I was 30 miles into a 50-mile ultra race when I felt the familiar burn in my legs, the steady thud of my heartbeat in my ears. The trail stretched ahead, winding through the woods, demanding focus, patience, and endurance. In some ways, it felt like every other long run I had trained for—except this time, I was running with one kidney.
Before the Transplant
Before my son Beau’s diagnosis at 20 weeks in the womb, running was just something I did. I ran for fitness, for the challenge, for the sake of movement. However, after we learned about Beau’s condition—his lack of kidney function, his fragile future, and a conglomerate of uncertainties —running became something else entirely for me. It became my stress relief, my way to cope, and in some strange way, a connection to my son. Running an ultra demands suffering, endurance, and an ability to push forward through pain. I realized that Beau was already fighting his own ultra, one that he didn’t sign up for. If he could endure that, I could endure a few miles of my own.
Through Beau’s first months of life, while we were in the hospital, I kept running. Some days, it was the only thing that kept me going. I remember putting him down to sleep, letting the nurses know I was going to step out for a bit, and they’d keep an eye on him while I did laps at the track right by the hospital. When he finally came home on dialysis, my wife and I took turns being “on call” overnight. Some nights I barely slept, but I still ran. I needed it. We battled constant hospital stays (90 hospital days in a 14 month period), a completely broken up schedule, nightly dialysis for 15 months at home, multiple surgeries and procedures, and no knowledge of what would come next, or when it all would get any better for Beau. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the running and activity I did during this time, I was training for something much bigger than an ultra—I was training for the moment I’d give Beau my left kidney.
Surgery and Recovery
The night before the transplant surgery, it still didn’t feel real. We had waited so long for this moment, yet we weren’t even sure it would happen until just 12 hours before. I had imagined this day over and over, but when it finally came, I was in disbelief.
On the morning of December 8, 2023, I was already in the hospital with Beau. I had spent the night in his room, but when it was time, I walked down to the surgery intake area—that was when it all became real. This was happening. In a few hours, one of my kidneys would be providing a crucial element to my son’s health.
The first 3 things I remember thinking after waking up from surgery were: How’s Beau? Then: What time is it? And finally: I feel like I’m going to puke. The pain was intense, the meds didn’t sit well with me but it didn’t matter. The only thing I cared about was knowing that Beau was okay. The report was, “They let us know his surgery went well and Beau is already creating urine on his own”. Amazing and unbelievable news.
Recovery was about as hard as I expected. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the forced limitation, the fatigue and the gas pains… oh the gas pains. I was used to moving, training, pushing my body, but now even getting out for a walk was a struggle. For the first time in my life, I had to be patient with my body. I knew what it was like to have my mind hold me back, this was different.
The turning point came on my first run back. I was on a short trip in Miami when I decided to try. It was slow. It was a lot of heavy breathing. It felt like I was learning to run again. But, it was proof that I could do it. That day, I knew if I could run two or three miles(I think I did 3), I could work my way back to six, then ten. I just had to keep going.
The 50-Mile Test
Seven months later, I found myself standing at the start line of a 50-mile ultramarathon—the longest race I had ever attempted. Up until that point, I had done a 5Ks, 10Ks, a 50K, half marathons, a marathon and completed the 4x4x48 which is a 48-mile challenge over two days, but 50 miles? This was different. This was my first attempt at a distance like this. It was my biggest test since surgery. I had trained carefully, incorporating more rest weeks than ever before. I avoided long single runs over seven miles, but I stacked mileage throughout the day—running in the morning, going about my day, then running again in the evening. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough, but I knew I had to try. At the starting line, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement. Was my body ready? Had I trained enough? Would this change with my body hold up?
The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to finish. The first 30 miles felt good—better than I expected. My legs were steady, my energy was strong. But at mile 35, the race changed. Five straight miles of uphill trails drained me, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I fought through more brutal inclines and declines to mile 40, where someone handed me an Otter Pop and gave me an encouraging word. The sugar gave me a boost, carrying me a little further, but then came another brutal climb to the 45-mile aid station. My legs locked up. I was cramping, barely able to take another step.
I sat at that aid station for an hour. Five miles doesn’t sound like much after having done 45—but at that moment, it felt impossible. I questioned everything. Maybe this was my limit. Maybe I had nothing left. Then I reminded myself: Just take the next step.
And then another.
When I finally crossed that finish line, I was exhausted, but more than anything, I was grateful. I had finished. My new mantra was born – I had proved to myself that I could “do more with one kidney than I ever did with two”. The best part wasn’t the personal victory—it was looking at my family, and knowing that they, and everything we had been through, were the reasons I kept moving forward.
What I’ve Learned
This race changed the way I see possibility. Before donating, I might have doubted my limits. Now, I know I can do anything I set my mind to. For any ultra runner considering kidney donation and wondering if they’ll ever run long distances again, I’d say this: Take it slow, listen to your doctors, and trust the process. You can absolutely get back to doing what you love. This big fear of mine, of not being able to run after surgery was eased by my medical team, and through the stories I found through Kidney Donor Athletes.
For me, running is no longer just about distance or pace. It’s about proving that I can do more, with even more purpose. It’s about resilience, about pushing forward, about knowing that even when things seem impossible—one step at a time, you can get through it.
My only regret of my donation is that I don’t have other kidneys to give away. With the drastic life change we saw in my son, I wish I could help other families in the same way.
