The Race That Built Me – and the One That Broke Me
For nearly a decade, the Detroit Marathon has been a part of my running story. I’ve crossed its start line as so many versions of myself: the first-time marathoner, the confident ambassador, the runner so glad that racing was back after COVID… the one who trained perfectly, the one who trained okay, and the one who trained like crap and had fun anyway.
This year… Detroit didn’t feel like Detroit. And I didn’t feel like me.
This is the story of how that race built me, broke me, and how, strangely enough, it became the beginning of finding my way back to “Marathon Megan”.
The Years That Shaped “Marathon Megan”
Detroit and I go way back to 2016, when I ran my first marathon there. While the weather conditions weren’t exactly ideal (it was warm and humid at the start, and then it rained for the last 10+ miles), it didn’t matter. That day, with one of my closest friends by my side, I did something I never really even dreamed of and definitely did not think I could ever do. I became a marathoner.
After crossing that finish line, I swore I’d never do another marathon. Well, what do you know – at 12:00am on January 1, 2017 I was signed up to run the Detroit marathon again. That year, I ran the first half with my friend Nikki, who was running her first half-marathon. I finished the second half on my own, confident and strong. I knew, without a doubt, that I’d keep coming back. I was hooked.
To this day, I still consider the 2018 Detroit marathon to be my best marathon. At the time, it was my PR, and even though I have run a faster marathon since then, none have compared to how I felt that year on Fort Street. Not only was my training great, I was also celebrating ten years of being a runner, and I was fortunate enough to have been chosen to be a race ambassador that year. I was happy and worry-free as I lined up in the corral, and I ended up meeting my “A goal” time. The finish line song that year was the same one that played during my first marathon. It felt like a full-circle moment – the universe’s little nod saying, “You’re right where you’re meant to be.” That was the year I was given the nickname, “Marathon Megan”.
I did the half in 2019 and watched my friend finish his first marathon. I cried for him, remembering that “You’re a marathoner!” feeling, and because I was so proud of him. In 2021, I came back to the marathon after a hard year. The course was U.S. only because of COVID, and it was my first marathon since my mom passed away. It was so good to feel connected to something bigger than myself again. I felt my mom’s presence throughout the whole race – in little moments like seeing a man walking down the road with his cat, and music I heard. As I crossed the finish line, I looked to the sky. I smiled all the way through the finish and called my dad afterward, feeling so proud.
In 2022 I ran the half again and it was pure fun. I did the Wonder Challenge with a friend. We wore fun costumes for all of the races and got to meet a few of our favorite “running celebrities”. The next year I helped organize three relay teams. Doing the relay was a very different experience, and it was when my relationship with running and the race starting turning sour.
Running on Empty
This year, I went into race weekend exhausted. Not “tired.” Not “a little off.”
Exhausted.
No sleep. No meaningful training. No structure – which, as I’ve now learned, is an ADHD fast-track to burnout. No meal the night before. A headache. A stomach ache. A heart that wasn’t in it.
Detroit has always lifted me before, even on bad years. But this time, even the iconic moments (the bridge, the tunnel, the views, the crowds) couldn’t pull me out of the fog.
The weather was brutal: rainy, windy, 45 mph gusts. It was sensory overload on top of emotional emptiness. And I couldn’t even keep up with my friends for half a mile.
I spent most of the race with my friend Brooke, which honestly was the one bright spot. Thirteen miles of getting to know someone better is a gift. But physically, mentally, emotionally… I was so drained that even that couldn’t refill me.
I finished in a little over 3.5 hours. I wasn’t ashamed – not of the time, not of the walking, not of being slow. But I was ashamed that I ran a race I had no business running.
When I crossed the finish line, it was pure relief. Not joy. Not pride. Just… done. No one was waiting for me, and I didn’t expect anyone to because of the crappy weather. But that just added to how I was feeling about the race. Back at the hotel, sore in ways I had never been sore, I realized: This wasn’t about the race. Something deeper had broken long before the starting gun.
ADHD: The Missing Piece in My Running Story
It took talking to my therapist – and honestly, hitting rock bottom after the race – to understand what was really going on. ADHD thrives on structure and routine. Running used to give me exactly that. Wake up → run → reward of dopamine → identity reinforced.
But burnout strips dopamine away. And without dopamine, consistency disappears. And without consistency, ADHD symptoms get louder. And suddenly you’re in a spiral: No structure → harder to train → feel guilty → feel shame → feel disconnected → avoid running → lose more structure → feel worse.
I’ve lived this pattern for years without recognizing it. Running used to regulate me emotionally. Group runs felt exciting. Races felt joyful.
Sometimes You Have to Hit Empty Before You Can Refill
By the time Detroit rolled around this year, my emotional bandwidth was already so low that the race wasn’t just physically hard – it was mentally overwhelming. Add in perfectionism, rejection sensitivity, and the nagging feeling that I was slowing everyone down, and suddenly I didn’t even feel like part of the running community anymore. Not because of anything anyone did. Just because ADHD has a way of turning burnout into isolation.
And Detroit, historically the place where I felt most like a runner, became the place where I felt the least like one.
Here’s the part I didn’t expect: Detroit was the breaking point – but breaking forced me to rebuild everything from the ground up. And what I have started to rebuild… it’s actually working really well for me.
Starting Over, Smarter This Time
I started small. I started with what felt easy. I started with what gave immediate dopamine instead of delayed gratification. Instead of running for mileage, I started running for time. I started doing the running workouts from the Beachbody program “30 Day Breakaway”. I also started doing workouts from the “3 Week Yoga Retreat”, which I had forgotten how much I loved doing. I have gone to a few strength classes. None of it has been long or super intense. My training has not been rigid. And for the first time in a long time, I’m seeing benefits quickly:
- my pace is improving
- I feel stronger
- I feel more flexible
- I’m actually having fun
Short workouts are easier for my ADHD brain to commit to and time-based workouts are easier to fit into a busy, time-blind schedule. Dopamine is easier to earn. I have structure, but with flexibility – I usually have a total rest day once a week and have been alternating running workouts with yoga and strength. This routine has helped other routines in my life fall into place – most importantly my sleeping routine. I feel really, really good.
Yoga has grounded me in ways running couldn’t right now. Strength classes remind me what community can feel like. Solo runs let me rebuild confidence without comparison. I’m finally letting go of the pressure to be who I used to be. Instead of trying to fit into the identity of “old me,” I’m meeting myself where I am today. I’m not training for anything, not chasing a distance or a former version of myself. Just running to run. And it feels good.
Becoming the Runner I Actually Need
Detroit 2025 wasn’t a good race for me, but it forced me to get honest about what wasn’t working – not just in my training, but in my relationship with running and with myself. Burnout doesn’t mean you’re done. It just means something needs to change.
Joy doesn’t always come back on its own. Sometimes you have to rebuild it intentionally, with small steps and short runs and gentle yoga and better sleep and honest conversations. Running feels healthier now. My mind feels clearer. My body feels stronger. And I don’t feel like an outsider anymore – I feel like someone starting over in the right way.
You Are Allowed to Start Again
What I hope you feel when you read this: Seen. Understood. Normal. Not alone.
Burnout happens – to runners, to parents, to partners, to dietitians, to people living with ADHD, to anyone. You are more than one identity. You are allowed to fall apart. You are allowed to rest. And you are absolutely allowed to start again.
Detroit raised me. Detroit broke me. And strangely enough, Detroit is the reason I’m running again – this time with more compassion, more structure, and more joy than I’ve had in years.
RD on the Run 