Why the Job Search Feels Like a Marathon and How to Finish Strong
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
Nathaniel is the founder of Hurdle Community, a platform empowering graduates and young professionals to find clarity, confidence, and opportunity. He is now building a platform and ecosystem that redefines how people grow and progress in a rapidly changing world of work.
I ran the London Marathon. I nearly cried twice, in pain and in joy. Somewhere between miles 18 and 26, I realised I had done all this before. I am writing this while still nursing the wounds. My legs ache, my feet are speaking to me in a language I would rather not repeat. It was a test of belief, strength, and, at certain points, sanity. There were moments when I questioned all three simultaneously. But crossing that finish line was one of the highlights of my year, and it taught me more about myself than most things I have done intentionally to learn.
It was only afterwards, sitting with aching legs and a medal that felt heavier than it looked, that the metaphor hit me fully. I had lived this before. The preparation. The false starts. The tools you acquire along the way. The wall. The people who pull you through it. The finish line that feels completely different from how you imagined it would.
I had lived it in the job search and I had just lived it running 26.2 miles through London.
If there is one thing I want you to take from this, it will be worth it. Even when nothing about it feels like it will be.
1. The prep work
The job search is a marathon now, not a sprint. That distinction matters. There are those whose skillsets are so niche, so perfectly timed, that they land offers quickly, but for the majority of graduates and career movers, the distance is longer than they ever anticipated when they set out.
Most people start with the shoes they already have. A CV that their university helped them build, or the one that got them their last job. Standard running shoes, functional, familiar, but not built for this kind of distance. They offer no real support for what is coming.
Mile 1 to 5: Standard CV in hand. Familiar shoes. Optimistic pace. The road ahead looks manageable from here.
A few weeks in, the knee pain arrives. Rejections, the kind that come without feedback, from applications that may never have been read by a human at all. A quick rest, a reset, and then the instinct that every runner eventually develops, to look at what other people are doing.
In the park, you notice the runners with the spongey, cushioned shoes, AI-powered CV tools. The lightweight clothes, application trackers, structured spreadsheets. Some of them even have coaches. So, you do what makes sense, you pick up the tools that seem to be working for other people. You research keywords, learning about ATS systems. You start running a little faster and with a little less pain.
Mile 6 to 13: New tools acquired. Pace starts improving. Screening calls are landed. Progress is real, but something still does not feel quite right about the distance ahead.
The next month brings progress. Assessment centres. First-stage interviews. Longer distances than before. But the leg pain comes back, and this time it is mixed with something else, the dawning realisation that the finish line is further than they told you. Energy starts to run low. In some cases, money and social life start to contract. The isolation is quiet at first, then loud. You are aware of it, and you cannot seem to shake it.
2. The race
Battered and bruised, but with the small confidence of genuine progress and a good rest behind you, you arrive at the start line. You remind yourself, it will be over soon. The spongey shoes helped. The lightweight tools are in place. The only thing missing is the medal at the end.
Mile 13: The halfway screening call. Absolutely smashed. Speed, agility, skillset all on display. No problems, and the confidence is high. Imagining what it would be like to work there.
The run begins well. Each application ticked off. The tools are working. Then comes the halfway mark, a screening call, and it goes brilliantly. You show everything you trained for. No hesitation. Real momentum.
Mile 19: The first-stage interview. Approached with full confidence. Then the wall. Rejection lands. Legs go weak. The head starts questioning everything.
Coming up to the three-quarter mark, the first-stage interview, you are confident. You have trained for this. There is not a single doubt in your mind. Then, as you leave that point, the wall descends. The rejection arrives.
Your legs go weak. Everything you have done, every hour of preparation, starts to feel like it was not enough. Cramp sets in. You slow down. The hurdle in front of you, disbelief, stops you from carrying on. The spongey shoes have no effect. The lightweight clothes have never felt heavier. Then two people stop.
They are not coaches. They are not advisers. They are other runners. Other job seekers who know, from their own legs and their own walls, exactly what this moment feels like. They do not tell you it is easy. They tell you that you can do it and that you will get there. Not everyone has to go through this alone, and they give you tips and tricks along the way.
You take thirty seconds and breathe and with those two people either side of you, you keep going.
Mile 20 to 25: Another first-round interview. Not confident, but moving. One foot in front of the other. The final stage interview, legs at their weakest. Still going.
The last quarter comes into view, another interview, then a final stage. Your legs are at their weakest. There is no surge of energy, no sudden second wind. Just the accumulated weight of every mile behind you, and the decision to keep putting one foot in front of the other because the finish line is in sight.
Mile 26.2: The call comes in. The two who stayed with you are cheering. The medal goes around your neck. You completed the job search.
What the finish line teaches you
You completed it. Not because the tools were perfect. Not because you were ready. Not because it unfolded the way you planned. You completed it because you kept going, and critically, because you were not alone when the wall hit.
The tools matter. The right CV format, the right preparation, understanding how the process works, all of it matters. But none of it is what gets you through the wall. What gets you through the wall is having people around you who understand the distance, who have felt the same cramp, and who choose to stop when everyone else keeps running.
I was not completely ready for the marathon. I got there in the end and sitting here now, medal in hand, wounds still fresh, I know, for some very weird reason, that I could do it again.
That feeling. That is what I want for anyone in the middle of their own 26.2 miles right now. Not the absence of pain. Just the knowledge that the finish line exists, that others have crossed it, and that you do not have to run the last stretch on your own.
That is what the Hurdle Community is here for.
Read more from Nathaniel McAllister
Nathaniel McAllister, Founder of Hurdle Community
After experiencing redundancy firsthand, Nathaniel recognised how isolating the job search can be and set out to change it. Through Hurdle, he’s building a global platform and community where people can rebuild confidence, find support, and move forward together. His mission is simple, no one should face the job search alone.
