I hate it when I’m right. At least, in this case.

I was fairly confident going into the Seattle Marathon last Sunday I would be OK for 20 miles. Training runs had indicated I should be able to hold together at a decent pace over that distance. The final 6.2 miles, however, was the land of the unknown. I hadn’t gone there in a long time. They could be painful. It had been nearly a year since my last marathon in Honolulu. I decided to sign on for Seattle only a few days before the race, almost on a whim, just to see what I could do.

“It's the last 6 miles that might kill me,” I said to my wife before driving to Seattle. 

It came close. 

• • •

The Seattle Marathon started near the Space Needle at the Seattle Center. Nearly everyone in the race, it seemed, had a phone and they were either taking selfies or holding their phones high and capturing the crowd. I focused on the task at hand. I repeated my pre-race instructions to myself: Go out easy, relax, take what it gives you and enjoy the day. Do not push it.

“C’mon Buley. You’re fine. This will be fun.”  

Some, hearing me mutter to myself, stepped a little farther away. Few appreciate a stranger’s words of wisdom, especially if they're about having fun during a marathon.

At 7 a.m., we were off. The early miles were easy. The weather of no wind and clear skies was perfect. The last time I ran the Seattle Marathon it was cold, raining, windy and I froze.

Not so on this day. It was beautiful. 

The miles passed without trouble. I was barely breathing. It felt good to be back in the city of my youth. While Seattle has changed since I grew up there with six siblings in our house near Green Lake, it still feels like home. 

About 10 miles in, after we crested a few hills, my legs began to feel heavy. It was too early for heavy legs, so I told myself to slow down.  

“Just relax,” I said to no one. 

The course led me through my old stomping grounds and lots of memories. 

We took a turn into the University of Washington campus and looped around Drumheller Fountain, where I often sat on sunny days, pretending to study, but really hoping to meet girls. 

We soon passed Husky Stadium, where I watched games as a student. Academically, I did poorly, but when it came to school spirit, I was a football fanatic and earned an A. Go Dawgs! 

We hooked up with the Burke-Gilman Trail, where, as a young man, I ran thousands of lung-busting miles in my days of serious training, believing I could qualify for the U.S. Olympic marathon trials. For years, it was my dream. It didn’t come true. 

We passed through Gasworks Park on Lake Union at the halfway point. My brother and I once owned a house near Gasworks. We paid, as I recall, $65,000. I suppose today it’s worth a million. Should have kept it. 

The course took us north on Aurora Avenue. An ambulance sped by me and stopped a few hundred yards ahead. As I ran past, medics were performing chest compressions on a man on the ground, and I heard one of them say something about needing to shock him. I prayed as I ran. 

A few miles later, we came to Green Lake, where I spent summer days of my childhood splashing around, and where my little sister, Nancy, saved my life as I floundered one afternoon. If she hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be here. 

We looped the outside of the lake once, then the inside, weaving around pedestrians. My pace was slowing. I ran the 20th mile in 9:30. It would be my last decent mile. I chuckled as I recalled that I once ran the 2.8 miles around the paved inside lane of Green Lake in 14 minutes and 34 seconds, close to a 5-minute per-mile pace. Now, I was nearly twice as slow. How could that be?  

Back on Aurora, we made the final push for home. I was slowing even more. My legs were no longer cooperating and balked at continuing. My brain insisted and forced them to chug on, but it was painful. Scores of runners passed me. I shuffled forward, cursing myself for having run 16 miles the previous weekend and signing up just days before the race. One question went through my mind: “What was I thinking?”  

I managed to hold it together. 

When I finally arrived at Memorial Stadium, where the finish line waited inside, I summoned a sprint across the field, finishing in 4:22:56, not what I hoped. I felt defeated, not victorious like one should feel at the end of a marathon. So many "should'ves" went through my mind. 

A beer and lunch with my son, Ray, afterward boosted my spirits. It was good to spend time with him. As we talked, I realized I was fortunate to be back in Seattle and still able to run 26.2 miles. It was a good day.

But I believe I can do better. I'm sure of it. Absolutely. If I train properly, I’m confident I can qualify for the 2026 Boston Marathon. I just need to run faster for longer. Simple. I got this.

I hope I’m right.

• • •

Bill Buley is assistant managing editor of The Press. He can be reached at [email protected]