The slow run

“One foot in front of another.”
“Let’s try a bit faster. Let’s try to move faster than walking.”
“Repeat, endure. We finish this kilometer and get closer to the finish.”
“Ignore the constant pain of each new step. Don’t listen to your sore legs that yell at you to stop.”
And then 2 runners just storm by. I recognize one of our national champions. The 10 km race started a few minutes ago, and the first runners are speeding past me as if I’m sitting still.

My running batteries started to flash at kilometer 25. At 30, they were dead. Even before reaching the 30 mark, I questioned if I could pull this through and in what condition. I would have liked to be able to slowly jog, but walking seemed like the only option my mind would spare me. I started run-walking and then swapped to walk-running. More and more convincing was needed to be able to sustain even a slow running pace for a few hundred meters.

But where am I? And what am I trying to achieve?

I’m in Cluj-Napoca – the biggest city in Transylvania, Romania. It’s one lovely day: the perfect temperature for running, a shy sun, empty roads, and a bustling arena. The race starts inside the stadium on the athletic track. The stands are full of runners warming up. I feel like I’m competing in the Olympics, the slow-motion version since I’m twice as slow as the pros.

I’m participating in the marathon race. The route has 2 laps of 21 kilometers each, one for discovery and the second for penitence. In the first lap, I totally enjoyed myself. I maintained a good running pace while taking a few photos and enjoying the empty streets and landmarks.

The route went through the center of Cluj, reaching the Union Plaza revealing the beautiful roman-catholic cathedral. We ran on a narrow street in the city center, around the central park through a lovely old house neighborhood, on the primary alley of the park, along the Somes River, and back to the stadium. A part of me was questioning how I would feel the second time going through these places.

The answer came, and it wasn’t pretty. The actual race started on the second lap; there began the struggle. I did a lot of run-walking starting at kilometer 25. From the 30 mark, it was more walking than running. I pushed myself to run as much as possible, but my legs were feeling all kinds of compelling pains, the types which you forget exist. I used my entire arsenal of 3 magnesium doses and 2 running gels(one with caffeine), but my legs got heavy and stiff nonetheless.

The sun became quite bold, and the temperature increased outside and inside my body. I was so thirsty; every checkpoint was heaven. I started feeling like the refreshment points were a great deal further than at the first lap. It took forever to reach the next one. One good move is that at some point, I started taking a bottle of water with me to sip from time to time.

“Don’t stop when you’re tired; stop when you’re done.” I pushed to get to 32, and after that, I took it one kilometer at a time, praising myself for each newly finished kilometer. It was tough. But in the end gratifying. Running a marathon pushes you out of your comfort zone, or at least mine, but the end result is that you feel amazing. Running past the finish line, you feel so happy and fulfilled. Hours later, you still feel that joy.

42 kilometers, 26 miles, 55 000 steps to finish my 4th marathon ever and definitely not my last.