21.0975 kilometers

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!