Why I Always Look for Her at the Finish Line (and What It’s Taught Me About Marriage)

I’ve run enough marathons to know that while some finish lines feel epic, they’re rarely the part I remember most. Sure, there’s usually a crowd, maybe some cowbells, and occasionally a banana. But when you're stumbling through those final steps with every muscle screaming and your soul questioning its life choices, glory isn’t what’s on your mind. You’re thinking about survival. And for me—every single time—I’m thinking about her.

Sharing a joyful moment with family toward the end of the New York Marathon. Nov. 3, 2024

My wife has been there for every major race I’ve run. Rain or shine, early morning drop-offs or mile 26, she shows up. Usually with the kids in tow, occasionally solo, but always there. I scan the crowd looking for her—at mile 20 when my legs are revolting, or near the finish when my mental game is hanging by a thread. And without fail, seeing her brings this deep-down, can't-fake-it kind of comfort.

It’s funny—these races are technically my events, but they’re never really solo endeavors. There’s a kind of sacred interdependence built into training for a marathon when you're married and have kids. Every early morning alarm, every skipped outing, every rearranged weekend—she’s in that with me. We carry the goal together, even when I’m the only one pinning on a bib.

In my most recent marathon, the finish line chute was the longest I’d ever experienced. I’m not exaggerating when I say it felt like another full mile. I had given everything. I shuffled through that endless tunnel of fencing, water cups, foil blankets and even rejected some medical support after a moment of wooziness, just hoping to spot her face in the crowd. And when I finally did, I fell into her arms, choked back tears, and said, “I need you to remind me how I feel right now the next time I talk about doing this again.”

She swallowed her laugh. Because she’s heard it before—and she knew there was a good chance there'd be another one in the future. But she also knew what I meant. That exhausted, emotional moment was about more than physical fatigue. It was about trust, shared experience, and needing someone to witness my whole self—both the determined and the undone.

That moment—completely depleted, standing there with her after months of sacrifice, 4:30 a.m. training runs, sore muscles, weekend schedules thrown off, and a kitchen that's basically a shrine to carbs—it said everything about what partnership looks like in real life. Not just in marathons. In marriage.

We’ve had our own finish-line moments in our relationship. Some were joyful. Others felt more like dragging ourselves across after a hard season—misunderstandings, short tempers, tired parenting, different dreams pulling at us. There have been days when we’ve felt out of sync. Moments when one of us trained hard emotionally and the other… didn’t. But we’ve also learned that showing up for each other, especially when it’s not easy, is where the connection deepens.

In couples therapy, I often talk with people about turning toward each other in moments of struggle. Not necessarily with solutions or grand gestures, but with presence. Just like seeing her face in the crowd re-centers me mid-race, there’s something powerful about knowing your partner is emotionally available—even if they’re not fixing anything.

It’s what Dr. Sue Johnson calls "secure attachment"—the deep knowing that your person is there, even when life feels like mile 24. It’s also the kind of bond built through shared sacrifice. My races aren’t just my goals. They cost her something too. And yet, she stays invested—not because she’s chasing the same finish line, but because she’s in it with me.

That kind of love? It’s less about romance, and more about endurance.

So yes, there's a good chance I'll come out of my fourth retirement to run another marathon. And yes, I’ll probably swear it off again around mile 24. But I’ll also keep looking for her at the finish line. Because in both racing and marriage, there’s something healing about knowing the person you love is there—cheering, supporting, and choosing you, mile after mile.

Reflection for Couples

Every relationship faces its own kind of marathon—seasons of stress, exhaustion, or simply the wear-and-tear of life.

So here's a question to sit with this week:

When your partner is struggling—physically, emotionally, or mentally—how do you show up?

And just as importantly:

Who do you look for when you’re depleted? And what would it mean to let them know that matters to you?

Whether it’s mile 20 or a Tuesday night after a long day, small moments of turning toward each other are what help us finish strong.

Because in the end, it’s not just about getting to the finish line—it’s about who you’re running toward when you get there.