’d trained on in the dark, in the heat, in the middle of long weeks when race day felt distant. White jersey’s stride was erratic; I locked onto his shoes and stayed patient. At mile 17 he ducked into a porta-potty. The race narrowed.

Around mile 18, I caught sight of Rodrigo. He was laboring. The gap closed gradually.

At mile 21, the race changed.

The headwind arrived at the turnaround. My right hamstring tightened — not pain, but resistance. Pace hovered near 6:00 through 22. By 23, the tightness began shaping my stride. Heart rate remained low. Cardiovascularly, I felt stable. Mechanically, less so.

Somewhere in there, I passed Rodrigo and moved into third.

At mile 24, Andy handed me a gel. I was talking normally. He mentioned mid-2:30s were still there.

The next mile slowed — closer to 6:30. I changed my watch screen to timer and distance only. Just get there.

Two short climbs at 25 and 25.5. Crest them, then commit.

Second place was visible up the road. Close enough to matter. Headphones out. I used the downhill — limited stride but full intent — and passed him in the final stretch.

Official time: 2:33:47.
Pre-race projection: 2:33:28.

Close enough.

I hit a wall — but it wasn’t aerobic. It was structural. I never felt near my fitness ceiling. I never truly got to attack.

And that’s what stays with me.

The takeaways are clear: strength work cannot be optional. Long runs need to stay uninterrupted. Andy and Steven worked as hard on race day as I did. The support crew doesn’t show up in the results, but it shapes them.

Five months from the couch.
Twenty-two weeks of structure.
A 2:33 return to the marathon.

More than the number, something shifted during this build. For most of my life, running was complicated — equal parts pride and resentment.

This was different.

Disciplined. Honest. Sustainable.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t just respect the work.

I enjoyed it.