7. A Historic Day

The starting gun went off and the runners took off. If you've never participated in Race for running, you may not realize that the way the front-runners start the race can tempt you to try to keep up with their pace—and that’s exactly what happened to me. Even though I knew I had to avoid a strong start, my enthusiasm pushed me to keep up with them. Still, I felt that I Run I feel confident that I can achieve a better time than the four hours I set as my goal before the race began

The first five kilometers were easy and fast; I ran them in my personal best time and didn’t feel any fatigue, so I kept up the same pace and started calculating my estimated finish time. I figured that if I could keep going like this, I’d achieve a time much better than my target—I might even finish the race in three and a half hours.

I finished the first 10 kilometers; I felt a little tired, but I was still in good shape, I kept pushing toward that legendary time that I felt I could achieve today. My legs gradually started to tighten up, but the pain was bearable. I steeled myself and kept running at the same pace, with dreams of hitting three and a half hours still dancing through my mind. “My God, how strong I am,” I said to myself as I ran past the 15-kilometer mark at roughly the same pace I’d started the race with.

I glanced at my sports watch and noticed that my pace had slowed down a bit. “It doesn’t matter,” I told myself, and went on to think that if I could keep this up, I would undoubtedly achieve a much better time than the one I had set as my goal before the race—I would finish in four hours and a quarter.

I started to feel tired, and I hadn’t even reached the halfway point of the half-marathon yet—I think I was at the 18th kilometer. I looked at my watch and saw that my pace had slowed even more. I began to feel that my strong start was taking a toll on my strength and endurance, and another internal dialogue began: Should I drop out? I’m tired—really tired. I answered myself, “How can I quit when I’ve told everyone I know in Amman that I’m traveling here to run my first Marathon In my life, what can I say to my friends and relatives who have always looked up to me as a model of strength and determination because of my persistence in continuing my workouts? Should I tell them, “I’m tired, so I’m giving up”? No, I won’t give up—I’ll keep going.

I glanced at my watch again. I was very close to reaching the halfway point—twenty-one kilometers. “Oh my God,” I said again. “There’s more left in the race than I’ve already covered, and I might have reached my limit for today. Should I drop out?” I asked myself once more. I didn’t give that thought much time to talk me into quitting; I silenced it and said, “I’m going to keep going, and it doesn’t matter if I finish the race in four hours.” because that was the goal I set for myself before embarking on this experience, and here I am, moving toward achieving it if I can keep up this pace. It was slower than my average pace when I run twenty or thirty kilometers in Amman, so I’m sure I’ll be able to maintain it and finish the race according to plan in four hours.

It was getting hotter on that European winter day, and it felt like a hot spring day. The sun rose, and with it, the temperature soared. I began to feel a bit exhausted, but the story of my first marathon couldn’t end with such a spectacular failure. I steeled myself and kept running, checking my watch every few minutes. Were we nearing the finish line? No, not yet! The race was still long!! My pace slowed even more, and I resigned myself to finishing with a decent time—four hours and ten minutes, or fifteen at most.

I passed the 30-kilometer mark, and things started to get tougher. My pace dropped significantly, and I felt like I was walking even though I was trying to maintain a running form. I began eagerly awaiting every station where they handed out water bottles or sponges, as they helped alleviate my fatigue. I asked myself again, “Are you happy with what you’ve done to us?!” “Is this what you wanted?!” We were exhausted, and we still had at least ten kilometers to go. I silenced that voice and kept running, but I hated every minute of it—I really couldn’t take all this strain anymore. I started counting down to the finish line at the 35-kilometer mark, a moment I’d been eagerly anticipating. I glanced at my watch again and said to myself, “It doesn’t matter what time it is—what matters is that I finish the race.”

Finally, with just two kilometers left, I encouraged myself and told her, “We’ve run forty kilometers, and there are only two kilometers left. Let’s finish strong and then rest.” She replied, “Finish strong on your own—I’m done, and I just want this nightmare to end.” I dragged her along, and we ran toward the finish line. The fans waiting at the finish line began to appear gradually, and their numbers grew as I got closer to the finish line. Many of them were clapping and whistling to encourage the runners to keep going. I desperately needed that encouragement until I crossed the finish line.

I finished the race in four hours and thirty-four minutes. I hated every single one of those 274 minutes. One of the volunteers stopped me and handed me a finisher’s medal. “I’ve become a marathon runner,” I said to myself, with a mix of pride and pain, as I looked at my medal. Alaa, one of my friends on the team, stopped me Running Amman He took a picture of me at the finish line showing the time I finished the race. I dragged myself to the nearest place to rest; honestly, I couldn’t even step up onto the curb because I was so exhausted. I lay down on the side of the road to catch my breath and stayed there for at least twenty minutes. “What an amazing achievement!” my friends from the team told me happily and joyfully. Running Amman“Maybe,” I replied, “but I’ll never do it again in my life.” I said it without knowing whether I was joking or being serious, unsure whether I wanted to repeat the experience or not. We went to a restaurant, had lunch together, and returned to our accommodations.

Did I do it again? Will I do it again? I’ll tell you next time. But what about you? Can you do it? Of course you can. My story began about two years ago when I was 43 years old and had been a smoker for more than 27 of those years. I started by running just half a kilometer, and today I’ve reached the marathon— The runs that started at five minutes have now reached more than four hours of continuous running, and I’m 45 years old. Honestly and without flattery, I thank every member of the team Running Amman، فلولا فضل الله اولاً، وهذا الفريق ثانياً لما وصلت الى ما وصلت اليه، ولما تعلمت كل ما تعلمت، نعم تعلمت الكثير الكثير وساحدثكم عن ذلك قريبا

See also
8- Home Marathon