As we boarded the plane to Warsaw, my shoulders unhunched for the first time in weeks. Stress knots, finally unraveling, soothed by a pre-planned weekend adventure.

This is why we all book races like the Warsaw Marathon months out when the calendar is clear. We dream of scenarios with perfect tapers and lots of rest, but when the date finally arrives, you’re most likely parachuting out of life’s hurricane with a $3 umbrella, praying to hit anywhere close to the drop zone. I was coming in hot, as they say, but by the grace of fate, I made the flight, leaving the chasing demons pouting on the Vienna tarmac.

My writer brain immediately filled the newly-opened headspace with quips and analogies:

When your arms finally rest enough to reach the arm rest.

Fight-or-flight mode switched by an actual flight.

But I was getting ahead of myself. There’s a marathon to run first.

This was my first trip to Poland. Our skier friends, Kamil and his daughter, Maria, had waxed endlessly about their home city during a drive back from the Alps last winter. By the time we got home, we had booked a long weekend around the Maraton Warzsawski, so I could join Kamil on his return to marathoning, and Maria could take Quinn on a Teen Girl Tour of pierogis, dense hot chocolate drinks, and Insta-worthy backdrops. Through the Summer/Fall, Kamil and I had progressed well on our marathon training, until two documents arrived:

1. An MRI scan showing that Kamil had splintered his shin in a friendly football game two weeks before the race, and would not be able to run.

2. The local Austrian newspaper, featuring the General Manager of adidas Digital Sports (me) announcing the closure of all Austrian offices, and 170 employees effectively losing their jobs, myself included.

One physical injury, and one psychological blow. But we both agreed to continue with the trip, me running whatever sleep-deprived pace I could handle, and Kamil in charge of hosting and cheering.

Anyone who has been on the receiving end of an office closure (or layoff, reduction-in-force, restructuring, consolidation, or other corporate phrase-of-the-day) knows that it hits deep. You don’t just lose a paycheck (which is devastating in itself), but also the colleagues you enjoy seeing daily, the office that became your second home, a chunk of your professional and personal identity, and the fulfilment of being part of a global mission. It’s horrible. Every time. To be the one who delivers that message has its own twist - you see it coming, like a chess game that tilts out of favor a few moves out, only to finally line up the resources to best prepare everyone, and then be the private and public punching bag. The stress builds to a crescendo, and like a Viennese opera, the “fat lady sings”, and the curtain drops right on top of you (perhaps this is what why my shoulders are hunched). You tell yourself it’s the job, acknowledging the impersonal corporate reality, but it still hurts. Every time.

And thank God it hurts, honestly. One doesn’t take on the big job unless you want all of it - big ups, big downs, and full accountability at all times. It’s a lot like taking on the marathon. Would you still desire this crazy distance it was easy from end-to-end, or you could skip out on the training? HELL, NO. You want the fear, the pain, the courage, the moments of truth, all of it, so it has meaning. Let the humility sculpt you, and reveal the true character beneath.

At the race start, I was ready for some sculpting. There was a perfect palette - ideal weather, a flat course full of history, an awesome cheering squad, and, although I had not trained for a marathon specifically, my general fitness is solid. The Warsaw Marathon is a reasonably-sized city marathon of 7,000 runners, so it had this great local race feeling, while still having big city benefits. I slotted with the 3:20 pace crew, and we all headed through downtown.

The streets of Warsaw evidence the crazy history of this country, which has only been independent 50 of the last 200 years. Soviet-era buildings, catholic churches on every corner, right next to modern structures and art, and beautiful parks that somehow survived multiple World Wars. Yet the city feels young, thriving from the recent injection of 400,000+ Ukranians fleeing their neighboring home country from Russian invasion. As the Polish runner next to me clarified at the 10k mark (44 minutes), “it was challenging at first, but they have settled well in the Ukranian areas that were already here, bringing more of their culture and learning ours, plus starting businesses and spending money…it’s been very positive”. How cool is that?

At 15k (66 minutes), I had caught up to the 3:10 pacing crew as we crossed back over the Vistula river, and my crazy cheering squad was there to sprint with me. Luckily the runners took it in stride as I slowed for some high fives, and we all had a good laugh. A minute later, somebody’s younger brother jumped right on the course for a selfie, then a grandma cheered out at full volume to everyone’s delight. It really is fun to have friends and family on the course!

I took a bio break at the halfway point (1:32:22), which I know took exactly 53 seconds thanks to the auto-pause on my Apple Watch (ha, ha). We circled the quaint and clean Old Town, and started heading back, the giant Palais de Culture building near the finish line still just a spot on the horizon. As the runners high kicked in, I pondered the future of my work colleagues getting clearer with every step, and the positive things that likely lie ahead. The office will close, but our work continues on with adidas. The stories we tell, the successes, failures, and triumphs, will always be ours. And we are greater for it.

Coming off the last bridge climb at 35k (2:34), I assessed my legs and felt I had one more gear, but was concerned about a niggle in my left hamstring. Luckily, I had the freedom to choose my pace today, some rare agency in a month full of work pressure and deadlines. My crew would be happy to see me finish no matter what is on the clock, and that is the greatest gift. I picked a pace worthy of a smile, yet still sculpting a bit, and cruised in for a 3:06:33 finish.

One more round of pierogis, and we were on our way home all too soon. The demons await, but I am fully refreshed by the Polish community and culture that proves again and again that you can overcome any challenge, and thrive. Keep moving forward, grateful for what you have and the people you share it with, and lean into life to sculpt your fate.

Next up, Ironman Tangier 70.3!

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