Emma Gaffney The hardest I ever trained for a race was in 2011 and the outcome was not what I had hoped for.

While watching The British Open it occurred to me that we need to change the way we talk about running. The record will show that Jordan Spieth shot a one under par in his final round to win the championship, but his score didn’t tell half the story. To understand his remarkable win, you have to know the way he got there.

The gap between Spieth’s score and the experience of how he achieved it reminded me of an odd habit that we runners have developed. We catalog one another by asking, “What’s your marathon PR?” Speed is, of course, relative. Relative to each runner’s starting point. Relative to that runner’s expectations. Relative to a person’s image of him or herself as an athlete.

I wonder how different our relationship with running would be if instead of beginning conversations with "What's your PR?' we asked, "What's the hardest you ever trained for one race and what happened?" If you’re asking because you’d like to learn more about the other person as a runner, then the answer to that question will tell you a whole lot more.

My friend, David, recently ran the Traverse City Bayshore Marathon. He did not run a PR, but like Spieth’s final round last Sunday, David’s finishing time belies the many challenges he overcame during those 26.2 miles. I was with him the entire time.

Pacing David felt like watching a movie. Along with two additional pacers, Julia Lucas and my brother, John, we each knew what was at stake: David wanted to qualify for Boston. To do so, he would need to break 3 hours and 30 minutes. He had been trying for 10 years, and had failed in his previous 9 attempts. He had trained for Bayshore with a “Now or never” mentality while getting help from elite trainers. He went through 3 pairs of shoes. He looked as fit as I’d ever seen him; he put in the work.

Still, after all that, finishing in under 3:30 was going to be a challenge. Julia, who spent a lot of time training David, told me, “He has to have the perfect day.”

30 minutes before the race. I’m pretty sure David was eating a banana here. (Boston Red Sox custom shirts were for extra motivation on the course.)

Yet the morning of the race, David’s demeanor was comically calm. So much so, that it delayed our start.

When the start gun sounded, David’s shoes were still untied. Julia and I made eye contact conveying words not suitable for print. Once David finished tying his shoes, we jumped into the start corral among runners aiming to run a full hour slower than David. This would hardly classify as a perfect start.

We weaved through runners, expending more energy than we would have liked that early on. To David’s credit, he didn’t seem to mind. He just tucked in and followed our lead — with a smile, I might add.

We came through mile 1 at 8:15 and the pack around us was still thick. We weren’t in a rhythm yet. Two miles later, however, the dynamic was established: Julia would run on David’s side while John and I navigated the front. At 6’5”, John provided our group with some serious height and size advantage.

Julia was the voice for David; she was the runner whisperer. Julia told David numerous stories of her running past while also throwing out, “This is amazing. This is so much fun.” Julia impeccably maintained a light mood, switching into serious coach mode whenever necessary.

John and I played the role of the metronome, like domestiques in a cycling race. Having run together for 18 years, we didn’t have to say much to say a lot. A soft pull on one’s back or “Yo,” was usually all it took to keep the pace in check. John’s Naval Officer attention to detail served the group well, at the ready every 15 minutes to remind Julia it was time to offer one of the three liquids we were all carrying, or ready to seize the tangent which Julia pointed out from behind.

After David polished off the first 10 oz. of Maurten, Julia handed me the empty bottle so I could run ahead, fill it up with water, and then catch back up. My water filling duties were surges, with 15 seconds of not moving at all in order to refill the bottle. I’d then take off to catch back up with the group. I loved the responsibility.

We saw David’s family at mile 7 and his youngest son, Brody, jumped so high and smiled so big that the hairs on my arms stood high. I can only hope to experience a moment when my son, Shane, looks at me with as much pride as Brody exhibited. I slid next to David, put my arm around his shoulder and said, “Never forget this moment.” It was one of the two times I spoke directly to David during the race. Speaking to David during the race was Julia’s role not mine.

Miles 8 – 13 went as planned, hitting the splits. Everything was consistent and mechanical; David’s form and fitness looked incredible.

Traverse City Marathon Nearing halfway we had a nice pack around us.

David saw his family at the turnaround and with the goal still intact, spirits were high. The clock read 1:45:30, but because of “Shoelace Gate” we actually hit halfway at 1:44:05. Right on pace and, if our strategy went as planned, we could shave off one minute to finish with three minutes to spare. I pulled back to David to let him know the time on the clock was not ours. We were ahead of schedule. He was grateful of the news and said, “Thanks guys. You’re doing great. Thank you.”

As we moved on, the voice of doubt began to come in. From behind us, David said, “I can feel a little side stitch here.” Then, “Something isn’t right with my hamstring.”

Julia was at the ready for such commentary from David. She reminded David to focus on his core or his toes pushing off the ground. Julia spoke of an energy that comes down from the sky into his body. Within earshot, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the uplifting imagery. I needed her soundbites too.

