Last weekend, I crossed the finish line of my third marathon.
As always, Maine looked beautiful. The volunteers were incredible, the spectators showed up in full force, and thousands of runners gathered to take on the same challenge. There is something special about running a marathon in the state I now proudly call home, especially after running my previous marathon in my hometown in Belgium last year.
When I started reflecting on the race afterward, I realized that this marathon felt different from the previous two. Not because it was easier. There is nothing easy about running 26.2 miles. What felt different was the way I handled the challenges that inevitably show up during a marathon.
This race gave me a lot to think about, and the lessons had very little to do with pace, finishing time, or race strategy.
Learning to Quiet the Inner Saboteur
One of the biggest lessons from this marathon had nothing to do with running at all.
Like many people, I've spent much of my life carrying around an inner voice that is quick to point out weaknesses, doubts, and potential failures. It's the voice that shows up when things get difficult and asks whether you're really capable of doing what you've set out to do.
For years, I gave that voice far more attention than it deserved.
The interesting thing is that the voice didn't disappear during this marathon. It was still there, especially when the miles started adding up and fatigue began to set in. The difference was that I responded differently.
Somewhere along this running journey, I've become a different man than I was a few years ago. Running has taught me discipline. It has taught me resilience. More importantly, it has taught me that difficult moments are temporary. If you stay calm and keep moving forward, you'll often discover that you're stronger than you initially believed.
The inner saboteur still likes to make an appearance from time to time, but I'm learning that it no longer gets to make the decisions. It certainly picked the wrong runner to mess with this time.
The Power of Fueling and Hydration
Another lesson was one that experienced marathoners have been preaching for years: carb-loading and hydration are king.
Sometimes runners, myself included, spend too much time looking for complicated solutions. We research training methods, analyze gear, and search for secrets that might help us improve.
This marathon reminded me that the fundamentals matter more than anything else.
I paid close attention to my nutrition leading up to race day. I focused on hydration. I fueled properly throughout the race. The result was a noticeably stronger experience from start to finish.
It's not the most exciting lesson, but it's one of the most important. The body can only perform with the fuel and hydration it receives. When we respect that, it often rewards us in ways we can feel on race day.
Every Marathon Reveals Something New
One of the reasons I love marathon running is that every race leaves you with valuable information.
No matter how well a race goes, there is always something to learn.
This marathon was no exception.
While I accomplished what I set out to do, I also came away with a much clearer understanding of where I can continue to improve. Some weaknesses became obvious. Certain aspects of my training proved effective. Other areas revealed opportunities for growth.
I actually enjoy that process.
Running would lose some of its magic if there were nothing left to learn. The reality is that every finish line marks both the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. There is always another lesson waiting, another skill to develop, and another opportunity to become a stronger runner.
Why Racing Restores My Faith in Humanity
Perhaps the biggest lesson from this marathon had nothing to do with me.
We live in turbulent times. Turn on the news, scroll through social media, or spend a few minutes reading headlines, and it's easy to become discouraged. Sometimes it feels like we're constantly being reminded of what divides us.
Then I run a race.
And almost immediately, my confidence in humanity comes rushing back.
I see volunteers standing outside for hours handing out water, sports drinks, and encouragement to complete strangers. I see spectators cheering enthusiastically for runners they have never met and will likely never see again. I see runners supporting one another, offering words of encouragement when someone is struggling, and celebrating each other's victories regardless of pace or finishing time.
For a few hours, the things that normally separate us seem to fade into the background.
Nobody cares where you're from.
Nobody cares what you do for a living.
Nobody cares about your accent, your background, your political beliefs, or your pace.
What matters is that we're all trying to reach the same finish line.
That's one of the most beautiful things about the running community. It consistently brings out the best in people. Every marathon reminds me that kindness, generosity, and compassion are still very much alive. In a world that can sometimes feel overwhelming, that's a powerful reminder.
From Belgium to Maine and Beyond
As I reflected on the journey after crossing the finish line, I couldn't help but feel grateful.
Last year, I ran 26.2 miles in my native hometown in Belgium.
This year, I ran 26.2 miles in my home state of Maine.
The locations were different. The courses were different. The crowds were different.
Yet the feeling was remarkably similar.
The same encouragement.
The same generosity.
The same sense of community.
Running continues to teach me lessons that extend far beyond the sport itself. It has made me stronger physically, but it has also helped me grow mentally and emotionally. It has introduced me to incredible people, challenged me to push beyond my comfort zone, and reminded me that there is still plenty of good in the world.
For all of that, I am deeply grateful.
And while I'm still enjoying the memories of marathon number three, part of me is already looking ahead to the next adventure.
Last year: Belgium.
This year: Maine.
Next stop: the world.
Keep running,
Didier
