This past month I took on the challenge of my second-ever Gate River Run. This race is a Jacksonville, Florida, staple, held annually since 1978. The race is 15 kilometers (or 9.3 miles), and I was one of a whopping 20,000 runners who took to the line in Downtown Jacksonville, near EverBank Stadium, to push myself to the finish.

The main (and unfortunate) difference this year compared to last year was the weather. It was at least 15 degrees warmer, and the humidity was off the charts. But there was also another change this year: the course. The start and finish lines were pushed up due to ongoing construction at EverBank Stadium; and while we wouldn’t notice the difference at the beginning of the race, we sure as heck noticed it at the end (but more on that later).

I ran the race with my friend, just as we did last year. This year, however, we decided to wear fun running shorts. I opted for shamrock-covered shorts while he, a British man, purchased shorts with the American flag to celebrate his recent attainment of his green card.

The race began with everyone in good spirits. By the first 5k, I was already sweating from the humidity, and I reached for my first cup of water at this mark, too. For reference, last year I didn’t need any water throughout the race because of the cooler and dryer weather. Bands performed throughout the course as we wove through neighborhoods, down closed-off streets and along the riverfront. There were a few runners who wore special neon orange shirts, and these few older runners are the “streakers,” who have run every single Gate River Run since it was established 48 years ago. It’s truly an incredible thing to see these men and women come out and push themselves.

I also received a motivating boost when I spotted a sign made for me, referencing a quote by Dwight Schrute from The Office. It was great to see people come out to cheer us on.

But the pain began around Mile 6 for me. With the growing heat, intense sun and the fact I stupidly decided it was a good idea to consume a gel booster for the first time ever in the middle of my run and it not sit well in my stomach, my goal of running under an hour and 30 minutes was slipping away.

It’s a struggle many runners face at some point in their lives: You realize mid-race your goal is not attainable, and you face the decision to still give it your all despite that or just give up. But I was not going to let this race beat me. So I slowed down but trudged onward, preparing for Hart Bridge, the dreaded “Green Monster” that separated me from the finish line. Thankfully, many homeowners who came out of their houses to cheer us on were kind enough to spray their garden hoses over us to keep us cool. I ran through every mist spray I saw.

The bridge was the bane of my existence during this run. Last year I ascended it strongly, passing runners left and right. But this year I was the one being passed, and I had to accept it if it meant I still finished in a reasonable time. On the downhill, I let gravity do its work, carrying me down the long descent.

But this was where the course change hit every runner. Before, the finish line was right at the end of the bridge. This year, however, the finish line was nearly an entire mile ahead. I had never run a race with so many runners walking with a mile to go. It seemed their constitutions had been broken by the course change and heat. But I uncovered a newfound strength in me at the bottom of the bridge, as if I sought to make up for my slowdown at Mile 6 with a strong finish.

And I did just that. My last mile was my fastest, and it was all in the sun. My legs were heavy and my shoulders ached, but I pushed onward.

In the end, I surprised myself, because I believed mid-race my time would be abysmal. But when I finished, I was pleased to see I ran only 1.5 minutes slower than last year. My time may not have been what I wanted it to be, but I did it, and I did it better than I had let myself believe. I asked myself after, “Why do I do this to myself and why do I know that I’m already ready to sign up for next year’s race?”

That’s the pain and beauty of running.

— Aoife O’Riordan, associate editor