The Run That Started It All

The Night before

I still remember the night before my first half marathon.

I was supposed to leave home at 3:30 in the morning, but somehow, sleep just wouldn’t come. I don’t think I slept for even an hour.

There was excitement, but honestly, there was much more fear.

I kept thinking about all kinds of things. What if I don’t wake up? What if I can’t finish? What happens during the run? What if something goes wrong?

The funny thing was, I didn’t really know much about running back then. I had never trained seriously for a half marathon. I didn’t understand pacing, nutrition, recovery, or any of the things I know today.

I just liked running.

And that love for running had actually come from watching my brother. He was the one who introduced me to it, motivated me, and made me believe that maybe I could do it too.

So there I was, awake in the middle of the night, nervous about something I had voluntarily signed up for.

Just start running

Once the run actually started, something strange happened.

All those thoughts disappeared.

The moment I started running, my mind became completely clear. There was no more what if. No more worrying about whether I would finish.

There was just the road in front of me.

One kilometre became two. Then five. Then ten.

I wasn’t thinking about the finish line anymore. I was simply trying to keep moving.

Looking back now, I think that was one of the first things running taught me: sometimes the hardest part is everything you imagine before you begin.

Once you start, you just deal with whatever comes next.

The last 6 kilometres

The real battle came towards the end.

With around 6 kilometres left, my thoughts completely changed.

I remember thinking, “Why did I even come here?”

Every kilometre started feeling harder. My legs were tired, the distance seemed longer, and that finish line somehow felt like it was moving further away.

At that point, I wasn’t chasing a time.

I wasn’t thinking about pace.

I just wanted to finish.

So I kept going.

A little more.

Then a little more.

And eventually, the finish line was there.

I didn’t know how fast I was running. I only knew that I wasn’t going to stop.

The medal

And then it was over.

I crossed the finish line and received my first half-marathon medal.

I still remember that feeling.

The tiredness that had built up over the previous couple of hours suddenly didn’t matter anymore. It was almost as if the medal had taken all of it away.

I looked at the time — 2:47:17.

At that moment, the number meant absolutely nothing to me.

There was no disappointment about the pace. No comparison. No target that I had missed.

2:47:17 felt like an incredible achievement.

Because I had started the morning wondering whether I would even be able to finish.

Where it all began

Today, when I look back at those photographs, I can see how little I actually knew about running.

But I can also see something else.

I can see the beginning.

That first half marathon changed the way I looked at running. Until then, running was simply something I enjoyed doing.

After that day, it became a part of my life.

I started learning about training, pacing, shoes, recovery, nutrition and, most importantly, patience. I slowly understood that running isn’t really about how fast you can go.

It’s about how long you can keep going when things get difficult.

That first 21.1 km was nowhere near perfect. I didn’t have the experience, the knowledge or the confidence that I have today.

But maybe that’s exactly why it means so much to me.

I was scared before I started.

I struggled towards the end.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

And I still finished.

This was my first half marathon. And without knowing it at the time, it was also the beginning of my marathon journey.