Last Sunday, I crossed the finish line of my very first marathon. Right beside me was my dad, finishing his 20th.

The story of how we got here started a year ago, in October, when I went to cheer on my dad as he completed marathon number 19. On the way home, I asked him a question: “Would you ever run another one? Because if you do, I’d like to join you.”

It didn’t take him long to say yes. We gave ourselves a full year to prepare and set our sights on an autumn race. Training for an autumn marathon meant doing our longest build-up runs over the summer—a far more motivating prospect than dragging ourselves out on cold winter evenings.

We chose Bruges. A flat course sounded smart for my first attempt, the scenery through the medieval city fantastic, and it close enough to home for our families to come along and support us.

Preparation

Before lacing up for real, I paid a visit to the cardiologist just to get the official all-clear. With the green light from the doctor, our training progression began:

• November: Building up from a modest 5K
• Early 2026: Reaching 10K
• Spring: Hitting the 15K

From there, we brought in a coach my dad had worked with in the past to structure our final plan leading up to October. Our longest single training run topped out at 28K a few weeks before the race.

Looking back, the training phase went remarkably smoothly. No injuries, and somehow (miraculously) I didn’t have to run in the rain a single time. The hardest part wasn’t the physical effort, but the time commitment required. However, spending hours together on those long weekend runs was the whole point of the journey in the first place.

Race Day

To keep things stress-free, my dad and I traveled to Bruges the day before the race. Our families arrived on race day to cheer us on.

We lined up at the start alongside the half-marathon runners. The first portion of the race was fun: an incredibly picturesque loop running from Bruges to Damme and back in a nice autumn sun.

Once back in Bruges, the half-marathoners split off, and we began our second loop south of the city. This section ran partially along an expressway—decidedly less postcard-worthy than the first half, but you need to get to 42K to finish obviously.

Performance-wise, we made the classic mistake: we started too fast. We knew we were at risk of doing it, we paid attention to our watch, and yet we still went out quicker than intended. Once the 21K crowd separated, the field thinned out drastically. The course felt much quieter and more solitary, save for the sporadic DJ sets positioned along the road. We dialed our pace back and tiredness kicked in.

Final Stretch

For me, the real trial started around the 36K mark. You tell yourself, "There are only 6 kilometers left," but each individual kilometer begins to drag on, and every muscle in your legs starts to ache.

Then came the final 500 meters.

As we neared the finish line, my kids joined us on the course. Together, the four of us crossed the line with a finish time of 5:38:54 (7.47km/h). We did it!

Looking Back

Deciding to do this was absolutely the right choice. I feel a little proud of the accomplishment, but even more grateful for the countless hours of quality time I got to share with my dad over the past year. Crossing that finish line together—my 1st and his 20th—is a memory we will both keep for the rest of our lives.

Will I ever run another one? As my dad likes to say, “The day after a marathon, you promise yourself you’ll never run another one. A few weeks later, you start planning the next.”