Welcome to part 7 of my series documenting The Great World Race—7 marathons on 7 continents in just 7 days. If you’re just catching up:
- Part 1 begins in Antarctica’s icy expanse.
- Part 2 takes us to the sunny shores of Cape Town.
- Part 3 recounts the PB magic in Perth.
- Part 4 reveals the chaotic night run in Istanbul (Europe).
- Part 5 dives into Istanbul (Asia), where grit took center stage.
- Part 6 brings us to Cartagena’s heat and vibrant colors.
And now, we’re in Miami for the final marathon. What started as “just one more race” became the ultimate mental challenge. Exhausted, emotional, and determined, this is where it all came together. Let’s go! 🌎🌴
We landed at Miami International Airport in the very early hours of the morning. Running on fumes, a few of us took Ubers to our hotels, hoping for a quick nap before the last race. I got lucky—early check-in! But instead of sleeping, I unpacked my bag, and wow, let’s just say… stink bombs galore. 😅
We went to Starbucks for some Breakfast, the only place that was open this early in the morning. By the time we got to the start line, the atmosphere was electric—the biggest crowd of any marathon so far. Seeing so many friends, family, and supporters of other marathoners was amazing.
Day 7: Miami 🌴 – Seven continents, seven marathons. Let’s finish this!
My body, though? It was feeling the seven marathons. I was bloated, retaining water like crazy, and my thighs and belly had blown up to twice their size. My legs felt heavy, and I was hot even before we started. Add to that a little mind game—I kept hoping Johan might surprise me by being there. When he wasn’t, my emotions spiraled. I spent the first half of the race cranky, disappointed, and letting my feelings take over. Not my finest hour.
Thankfully, Ger talked me down, reminding me to focus on the ocean, the palms, and my breathing. Miriam, Ger’s awesome wife, Peggy, Merry’s mom, were incredible too—cheering me on and trying to lift my spirits. But ultimately, I had to shift my mindset on my own.
Shifting gears, finding joy, and crossing the final finish line.
Halfway through the race, I gave myself a stern talking-to: Cut the pity party. Focus. Finish. Using my own coaching tools, I shifted my mindset, stopped feeling sorry for myself, and just got back to running.
And suddenly, it clicked. I wasn’t faster, but I felt better. I smiled again, embraced the moment, and even embarrassed myself by jumping on the marathon instructors like a total goofball. I didn’t care—it felt amazing.
Crossing the finish line was EVERYTHING. I bawled. Full-on, ugly crying, happy tears. Seven marathons. Seven continents. NINE medals. I called Johan immediately, still sobbing, and he turned to my mom and said, “She’s crying!” 😂
My body was done—my thighs and belly swollen, my legs heavy—but my heart was so full. It still feels surreal, and I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
