First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
It all started with a ridiculous argument – the kind that only ever happens in my family. Two of my sisters, my brother-in-law and I were in the middle of a debate about who could theoretically run the fastest marathon. It was lighthearted at first, but the thing about my family is that hypothetical debates never stay hypothetical for long. Within minutes, we were pulling up the race website, signing ourselves up for a full marathon – no real training plans, no second thoughts, just four stubborn people determined to prove each other wrong.
That was it. We were in. Sibling pride on the line, and not a single one of us willing to back down. We had about 3½ weeks to train, and in that time, the longest run I managed to complete was 20 kilometres. The rest were a few 5ks and a single 10k – not exactly ideal prep, but this wasn’t about being perfectly ready. It was about challenging myself (and hopefully also proving my siblings wrong).
Somewhere in the middle of all this, after one of my sister’s long days in the dental student clinic, she flopped down on the couch and said something along the lines of, “I just went through a marathon of my own today.” And for some reason, that stuck with me. I kept thinking about how often we use that word – marathon – to describe the kind of non-stop, draining, exhausting days that health care workers endure. And I realized this whole race didn’t just have to be about me, my siblings and our competitive streak. It could stand for something bigger.
First Person: I connect with my daughter as we run but don’t expect this sweet spot to last forever
In the months leading up to the race, my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumour and began her journey through surgery and recovery. During that time, I witnessed first-hand the extraordinary care she received – from nurses and doctors to physiotherapists and post-op teams. It was in those hospital halls that I realized who the real marathoners are: the health care workers clocking impossible shifts and holding everything together for patients like my mom. In reflecting on her experience, I found my “why.” I wanted to run to represent the people who had cared for her, I just needed to figure out how to show it.
So I started running in my scrubs – as a dental student I wear them regularly. I filmed everything – the good runs, the bad runs, the moments I wanted to give up. I wasn’t expecting much beyond a few laughs from classmates and maybe a fun memory to look back on. But what I didn’t anticipate was how many people would actually find the journey meaningful. By the time race day came around, people I’d never met were recognizing me from TikTok and Instagram, shouting words of encouragement as they ran by. Some even slowed down to introduce themselves – nurses, fellow dental students, dentists – telling me they’d seen the videos and felt inspired to lace up their own running shoes.
First Person: Heading out for an early morning run is my favourite way to explore a new city
One of the people who reached out early on was Kristian Jamieson, a second-year dental student who saw my posts and immediately offered his support – tips, running shoe recommendations, you name it. I was honestly a little nervous at first, jumping into a running community that felt so established, but the support I received blew me away. Everyone was welcoming and genuinely excited to see someone new take on the challenge.
Crossing that finish line wasn’t just about beating my siblings (though, for the record, I did). It was about realizing that I had become part of something much larger than myself – a community of health care workers, runners and everyday people who show up, push through and keep going no matter what.
Running that race – in scrubs, in public, on very little training – was my way of saying thank you. Thank you to the people who care for our families. To the health care workers who run silent marathons every day. To the communities that lift each other up along the way. Thank you for shaping the kind of caregiver I aspire to be – compassionate, resilient and relentless in service.
Muntdr Madlol lives in London, Ont.