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 three and a half weeks to train, and in that time, the longest run I managed to complete was 20k. 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 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 nonstop, draining, exhausting days that healthcare 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.
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 firsthand 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 healthcare 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.
Around that time, FIGS had launched their “Scrubs That Don’t Suck” campaign—a sustainability initiative in partnership with SuperCircle aimed at keeping scrubs out of landfills. As a dental student, this really resonated with me. I often find myself thinking about the environmental footprint of the dental profession, and FIGS stood out as a brand genuinely trying to be part of the solution. That campaign was just one of several efforts they’ve launched to support healthcare workers, and if I was going to run a marathon in their honour, I wanted to do it in gear that actually stood for change.
So, I started running in my FIGS. 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.
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, encouraging, 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 healthcare 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 healthcare 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.
And thank you, FIGS, for the comfiest gear I could’ve chosen for 42.2 kilometers. I’ll see you again in October—this time with a few new running buddies by my side.
About the Author
Mony Madlol is a first-year dental student and Class President for the DDS Class of 2028 at Schulich. Follow him on Instagram (@moony.dentistry) and TikTok (@moony.dentistry).