I Almost Quit the Garmin Marathon
Photographing it, not running it. Obviously.
Sometimes I pick up photo gigs when there’s a race in town—definitely not because they pay super well, but because I love photographing and being around runners. I love their energy and dedication, the way they support one another, and honestly I am just in awe at their endurance and cardio abilities. So last weekend when another project was postponed, I picked up the Garmin Marathon in Toledo somewhat last minute. But I immediately started to have second thoughts when the day called for nonstop rain.
On race day I was scheduled to shoot in two locations, and at 6:45am I arrived in complete darkness to the first, immediately faced with my first obstacle. The shooting location was easy enough to find, but the aid station they wanted me to capture before runners started coming through at 7:30am was nowhere to be found. My brief said it should be about 0.1 of a mile away, but after walking around for 20 minutes half-caffeinated, I couldn’t find it.I connected with the lead photographer and got a pin drop, only to realize the aid station was actually 0.6 of a mile away. Since I spent so long wandering around already, I now had only 20 minutes to make it there, capture some shots, and get back and set up in time for the first runners. I had to decide whether or not I was willing to tell him “sorry, I didn’t get the shots,” or to at least try.
So I started running.
With 20+ lbs of gear on my back, I started my six-hour shift by drenching myself with sweat underneath my rain jacket. I ran to the aid station, snapped five truly awful, most likely unusable photos, and ran back to set up just in time for the first runner to pass through.
I was still cooling down from my little jaunt while simultaneously attempting to get situated as I watched that first runner approach at a non-human speed, so even though I knew better, I didn’t put my waterproof pants on. It didn’t take very long for my shoes and shorts to get soaked, but I kept telling myself it’d be okay because it was like 65 degrees. Rookie move. Sitting stationary while soaked starts to suck after a while in any weather.
I snapped photo after photo in this location, never confident that I was getting it right. The combination of poor lighting, trading my go-to lens for a less-familiar one just because it performs better in low light, and the wind and rain made things difficult. I struggled to settle on the perfect combination of settings, and every time I thought I nailed the exposure and shutter speed, I zoomed in to realize the photos could be more crisp.
Right when the last runner passed through, I packed up my bag to drive to the second location. By the time I got to my car I was soaked and freezing. I sat there for a few minutes with the heat blasting on me, water still dripping off me as I tried to dry my microfiber lens cloths.
It was at this point that I seriously considered going home.
It had only been two hours, and I was scheduled for about four more. I didn’t need the money, and I didn’t feel as though any of my photos were going to be usable anyway. The weather felt like an inarguable excuse, and I started to think “what's the point in sticking around if I’m not able to deliver?”
But then I realized what my brain was doing: it was trying to make me escape discomfort by convincing me that what I was doing was a waste of time, and giving me excuses to bail.
I reminded myself that I’m not a quitter. I made a commitment to shoot this event, and I had a very specific set of deliverables I had to at least try to capture. If the results weren’t great, well just like the pre-marathon aid booth, at least I tried rather than just decided I couldn’t do it.
I would never bail on my own run or hike due to bad weather, so I wasn’t about to bail on people who’d hired me to shoot the event—and more importantly, the people who were running this marathon and were looking forward to having photos to remember it by. A few others had dropped out before the race so we were already a slim crew, I didn’t want to add to that lack of coverage.
So I sucked it up and drove to the second location while the sky got darker and the rain fell harder. After I parked I waited it out inside my car, feeling the pressure of each runner pass as I warmed up. But I figured five minutes of comfort and mentally regrouping before I headed back out was better than going home and missing four hours.
This location went much better, and within minutes I was so glad I stayed. I was able to set up right in the middle of the street, with great framing on Garmin signage to capture branded assets for their marketing materials. It was a bit lighter out now too, so I could use my preferred lens, which had a much bigger hood and kept the lens dry. I started to feel like I was capable again, and I was able to actually enjoy myself.
I sat there at mile 26 for four hours, two of those shivering. My feet and hands were waterlogged, but I kept snapping. The runners were definitely going through it, some crying at the site of the finish line up ahead, others tapping into one final burst of energy as their friends and family cheered them on. The rain definitely seemed to have an impact on the runners compared to the sunny marathons I’ve shot before.
But the ones who choked me up were those who were also noticeably pushing through their own discomfort. The ones who had all but surrendered to walking or limping at this point, then upon seeing me started running again, just to get one more pre-finish running pic. And the dozens of runners who were grimacing or completely depleted, but still eked out a “thank you” for taking their photo. And the random guy who came out of nowhere on the sidelines, screaming at the top of his lungs “that’s my best friend!” giving his bestie a surge of wobbly energy to propel towards the finish line.
Overall I’m so glad I stayed. I was able to deliver over 5,500 photos, got paid more than I usually do, and once I started to see my photos that I didn’t even think turned out appear online with Garmin branding, I realized just how hard I'd been on myself due to my own discomfort.
I know what it’s like to commit to something and have to show up with discipline for it every single day, even when the weather sucks or things aren’t ideal. But this was a good reminder that sometimes it’s not about me. It’s not about whether or not I need the money, if I’m comfortable, or if I’m doing portfolio-worthy work. It’s about showing up for the people who are there doing something they’ve committed to.
If these runners could stick with months of disciplined training, then run over 26 miles in the pouring rain, the least I could do is sit on my ass and take photos of them.
Sticking it out was also just a good reminder, in general, not to give up. Not that I ever really do (one time I won $10k for my resilience), but this time there was no massive personal goal to keep pushing me forward, and no finish line for me to reach. And yet, there was the contagious inspiration that I take home from every race. Running even five miles straight right now would probably destroy me, yet here I am, weirdly convinced that I could run a marathon. After all, last year I also wasn’t sure if I could summit Mt Kilimanjaro, but with the right preparation and training, I did it with ease.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that the best way to bridge the gap between “I can’t do this” and “I did it” is to keep showing up, even when it’s uncomfortable.
