“Life is a marathon.” “We’re not in a sprint, we’re in a marathon.” Right now we’re drowning in marathon metaphors about persistence. Behind them lurks another word: patience.
Anyone who runs a marathon must pace themselves precisely. Start too fast and you’ll never see that finisher’s t-shirt.
People overestimate what they can achieve in a month. They underestimate what’s possible in a year. Someone who can only run one kilometre today won’t finish a marathon next weekend. But stick with it, build gradually, and in a year that marathon finish line becomes reachable.
Not too fast, but not too slow either
Marathons — like real life — are all about pacing. Not too fast, not too slow. I can write this because about three and a half lifetimes ago, I actually ran marathons.
My last marathon was New York 1996. Freezing cold day. I stood on the Verrazzano Bridge on the Staten Island side, not particularly fit. A month before the race I’d picked up a stubborn Achilles injury and couldn’t train properly. But what could I do? The trip was booked. My dream lay just beyond that bridge.
Anyone talking about marathons should have run one
I had a plan. Start conservatively, then hold a specific pace per kilometre. Ideally around 4:15 minutes per K to break the magical three-hour barrier for 42 kilometres. Those first two to three kilometres flood your head and legs with so much adrenaline that you often run too fast and pay bitterly later. I managed that part well enough. Then I found two runners in the field with similar pace and tucked in behind them.
Things clicked. Through Queens, Brooklyn, then over Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, along Central Park up to the Bronx. Then it happened: my Achilles flared. The whole plan fell apart.
What now? Give up at kilometre 28? Never. This was my dream and I was going to live it.
A marathon is many smaller segments
I dragged myself from kilometre to kilometre, then from aid station to aid station. The 42 kilometres and finish line became irrelevant. What mattered were small targets. To the next streetlight, to the next corner. Always a bit further, until the end.
What many forget: when we talk about marathons, it’s rarely a uniform journey. If everything goes right, you reach your goal. But you only finish a marathon by hauling yourself from one section to the next and — when you notice things getting tough — adjusting immediately.
Then it’s no longer about your personal best, but about arriving. About hanging in there.
That’s what marathons are about. Nobody asks about your time afterwards. You can be proud of your finish even if it took longer than planned. The main thing is you made it. You didn’t stubbornly stick to your pace but listened to your body, trusted your gut, and made the right decisions.
From reinergaertner.de, est. 1997. Translated with the help of an AI that speaks better English than I do. Which isn’t saying much, after 25 years of Denglish.