Dawn breaks over Berlin and there is not a cloud to be seen from the hotel window. Does that sound familiar? Exactly: I have become the perfect advert for tourist boards around the world. Whenever I race, the sun comes with me. So I sit down to breakfast thinking that I have somehow managed to bring Berlin’s cool autumn weather to an end.
We leave the Ibis City Ost hotel and head for Ostbahnhof station to connect with Friedrichstraße, just as we had done on our reconnaissance walk the previous day. Once outside the station there is no chance of getting lost: 40,000 runners, along with countless relatives and friends, are all heading to the same place. You simply follow the colourful tide of people who have arrived from every corner of the world. Among them is a group of Japanese runners making their way to the start while eating some spectacular chorizo sandwiches. Cereal bars do not seem to have reached them.
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| All set |
We wait for a while before entering the runners-only area, and at 8:20 I head towards the start with Álvaro. It was his first marathon and, despite not knowing what to expect, he produced a spectacular sub-3:15 performance. Not bad at all for a debut.
Our first mistake was looking for our starting pen “only” 40 minutes before the gun. It took us more than half an hour to reach it and, once there, there was no room left to get in. We watched the first wave start from behind some trees and could not enter until the front pens began to clear. As a result, reaching the 3:30 pacer was impossible, and we started closer to the four-hour pacer than to the 3:45 one.
Our wave gets under way and running immediately becomes a problem. Álvaro spots a gap, moves through it and looks back to see whether I am following, but I get trapped behind a group moving quite slowly, so he continues ahead.
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| There were quite a few of us... |
It would be difficult to run the opening of a marathon any worse than I did. I am anxious because the 3:30 pace is slipping away. I surge forward, only to be blocked again and again. I keep looking at my watch and desperately searching for gaps, burning energy that I may need at the end of the race. Bottlenecks form at every bend, and I cannot decide whether to take the inside line and run fewer metres or swing wide, cover more distance and maintain my rhythm. I will not even talk about the moment when I have to pass each of the three 3:45 pace groups. It is hell.
I pass the five-kilometre mark, look at the wristband where I have written the splits for 3:30 and 3:40, and see that I am 26 seconds behind 3:30 pace. From my previous two marathons, I know that I lose a lot of time in the second half, so I need to build a safety margin that I can manage after kilometre 30. It feels as though everything is going wrong.
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| The tell-tale wristband with the 3:30 and 3:40 splits |
I keep battling through the tide of runners until, at kilometre eight, gaps finally begin to appear. That allows me to settle into a steadier rhythm and follow a more “economical” line. At kilometre 10 I am still 23 seconds behind target pace. I feel as though I am spending everything from the very beginning and that the effort will ultimately be pointless, but I remain committed to chasing the goal.
I stop at every aid station except the first, even though you are literally taking your life in your hands: people entering and leaving, changing direction, slowing down and accelerating, crossing in front of one another. It is complete madness.
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| Time to get down to business |
After kilometre 10 I begin to feel good, and by kilometre 15 I have built a small advantage over my wristband. That lead grows to more than a minute at kilometre 20. I feel remarkably fresh and enter what we call “the flow”, moving faster and faster without accumulating fatigue. At that moment Marian and Ade shout to me from the left—just what I needed, another surge of energy. My pace keeps increasing and, for another 10 kilometres, I feel for the first time that I am genuinely getting the better of the marathon.
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| KM 20 — I am in the picture, seen from behind just ahead of the first runner in blue |
The spectators help enormously. They line the entire course, but from kilometre 20 onwards it becomes extraordinary. They never stop cheering and shouting, supported by the large number of bands spread across the 42 kilometres.
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| Completely focused at the halfway point |
By kilometre 30 my advantage has grown to more than two minutes, accompanied by a feeling of invincibility that is as pleasant as it is dangerous in a marathon. Shortly after that marker comes the PowerBar aid station. There is no need for flags to announce it because the road is sticky with the remains of gels dropped on the ground. Running the next two kilometres with my soles sticking to the road is not particularly pleasant. I cannot wait to reach the wet pavement at the next aid station and clean that mess from my shoes.
Because people who are new to marathons often ask about this, I should mention that I took three gels—at kilometres 12, 22 and 32—and they worked very well. Nutrition is highly personal, and I think I have found the right formula for my body.
I pass kilometre 35 without easing off and still have a margin of two minutes and 16 seconds. It is here, much later than on previous occasions, that I begin to feel the muscular strain. My calves are tight and my hamstrings are not much better. I decide that it is time to bring out the calculator because my pace is gradually beginning to fall.
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| Km 37 — in the distance, centre, disguising the fatigue |
At every kilometre I recalculate the pace required to reach the finish: “Come on, 5:20/km will get you there”; “you relaxed a little, make the next one 5:15”... For 30 minutes I do nothing but talk to myself while gradually using up the safety margin I had accumulated.
Two kilometres remain and now my muscles are really struggling. As if I were not already suffering enough, someone stops directly in front of me at the final aid station and I have to restart from a standstill. Everything from my hips downwards creaks. The crowd keeps shouting and, for a moment, I want to tell everyone to be quiet. I am exhausted, everything hurts, and I have entered the hallucinatory trance that arrives at some point in every marathon.
I can see the Brandenburg Gate now. There is almost nothing left. I try to stay controlled and hold my pace without overdoing it. The feeling of passing beneath the gate is indescribable. Only 300 metres remain. I raise my arms and salute the grandstands. The sound of people striking the barriers and stands is deafening.
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| Beyond the Brandenburg Gate, there is no more pain |
I look at my watch and think: “Enjoy it until it shows 3:29, but after that we make absolutely sure of sub-3:30.” And that is exactly what I do. I focus again and quicken my pace to remove any doubt that I will achieve the goal. Once I know it is mine, I punch the air, look towards the sky and glance at my watch as I cross the finish line: 3:29:35! Officially, it was two seconds faster—3:29:33.
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| That is how you finish a marathon! I love this photograph |
I am utterly exhausted when they place the medal around my neck, but also immensely happy. Someone gives me a plastic sheet to keep warm, which I quickly remove while looking for somewhere out of the sun.
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| Success tastes so good! |
I slowly make my way through the drinks and food stations, pose for the official photographs and reach the beer counter. Never has an alcohol-free beer tasted so good.
Outside the event area I meet up again with Marian, Iván, Ade and the beast that is Álvaro, who has emerged carrying two beers. Perhaps if you break 3:15 they give you an extra one :-)
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| When is the next one? |
Finally, we collect our provisional certificates and have our names and historic finishing times engraved on our medals.
We head back to the hotel exhausted but satisfied with the race—not only with the time, but with how I felt throughout the marathon. This time, victory clearly belongs to this ordinary runner.
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| The winning team |
There was no doubt that this deserved a celebration and, given that the marathon coincided with Oktoberfest, I do not think the next photograph needs much explanation.
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| This round is for everyone who supported me during those weeks |
All I can say is that running in Berlin is a highly recommended, almost essential experience. Racing with so many people and, above all, in front of such enormous crowds is incredible. Now it is time to think about the next one, which will be...
Originally published in Spanish on 6 October 2011. Read the original article. English translation prepared on 12 September 2026.
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