Mile 16 was where things started to change. John told me he may have to stop for a bathroom break, which wasn’t ideal. I felt stronger with him by my side and doubted my ability to hold the pace alone.

At Mile 17, John pulled over to hit up a Porta Potty and said, “I’ll catch up.” I didn’t think we’d see him for a while, if at all.

As soon as we hit Mile 18, however, David pulled up clutching his hamstring. I immediately thought the worst. This could be where the dream dies. How bad was it? How much did it hurt?

Julia walked him through some drills and was as poised as one could be given the circumstances. I stayed about 10 feet ahead walking backwards, examining the situation. I assumed dehydration was leading to intense cramping, which would make the next eight miles pretty miserable. Somehow, within 30 seconds we were moving again and because of the timing of David’s hamstring issue John caught us as we began running. The team was back together, but we had lost valuable time. Mile 18 would be our slowest of the day at 8:30.

Losing that time wasn’t as costly as I expected, but there was little room for error after that.

Miles 19 and 20 were both at 8-minute pace, but the 8’s didn’t look easy for David. We pushed the pace at 21 to 7:55 to help ensure that we would come in under 3:30:00. Between 21 and 22, David pulled up again clutching his hamstring. John and I recognized that the last thing David needed was to see the two of us drift away so we stayed within 5-10 feet of him as we slugged along.

At Mile 22 David pulled up again. The hamstring. Hitting a target time is hard with one stop along the way. But three times? Not good. Julia took David through a quick dynamic movement and prompted his mental game to kick in.

Within 30 seconds we’re moving again, but our cushion was gone. I eased up my pace to pull up next to Julia’s left shoulder while John stayed in front.

“We’re 17 seconds over. We’re gonna have to push to make this happen.”

I pulled back up to John and heard David ask Julia, “What’s over? Is that good or bad? 3:30:00 or lower?” I had hoped that he didn’t hear me, but a marathon whisper voice isn’t my forte.

Julia let David know that we were 17 seconds off qualifying pace. For David’s moonshot to become a reality, it was now or never. I turned around and looked at David. We didn’t say a word, but it was right there where I saw a different side of David. He surged and tucked right behind John and me, with Julia on his left shoulder.

Desi Linden John and I up front. Julia’s arm coming in from the left.

We immediately pushed the pace. John and I said little to one another. Julia kept reminding David of one fact: This is happening.

I loved the sentiment. Yes, this IS happening. This is happening. I just witnessed 22 miles of vacillation between maybe or maybe not, but right now, right here? This is happening.

Mile 23 hits and we ran the fastest mile of the day: 7:39. There go those 17 seconds. Let’s do it again.

Mile 24 was 7:40. David was in a different universe. We were passing runner after runner who had fallen victim to the miles and the heat. It was 74° out and humid. We were a freight train.

“Coming through. Move over please. We need to make this happen. Please stay out of our way.”

These were by far my favorite miles of the day. I was so proud. Proud of my friend for going to a place that not many athletes ever reach, pushing beyond pain.

At mile 25 David’s hamstring went again. My stomach dropped. I wanted to scream, “We are right there! You got this. C’mon man!”

I stayed quiet. Julia was on him, calm as could be. “David. This is happening. C’mon.”

Within 20 seconds he was moving again. I felt like we just jumpstarted a car, but the car only had 2% battery left. We fell into formation again as David began talking to his hamstring. It was the loudest he was all day on the course, “No! C’mon. Not now. Let me do this.”

Half a mile to go. He’s got this. Is this happening?!

A quarter mile to go as we enter the track. Julia, John and I looked at each other and agreed: this is his moment, now. We yelled at him from behind, “You are doing this. THIS is happening!!”

I was choked up, fighting back tears and utterly speechless. How did he just do this? Where did it come from? He stopped four times. He was out. It was like a prize fighter being knocked down round after round only to come back with a knockout uppercut in the 12th.

I threw three water bottles to the sky for no reason other than David deserved fireworks.

And there it was on my watch: 3:28:55.

Traverse City Bayshore Marathon I’m staring at my watch because I still can’t believe what David just accomplished.

On paper, just another marathon finishing time.

But for the rest of my life? One of the greatest victories I’ve ever seen.

It’s so easy to look at someone’s finishing time and categorize them as “fast” or “slow.” But “earning a time” represents how hard you worked. David earned every second of his time that day.

A PR is ultimately not what defines us. There’s so much more to running than a time, or a medal or a Strava account. No matter how fast you run, someone else has run faster. But every runner has faced a moment when their body wanted to quit. Every runner has made the decision to quit or keep going.

The experience is what unites us, and running as a sport is so much more enriching when we get the whole story.