I Completely Underestimated the Full Marathon

I recently participated in a local marathon.

It had been 15 or 16 years since I last ran a full marathon. Even though I had run one before, I was in my 20s then, and now at 40, that feels like the distant past.

Still, I've been running lately, so I thought I'd manage somehow.

My goal was to "finish the race. If possible, without walking."

Naturally, I started from the very back.

There were many unique runners, including people dressed as Mario, Spider-Man, a Minion, and even someone running barefoot.

After running about 5 kilometers, I spotted my family cheering for me and was able to meet up with them.

However, by the 10-kilometer mark, I was already feeling tired. Since my usual training runs are around 10 kilometers, this was where the real challenge began for me.

No matter how much I ran, I couldn't see the end.

Every time I saw a sign indicating the distance run, I couldn't help but do unnecessary calculations.
"If I've run 10 kilometers now, that means 30 kilometers left, three-quarters of the way to go."
This calculation is fine when things are going well, but halfway through, it becomes terrifying.
Thinking, 'I've run this much, and there's still more than half left?'

Around the 20-kilometer mark, the top runners were coming back from the turnaround point.
They were as fast as bullets; it felt like they were in a different world, and I couldn't believe we were participating in the same event. I was impressed by how amazing they were, and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer difference in effort between us.

I kept running, telling myself to at least make it to the turnaround point, and when I finally reached it,

I found myself thinking, 'There's still nearly double this distance of suffering left? Isn't that impossible?' and 'Why am I doing something so painful?'

At the 25-kilometer mark, my legs stopped moving, and I started walking. Once I stopped running, both of my legs felt incredibly heavy, as if they belonged to someone else. And I still had 17 kilometers to go.

Then, despite the forecast for cloudy weather, it suddenly started to rain, and my body was wet and cold. My spirit was completely broken. 'I want to go home,' I thought.

I tried to call my wife on LINE to tell her I didn't think I could make it, but the call wouldn't go through. My hands were too numb to type a message.

As I trudged along, I found it painful to see people cheering me on with 'Keep it up!' I felt pathetic for not being able to keep going. But I just couldn't run anymore.

Thinking it was a great opportunity, I ate every bit of the pudding, soup, and baked goods being handed out along the way. While walking. It was basically a stroll by then.

I was even passed by the six-hour pacers, who serve as the final benchmark.
"Ah, it's over. I completely underestimated the full marathon. Maybe next year. No, it's too painful, never again. The rain won't stop, and I just want the shuttle bus to come pick me up soon."

I managed to keep walking until the 35-kilometer mark, thinking I would be caught by the final checkpoint and finished. Full marathons have several time-limit checkpoints. Those who don't make it in time are put on a bus and forced to retire.

Just as I was thinking, 'Too bad for this year,' I heard a staff member cheering.
"You have two kilometers left until the final checkpoint, you can still make it! Keep going!"

"Wait, I can still make it? How many minutes left?" I asked back without thinking.

The staff member must not have expected me to ask back. They looked a little surprised.
"Huh? Let's see... Uh, you have two kilometers in twenty minutes."

(Two kilometers in twenty minutes? Wait, if I run, I can totally do that. The remaining seven kilometers to the finish line is a distance I usually run anyway.)
Once I thought that, it was strange; my legs, which had felt as heavy as someone else's, stopped bothering me, and I was able to run again.

I managed to pass the final checkpoint without getting caught, and once I saw the signs for how many kilometers were left, I was able to keep pushing.

My family was waiting one kilometer from the finish line, and I was able to cross it holding hands with my child.

My time was 5 hours and 49 minutes. It wasn't fast at all toward the end. But that doesn't matter.
For now, I achieved my goal of finishing, and even though I walked about 10 kilometers, I'll call it a success.

"I'm good without another grueling full marathon for a while," I think to myself while eating yakiniku with my lower body muscles aching.