“Keep going!” That was the encouragement I heard most often during the Dublin Marathon, and it was what I focused on throughout the race. The expression means “Continue doing what you are doing. Survive.” There can be no doubt that it is the perfect mantra for finishing a marathon.
If there is one thing I learned from my Irish experience, it is that three things are needed to run a great marathon: many weeks of hard work, favourable external factors and finding inspiration at exactly the right moment. Each can produce a satisfactory result on its own, but bringing all three together is a guarantee of success.
Until the very morning of the race, I was not at all sure that I would be on the start line. As well as the dizziness I had experienced beforehand, our little one developed a stomach problem that brought our sightseeing to an end and cost us nearly all our sleep during the two nights before the race. Even so, once I pinned on my number I knew that, within the limits imposed by the circumstances, I would try to do the best I possibly could.
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| Making the pilgrimage to the start. |
On the way to the start, I was desperately looking for somewhere to buy an emergency rain poncho. It was very cold, and waiting for the race in a vest looked as though it was going to be tough. I should have planned for it, but because I had not decided whether I would take part, I improvised a lot of things: no study of the course profile, no detailed split times—only a 3:30 wristband I had picked up at the EXPO—and none of my many obsessive pre-race routines. Compared with my previous marathons, I stood on the start line almost “naked”, without any pressure and with a touch of anger.
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| Very cold |
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| Extremely cold |
The first omen came at the start. Guided by some mysterious mental mechanism, I positioned myself closer to the 3:15 pacers than to the 3:30 group. I did not intend to follow them, but it felt like the right place for me. I think that if I had measured the distance between the two groups of pacemakers, I was standing exactly where my eventual finishing time would place me.
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| I was already moving quickly at the start. I waved, but the camera did not quite catch me ;) |
The race begins. I am running faster than I did in Berlin because I have started in the first wave, although there are serious bottlenecks at the first 90-degree bends, with a real risk of stepping on someone or being stepped on and saying goodbye to the race. There are plenty of spectators cheering as spaces gradually begin to open when we pass our hotel on O’Connell Street. I feel comfortable, with a degree of calm from knowing that I will probably suffer later if I get carried away.
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| A fairly “interesting” profile |
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| Iván was unwell, but still cheering. |
In Phoenix Park I occasionally miss a little more atmosphere, as it is concentrated at particular points. But, as a veteran of the Maranalón, simply not running alone already felt like plenty of company. When we begin descending in the second half of the park, I try not to accelerate, but my splits start flirting with 4:30 without the slightest sign of fatigue.
As we leave Phoenix Park, we meet the first major climb and something that will remain constant for the rest of the race: lots of people cheering—and really cheering—while offering the runners everything imaginable: sweets, fruit, water and many children holding out their hands for a high five. It is fantastic; they make what you are doing feel genuinely worthwhile. Around there, a woman actually calls out, “Keep going, brown eyes”, and naturally my pace improves :)
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| The Irish spectators were brilliant... |
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| ...and different. PHOTO: Christian |
For a few minutes, my left hamstring tightens slightly on the climbs and I fear the worst. Muscles react differently in the cold and I do not know whether I have done some damage, but fortunately the discomfort gradually disappears. The kilometres continue to pass and my pace remains strong. I complete the half marathon in 1:39:12. This was the key moment of the race. I still felt remarkably fresh and told myself, “Whatever happens, happens. You thought you might finish by walking, so give it everything you have and hold on for as long as you can”... and that is exactly what I did.
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| At kilometre 15 on Inchicore Road. PHOTO: Pat Carey |
Until kilometre 37, I enter a trance and become an overtaking machine. I take no prisoners. Between halfway and that point, I pass approximately 600 runners—a huge number considering that I was around 1,000th place among 14,500 participants and had started near the front. In other words, the runners in that part of the field were hardly out for a stroll. Shouts such as “Well done, guys! Not well, really brilliant!” and a banner reading “It’s only you vs. you” inspire me. Everything helps.
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| Just after halfway—the best part is beginning. PHOTO: Gordon Mills |
Taking one extra gel—four in total—did me good, but after kilometre 30 I begin to need the toilet. The combination of gels and my vertigo tablet is taking its toll, which is excellent news considering that I had also started the race needing to urinate. But stopping is no longer an option. I keep following my reference times, and breaking 3:20 begins to look possible.
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| Beginning to suffer. |
For a while, I think I am going to keep flying all the way to the finish. At kilometre 37, however, I begin to feel the strain: first an enormous muscular stiffness that prevents me from lengthening my stride, and then the worst part, a fatigue that makes me wonder whether this is the usual marathon crash or whether the effort has brought back the dizziness of recent weeks. Until the finish line, I keep wondering whether I should slow to a walk as a precaution... naturally, I do not.
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| Grafton Street is already in sight—one final effort. |
I know that simply holding a pace of around five minutes per kilometre will bring me home under 3:20. It is easy to think and extremely difficult to do when the agony begins. I honestly do not know how I manage it, but I hold closer to 4:50 than to the target I had set myself. With around three and a half kilometres remaining, I begin to feel looser, but it lasts only a few hundred metres. To make matters worse, I cannot see any signs for the remaining miles and have to trust my Garmin without being entirely sure how far I still have to run.
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| The final turns. |
The agony ends when I recognise Trinity College and realise that, after one left turn, I will be on the long finishing straight. The atmosphere has been incredible for a long time, but the finish straight is extraordinary. A continuous wall of noise is broken by a roar when I raise both arms with about 300 metres remaining. They could not have given me a better excuse to pump my fists every few metres and hear the crowd raise the volume again. My God, what a feeling!
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| At last, I reach the finish carpet |
At that moment, I know that I am completing “the race” of my short life as a marathon runner when I could least have expected it. I open my arms and pass beneath the finishing arch in under 3:19. Much later, I learn my final time: 3:18:23, a personal best and 11 minutes faster than I had run the distance in Berlin, while recording almost identical half-marathon splits: 1:39:12 and 1:39:11. Given the way I normally run, that second fact seems simply incredible and makes me think that I have made a very important leap forward.
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| It is done—time to enjoy it |
I am also amazed to see that I ran kilometre 29 in 4:25 and kilometre 31 in 4:29, when by then I should supposedly have been thoroughly battered.
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| And enjoy it... |
I finished 1,209th by net time among 12,196 finishers—there were 179 withdrawals—and 309th in my category.
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| Crossing the finish line with my arms open I did it! |
After collecting my finisher’s shirt, I meet Marian and Iván and, as almost always, become emotional. It is hardly surprising. The final weeks had been difficult and the result was unimaginable—not only that morning, but because I had never even considered that time a realistic target for the future. Honestly, running a marathon at 4:42 per kilometre had seemed completely unthinkable for someone whose first half marathon took 1:58.
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| The medal |
For now, there will be a few months away from the marathon, at least from its more competitive side. It is time for the mountains and for base training so that I can continue maturing as a runner.
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| As the shirt says: “Dublin Marathon 2012 PROUD finisher!” |
Everyone is invited to watch me fight to improve this time in the future. I do not know whether I will succeed, but I can promise that it will be entertaining.
PHOTO GALLERIES:
Gordon Mills
Dublin Marathon 2012 public gallery
Christian
Pat Carey
The original Picasa and Google+ gallery links are no longer available.
Originally published in Spanish on 2 November 2012. Read the original article. English translation prepared on 13 September 2026.
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