Three years after struggling to even walk up San Francisco’s steep streets as a tourist, Aundraya Himmler traversed a much longer route past the city’s landmarks in her first full marathon.
Crossing the finish line of the 47th annual San Francisco Marathon a painful — but pride-worthy — seven hours and four minutes after starting the 26.2-mile loop on Sunday, the 34-year-old Las Vegas resident felt she’d come full circle in more ways than one.
“When I came out to San Francisco for a visit in August 2021, I realized I was extremely unhealthy and had to do something about it,” she said. “My body hurt, and I was only, like, 30. So that was a wake-up call for me.”
So it didn’t matter that she ended the race more than an hour past the official cutoff time. Simply finishing marked a hard-fought victory.
“It was still hard,” she said after ambling across the finish line. “My ankles were twisting and turning, so I had to fight through the physical pain. But I feel good.”
Some of the world’s best runners flock to the San Francisco Marathon to enjoy the cool climes, stunning views and fierce competition.
World-record-holding ultrarunner Charlie Lawrence was the first to cruise past the finish line in the full marathon Sunday, clocking a time of 2:22:30. The fastest woman Sunday, Jenna Wolfrum, finished at 2:52:10. The top nonbinary racer, JL Odom, finished 3:17:52 after they started — a profound triumph after a year battling cancer and recovering from multiple surgeries.
But inspiring stories abound at the back of the pack, too, where race times matter less than finishing at all.
Since the pandemic and resulting proliferation of amateur running groups — like the storied Slow AF Run Club — Lauri Abrahamson, the ultrarunner-turned-impresario of the San Francisco Marathon, said she’s seen more people embrace the sport at their own pace.
It’s said that the hardest part of a marathon is finishing first or finishing last. And Abrahamson said she’s seen grit and glory in the ones who trail behind.
“They can be old, they can be young, they can be new to running, they can be just coming back from an injury,” she said. “In a way, they have a more difficult race than anybody else.”
That held true for many of the last-placers in San Francisco this weekend.
Long after the marathon’s official six-hour cutoff, after the crush of cheering spectators ebbed to a handful of onlookers and event crews began dismantling barriers along the route, determined stragglers kept making their way across the finish line.
“I’m getting emotional,” 26-year-old Claire Gunther said after the 6:10:49 journey that was her very first marathon. “Growing up, I kind of just gave up in sports and other stuff. So I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this.”
The Corte Madera resident said she took up running toward the end of 2022 because of how much she dreaded it. After giving up basketball as a high school freshman and softball before she went to college, she wanted to try something difficult and see it through.
A Stanford University researcher who studies child development and family dynamics, Gunther began prioritizing her well-being by pushing through the discomfort of long-distance running.
In April, she ran a half-marathon. A few months later, she tackled her first full 26.2-mile race. And while she didn’t medal Sunday, setting foot across the finish line helped her win a lifelong battle against crippling self-doubt.
“It’s overwhelming,” she said. “But it feels good.”
Nina Hanssen didn’t start running until after an open-heart operation and several back surgeries when she was 47. Ten years and countless long-distance runs later, she finished her seventh marathon on the San Francisco bayfront with a time of 6:55:53.
It wasn’t her best time, but she offered a weary smile and said it was all for a cause.
A criminologist from Oslo, Norway, Hanssen said the marathon capped a three-week tour of American correctional facilities that ended at San Quentin State Prison.
She recently co-wrote a book about the Norway model of incarceration, which Gov. Gavin Newsom said he wants to bring to San Quentin, among other lockups in California. For the marathon Sunday, Hanssen wore a red polo shirt emblazoned with the logo of a nonprofit advocating to that end.
“I am trying to change America,” she said.
Also running for a cause was a contingent of back-of-the-pack runners in matching shirts that read “Wear Blue.” Each joined the race sponsored by an organization that sends military families to such events to give them a healthy way to cope with loss, drawn-out separation and reintegration into civilian life.
One of the group, Rachel Maloney, 39, pushed through every step of the 26.2-mile route on Sunday in honor of her husband, U.S. Army Master Sgt. David Renjifo, a chemical, biological and nuclear specialist and father of four who died from a brain tumor in 2019.
“We’re all here to do something hard because he did a lot of hard things, too,” she said seconds after jogging past the finish line with a time of 6:20:05.
A U.S. Army master sergeant stationed in Fort Liberty, N.C., Maloney started running with her husband even though she hated it at first. But over time, it became “their thing.”
On Sunday, with a finishing time 20 minutes too late to count, “their thing” became a moving memorial for Maloney to celebrate with her children, who were waiting for her on the sidelines clad in matching blue shirts.
For others, the race to the end represented a new chapter.
James Henry, a 60-year-old retiree from El Dorado Hills who started running two years ago, logged a final time of 7:04:38 — not that he even looked at the time until someone asked. All that mattered was finishing the damn thing.
“I just needed to do this to see if I could,” he said.
Since he took up running he has lost 114 pounds. His next goal: complete the California Ironman triathlon. That made Sunday’s feat more of a steppingstone than a race against the clock.
In 1979, Mike Marr ran a marathon in three hours and 15 minutes. At 70, the Yuma, Ariz., resident and Oakland native wasn’t trying to beat his all-time record, just the seven-hour mark he recorded last time.
That made Sunday’s final time of 6:48:08 worthy of celebration — and the scenic journey through a city he loves something to cherish.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It brings back memories.”
San Francisco’s comedy and poetry scene lured 36-year-old Giles Leonard from Seattle as much as the marathon did. Actually, it was comedy that got him obsessed with distance running.
“I do standup,” he said, “and I went to a rehearsal after running as far as I possibly could. My comedy coach said, ‘Whatever you just did, do it again, because you were the funniest you’ve ever been.’ So I kept running.”
That was a few years ago. In San Francisco on Sunday, he heaved his way past the purple finish-line banner for a time of 6:32:34. And he did so without the comfort of sweat-wicking athletic gear, sporting instead a quirky ensemble: a tan button-down shirt, khaki shorts, a pair of dusty pastel Hokas and a bushy red beard.
“I’m not the fastest runner,” he said, pausing for a drink of water. “But I believe I’m the most fashionable.”
