It all
started on my birthday. I was just working on an article about New Year’s
resolutions when I got an email from my co-worker-friend Olaf. Subject: “Are
you up for a half-marathon?”
“Happy Birthday again! There are still free spots in our team! What are you saying??? Quick!!!”
My immediate response: “Nope. I’m way too unfit. Never ran more than 12 kilometers.”
“Oh man. Just try it!!!”
Olaf aka "waving guy", next to him Carina, the only one in our group who did the whole marathon in an amazing time! (3:40:00!!)
It followed a very persuasive phone call which included key words like “fun”, “team spirit”, “good for you” etc. and the promise that he will cook a delicious birthday meal for me including many, many carbs which will make me run and run and run…
So I said
yes and regretted my decision in the exact same second.
This
changed as soon as training began in February. Exactly twelve weeks before the
Gutenberg Marathon, our company team met for the very first time at the sports
field after work. We already had a kick-off-event a couple of days before where
our personal trainer Karsten and his team gave us some basic information
about what they planned to do with us those upcoming weeks. We had already
learned that the Jack Daniel’s training program had nothing to do with
consuming alcoholic beverages (boo!), but that it was rather a system of finding
our ideal pace by determining our so-called
“VDOT values” – it still surprises me how accurate this technique actually is.
This was
serious. Our running group - which
consisted of readers of our paper who won their spots as well as co-workers on
all levels - met once a week for two
hours. The other three to four training sessions per week we had to do on our own. And
this winter was cold and it was long. Very long. There was a lot of snow. But we
did it.
The big day
came closer and closer. Just two weeks before the race I felt pain in my
hip and couldn’t walk properly anymore. Our trainer suspected that my sacroiliac
joint was blocked. He promised that he will do everything he can so that
everybody will be able to participate and – of course – to reach his or her best
results possible. So he sent me to a physical therapist and showed me some workout
routines to lessen the pain.
The big day
came. When I opened the blinds Sunday morning, I felt
like crying: It wasn’t raining, it was pouring – and it was cold. All Saturday
I was excited and nervous. Afraid of the masses of people (about 9,500,
although only a bit more than 7,000 actually participated because of the
weather), and anxious that the pain would return.
When I
heard the starter’s gun I stopped thinking, I just ran – continuously and
steadily. The rain had stopped. And I actually started to enjoy it right away: The
cheering people, the brass and drum groups playing at the side of the road. When
the route got less exciting I just concentrated on the music from my headphones
and looked forward to the voice feedback of “runtastic”. I got and got more and more
relaxed when the artificial female voice told me my pace at every kilometer
mark.
I passed the
Mainzer Dom, our big cathedral, ran through the narrow streets of old town. When I passed the “magic mark” with the
intimidating number “18” I took a deep breath: During training this was the
farthest I had run. The woman in my ear said something like “one hour, 40
minutes” and I knew that I can do it. I kept running. When I saw the finishing
arch appear at the horizon I started smiling. “This air bubble right here, it’s
gonna make me fly” said Macklemore’s younger self in my ear and although I did
not even wear shoes with a swoosh on it, it almost felt like it. At kilometer
17 Papa Roach shouted at me and Brandon Flowers kept telling me: “Run baby,
run, run”. Maybe it was the music, maybe
it was the beetroot juice or how serious I took the “carboloading” part…First of all it was the professional training and the team spirit which let me
finish my first half-marathon.
I always hated competitions. But this time I challenged myself.
The medal
which they hung around my neck behind the finish line is in fact the first one
I ever got.
Is it still the adrenaline that I do not
feel very sore? Maybe it’s just the beetroot juice… Not so delicious - oh, by the way: Olaf hasn't delivered on his promise yet!
