Two months ago, I ran a half-marathon without preparation. I managed to do it in less than 2 hours (1 hour and 57 minutes to be more precise), which, as I’ve been told, is a really good result for a beginner. Prior to this, the longest distance I ran was around 6–7 km in 2016. As expected, it was an immensely valuable experience that gave me some interesting insights. After all, I didn’t do it because I love running or because I cared to see how I compare to other runners. I did it, of course, to test my mind.
Before I share one of the most interesting insights from this race, I think it’s worth providing some context on what I mean by doing it without preparation and how I decided to do it. For about 2-3 months before I decided to do this race, I started a habit of spending anywhere between 5 and 15 minutes on a treadmill every day. This was done to compensate for spending almost all of my waking time writing on my laptop and thus not making a lot of steps throughout the day. In those 2-3 months, there were maybe 5 days where I spent more than 15 minutes on the treadmill. Never more than 20. But I made up for that by setting it on the maximum incline and as high a speed as I could manage. So I somehow decided to sign up for a half-marathon even though the last time I ran for more than 20 minutes was almost 7 years ago. However, because of the intense style of training I’ve been doing daily for multiple years, I knew that I had more than enough cardio capacity for something like this. The problem was that my legs were not ready for this kind of mileage. I was aware of that, and I was slightly afraid of how they would feel in the second half of this 21km race.
The race started at 5 a.m. in order to avoid the extreme heat and humidity in the area where we were running. I had trouble falling asleep the night before the race (of course), so I decided to stay in bed until the last minute. When it was time, I just got out of bed, got ready, and went to the starting line. I arrived at 4:55.
I was not yet fully awake when the race started. Once I warmed up a little bit, I started to pay more attention to my surroundings. I slowly found my pace and decided not to be distracted by the people who were running past me. I am not in a race with them. I am in a race with myself.
However, there was something I couldn’t help but pay attention to. We’ve been running for a while, but I didn’t see any markers of the distance we ran. Since the country I was running in uses the metric system, I was expecting to see a marker for every kilometer of the race. From what I saw in the marathon preparation YouTube videos I watched, on every mile or kilometer there should be a marker so that you know how far into the race you are and adjust your strategy according to that. "I probably didn’t notice the markers so far because I wasn’t fully awake yet," I thought. So I kept running, now paying more attention to the side of the road.
More time passed by. We already passed multiple hydration points, and there were arrow signs signaling that we were going to have to make a turn soon. But still no sign to show the distance. Then I thought that there probably isn’t a marker on every kilometer, but every 5 kilometers. And, even though it felt like I was way past the 5km mark, I thought that my assessment must be wrong because of my lack of experience in long-distance races. So I kept running.
Finally, I got to a point where I knew there was no chance I hadn’t run 5 kilometers yet. But there was still no sign. At that moment, I accepted the fact that this race doesn’t have any distance markers.
I immediately knew that there was a decision I had to make.
The fact that there were no markers could completely throw me off and ruin my race. I had no idea how much I'd run thus far or how much more I had left until the finish line. If I kept thinking about it without having any way to find out, I would break down once my legs got too tired. And they were getting tired. As predicted, my lungs and heart were more than fit for this race. But my legs started hurting, and I felt like they could give up one at some point.
Or, this could be a blessing in disguise. I didn’t have to worry about my progress. I was free to just put one foot in front of the other. As much as not knowing how much more you have to go is psychologically difficult, you can make it even more difficult by constantly checking your progress and not being satisfied with it.
I remembered my school days. Whenever there would be a book we had to read and I wasn’t interested in it, I would struggle. But I struggled because I made the situation even more difficult for myself. When I would get bored with the book, I would do the worst thing possible. I would see what page I am on and calculate how many pages I have left. The problem was that I would get bored every 2-3 pages. And every time I checked how many pages I had left and saw how slowly I was progressing, it only made it harder for me to keep reading.
I also remembered one of the most important lessons from my 11-year-long fitness journey. A mistake that I personally avoided but that most people never stop making. I remember what I told every single friend or training client. Don’t check your progress every day. It’s one of the worst things you can do for your mindset. Whether you are trying to get bigger or lose weight, by looking into the mirror or stepping on the scale every day, you are destroying your motivation and your willingness to stick to it long term. Because you cannot see any progress that way. Even in the most epic body transformation, on any given day you don’t look any different from the day before and the next day. It’s that unnoticeable change, repeated over hundreds and thousands of days, that makes a transformation.
This was my first long-distance race ever. My legs were now hurting. If there were distance markers, it would only make things more difficult. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the race and focus on running. I would be focused on the side of the road and waiting for the next kilometer marker. Where is it? Why is it not there yet? Every kilometer would begin to seem longer and longer. I would start making calculations in my head. If every kilometer is becoming more difficult and there are X kilometers left, will I be able to finish?
The choice was clear. I was lucky that there were no markers. I was free to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Are my legs tired? Yes. But can I make at least one more step? Yes. Repeat. I have no idea how many more times I need to repeat this. But I know for sure I can do it once more. And I just kept repeating the same process.
Then there came another crucial moment. I was running alongside two different men. One asked if we knew what kilometer we were at. The other one raised his hand closer to his face to check his running watch. The sun was still not out, so he had trouble seeing.
There was another decision to be made here.
I knew what my hope and desire were. It was that we were close to the finish line. But that kind of hope in a moment like this was most likely to lead to disappointment and psychological weakening.
Before he said how far into the race we are, I made a decision: if we are halfway through the race, I am going to be happy. I can definitely run for this much more.
My legs were screaming how that’s nonsense. "Halfway through?! We are way past that," they said to me. My legs felt that it would be unacceptable if this were only half the race. But my mind made a decision. Anything more than 10 km, and we are happy.
"17 km," he said.
I started smiling and picked up the pace.
I was wrong, however. The race wasn't completely without markers. There was one.
"1km to go."
When I saw it, I smiled once again and told my legs, "Sorry, I know you are already exhausted, but I am about to demolish you." I wanted to cross the finish line before the 2-hour mark. It was a beautiful morning.
I’ve considered myself a patient and mentally strong person for a long time. I’ve had quite a journey from the boy who would check how many pages were left in the book. That’s why I naively believed that I would be immune to one of the most common inner challenges humans face: wondering how much is left until the end.
How much longer do I have to keep going? How much more effort do I need to put in until I see the result? How much longer do I need to suffer until this is over?
We ask some of these questions when going through a voluntary struggle, like I did this time. Even though it's a struggle, it's something that we've chosen, and we know what we will get out of it.
But sometimes, we ask this question when going through a struggle that we didn’t choose, and we often can't find any meaning in it. Sometimes we ask ourselves this question when wondering if we can even get through the day. And even if we can, how many more days like this do we need to go through?
I don’t dare compare these two different types of struggles. I know very well that a battle that you’ve chosen for the purpose of challenging yourself can never be as tough and as brutal as the one that life gave you.
But the reality is that the same applies to both types of battle, race, or whichever metaphor you would like to use.
You cannot sabotage yourself by wondering how much more there is until your struggle is over and if you are able to keep going for that long.
You have to stop looking at the side of the road for that distance marker. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Stop checking how many pages you have left. Just read one sentence at a time.
Stop checking the scale every day. Just do today’s workout.
Stop thinking about how many more days like this you have to go through. Get through this moment. And then the next one. And then the next one.
Thank you for reading.
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Thanks for the motivation. Push your limits each day, enjoy the fruits of it. Congrats for the race!