The slow run

Truth be told I did this just for the last meters of the race. I started sprinting as soon as I had the finish line in sight; there were maybe 200 meters left and a straight line to my goal. I sprinted like a crazy pack of wolves was hunting me. It gives me the chills even now. I was so damn happy to see that finish line and fulfill my dream: that of going from the obese little kid that couldn’t run 440 meters(the length of a track lap) and that always but always finished last in the endurance races at school to the slim adult finishing a 42 km race in a decent time for someone who had started running just 6 months before.

I remember feeling amazing that day. It was a pleasant autumn day in Bucharest, sunny but not very warm, even a bit chilly in the morning. There were thousands of runners at the starting line and the atmosphere was buzzing; and then it started. I was full of adrenaline, my first marathon, and I was running better than I ever did in training. My first 10 km were under one hour and after 20 km I was still going strong.

My friends were running the relay, their first ever competition. We ran together for some parts. After 25 km it got harder, a lot harder, I was slowing down and walking from time to time to catch my breath. Until then I was just running and running. My only stops were to get a bit of water at the refreshment points.

At kilometer 32 my legs got stuck. Full stop, I’m barely walking. We’ve just completed the final loop around the national stadium and we’re going towards the finish line. I’m on this four lane boulevard and my muscles are clenched. I start doubting if I can continue, but at the same time I take action. I take my magnesium pill, drink more water and continue advancing one foot in front of the other and repeat.

It took me a couple of minutes but it’s working, I’m getting my mobility back. I start slowly jogging and eventually get at a decent pace. I’ve only got 5 kilometers left and I’m like: “Let’s go! Even if I have to walk all the way I’m going to finish this”.

Those last few kilometers I was pushing and pushing. I did not want to hear my legs that were telling me to stop: “Stop this madness Nick, please!”. But I was driven, I had a mission. Sure, it was artificially constructed. It was me battling me, but it felt real and it had purpose. I was proving to myself that I can do this incredible thing that I couldn’t even imagine doing a few years ago.

When I saw the 40km mark I knew it’s done. I’m going to finish. Unless an asteroid hits me in the face, I’m gonna walk, crawl, drag my feet with my hands but I’m gonna finish this.

I can see the finish line; it’s a straight line, a lot of people cheering. This is amazing! I sprint. I sprint like possessed.

It’s done. I loved every second of it. I stop, get my medal and hear “Nick!” and then again “Nick!” but with another voice. Two different female voices.

I’m still taking it in. I finished a marathon. My first marathon. And I feel amazing. WOW! Double wow when I turn my head to see the source. There I see my mom and just behind her, my back then recent girlfriend(fast forward a few years my wife). I ask myself if I’m not hallucinating. I was expecting to see my girlfriend there(it was planned) but my mom was not part of the plan. They hadn’t even met before so they’re as astonished as I am that there’s another person yelling out my name. Seems like my mom wanted to surprise me and took the train from my hometown to secretly greet me at the finish line. Thanks mom. It was a great surprise and I’m grateful you did this. I’m grateful to my wife for her continuous support, to my friends who wanted to run alongside me and to everyone who inspired me during this journey.

4 hours and 25 minutes of joy, euphoria, doubt, pain, emotion, excitement and in the end fulfillment and gratefulness. This was my first marathon, October 2016.