Running my first marathon in Rome—a city I deeply admire as a relic of past civilizations—was a lesson condensed into the most physically demanding, psychologically intense, and theologically awe-inspiring experience of my life. Dangerously dehydrated, with feet burning as though standing on coals and toenails best left unmentioned, I was the epitome of unpreparedness.

The scorching June sun showed no mercy on my fair skin, unforgiving of my improperly applied sunscreen. The only respite came from pouring water over my head, feeling like the purest form of relief. A close second was the realization that I could continue moving, placing one foot in front of the other.

Was it awful? Yes. Have I done it again? Absolutely. Why? It was an immense, condensed lesson about resilience and self-discovery. Despite my prior assertions that running a marathon was an excessive fuss and effort for no tangible return—something I would never do—it proved otherwise.

This experience taught me that no matter the plans made or expectations set, things seldom unfold as anticipated, and that's perfectly okay. It underscored the power of making deep connections with strangers, supporting each other temporarily, yet profoundly, and then parting ways, which is also perfectly fine.

Ultimately, it confirmed my belief that I can achieve anything I set my mind to, regardless of circumstances, difficulties, or my state at the time. Taking it one step at a time is the key, and everything will be alright. This marathon was not just a physical trial, but a monumental lesson in understanding myself and the unpredictable nature of life.