How did you start running solo marathons?
In my childhood, I was an absolutely unsportive kid.
Well, back where and when I grew up, "sports" typically meant stuff like football, basketball, volleyball, ping pong, and various other ways to play with your balls in public. And as for me, my eye-limb coordination is total trash, I was always the last one to be picked for the team and always the first one to be yelled at for fucking things up.
It was embarrassing, it was painful, and I couldn't really do anything about it. And this is why, as it often happens with traumatised people, I proudly carried the "I don't do sports" label as my badge of honour and an important part of my identity well into my late twenties. No gyms, no swimming pools, and no fitness clubs. No "friendly" volleyball games, obviously, sorry lads, I won't join you, but I can drop by for drinks afterwards.
Then things changed. When I was about 27 or 28, I started to feel that years were taking their toll, and the waistline was getting hit the hardest. So, there were really two options for me: either to move more or to eat less of various tasty things, and the idea of eating less of various tasty things didn't sound like fun at all. That's how I started running. Four kilometres, then six, then ten, once or twice a week, over the same few routes in Amsterdam Oost, nothing crazy. And that's how it went for a couple of years.
Then I got tricked into joining the half-marathon event of the Amsterdam Marathon in 2016. This was my first organised race ever, and I loved it, all those crowds, and all that energy, and all that feeling of running through the familiar streets while being a part of something bigger. So I decided that from now on it would be really cool to do a half once a year, or maybe twice a year if I feel like it. No full marathons though, no no no, that's not for me, that's too hard.
I kept my promise for less than two years. Then I saw an ad for the Paris Marathon. And I thought, well, first of all I get to visit Paris in April, which is never a bad idea. Then, even if I can't handle it, I can just drop out, go to a cafe, and then go sightseeing. And so I signed up.
And then I realised that this is gonna be literally double the longest distance I've ever run before, and that I wasn't confident at all that I'd be able to pull it off solely on general fitness and "what can possibly go wrong" vibes. So I got myself a training plan, and I followed it as if my life depended on it because, in a certain sense, it did. Two medium-long runs on weekdays, a long-long one on a weekend, and everything else in my life had to make way. My properly sporty friends told me it would be perfectly fine if I didn't finish. So sweet and so supportive of them.
And then it was race day. Which was one of the most memorable days of my life, and I'll need to write its own essay to do it justice to all those moments. Like hanging out in the starting pen on Champs-Élysées around sunrise. Like leaving the route to take a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Like that woman holding a piece of cardboard with "Pain is just French for bread." Like hitting the wall around the thirtieth kilometre and then stuffing myself with gummy bears at an aid station to get over it. Like... Look, it really deserves its own essay, passing references just won't do it justice...
Anyway.
Generally, there are three types of people when it comes to running a marathon. The first type are people who do it once, tick it off the bucket list and then cherish the once-in-a-lifetime experience. The second type are people who never ever do it, it's the most populous one by far.
And me... Well, a week after finishing in Paris, I signed up for Amsterdam in October. Then I thought, well, wouldn't it be nice to get two medals for the price of one training cycle, given how soul-crushing it is. That's why I also signed up for Tallinn in September.
Then I did three more marathons in 2019, as well as a 30K, and a bunch of halves here and there... Look, I'm not even bragging, I'm just telling the facts. A certain type of people just need to be addicted to something. I once heard a story about a bloke who switched to running to recover from his heroin addiction, and I don't doubt it was true.
Of course I had big plans for 2020 too.
But then the pandemic started, and obviously the running events were the first to get on the chopping block. And that got me very upset. And so I did what I always do when I'm upset. I went for a run.
I ended up in the centre of Haarlem, some twenty-five kilometres away from my then-house in Amsterdam. More importantly, I ended up in front of a pub on the last weekend when going to the pub was still legal, and it was nearly empty because all the law-abiding citizens were busy stockpiling toilet paper and whatnot...
So, after two pints of red ale and a full Irish breakfast, I had a plan. I had a wardrobe full of running gear, and I was decently well trained. I could have my marathon pretty much whenever I wanted, I just needed three things. I had to go on Google Maps to sketch a route of a proper length because being two kilometres short of 42.2 and having to run laps around the apartment block would be too lame even by the liberal standards of the situation. I had to throw a few chocolates into my backpack, thank god grocery stores remained open. And I also had to pick a weekend when I didn't have any plans, but that was really easy.
So I made myself a route from my house to Ouderkerk along the Amstel, then to Abcoude, then to Nigtevecht, and then back home. And, on a sunny, chilly day in March 2020, I put on my trusty backpack with some water and some chocolates, and I went for a run...
As we all know, some time later the pandemic fizzled out. But my newfound freedom never really went away. And this is the story of how I got into doing solo marathons.