April 1, 2025

A Crazy Idea or a Life Challenge?

The marathon—one of the most prestigious and demanding disciplines in athletics—is rightfully called the queen of all sports. Its distance of 42 kilometers and 195 meters is long enough to test every part of the body, but above all, the mind. Conquering this distance is a superhuman feat for most people. That’s why less than 1% of the population has ever participated in and completed a marathon. And as of October 26, 2024, I am one of them. But why would someone who had spent the past few years focused primarily on strength training, prioritizing power over endurance, take on the challenge of a marathon? Especially when a long-term running injury had been holding me back?

My Athletic Past

Sports have had a firm place in my life since childhood. It all started with soccer, when I joined the city club, so running was never in short supply. At first, it was just innocent fun, but over time, things changed. Sports stopped being just a game—it became a duty, one that I began to experience as increasingly stressful. This pressure escalated during my teenage years, and my only escape came through an acute worsening of musculoskeletal problems, which sidelined me from all physical activities for a long time. With so much free time and my still-strong connection to sports, I started looking for new forms of physical activity—this time, however, nothing team-based. Why? Because I had already convinced myself that I had no value or recognition. That I had nothing to offer the world. So, I focused on the only thing I could control—my body. Strength training became my escape, a blind attempt to achieve a superficial ideal of physical beauty. There may have been an attempt at running during this time, but let’s just call it an attempt.

Everything changed with the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic, and running became my only activity. But not for long. Increased running activity revealed the unhealed consequences of a double ankle injury I had suffered the year before. So, another unwanted stop. Yet, my obsession with looking perfect didn’t stop. It only intensified after the pandemic, when everything revolved around me. I wanted to gain some kind of value, so why not start destroying my body with endless gym workouts, running miles despite my injury, following meaningless diets and unhealthy eating habits—all at the expense of real values—relationships, the people around me, and their importance in my life. Gradually, everything started slipping away—or rather, I started distancing myself. Until I ended up alone. Voluntarily. I pushed people away, and no one really knew who I was. And so, one thought was born in my mind—to prove that I could accomplish something great. Something that would push me both physically and, most importantly, mentally beyond my limits. To run a marathon.

When There’s No Turning Back

I knew my injury was a major limitation, and I was afraid that any significant running load could make it even worse. That’s why I hesitated to register. But in the end, I took the plunge—six weeks before the race, I officially signed up as a participant. What finally convinced me was the fact that this marathon was the very first edition of the event. The thought of being part of something new gave me a strange sense of excitement and certainty that I had to give it a shot—that a better opportunity might never come. Registration completed, there was no turning back.

Preparing for a Run Without Running?

The first step in my marathon preparation was to assess my physical condition. My first tempo run was supposed to provide the answer—and it did, but it revealed much more than I wanted. It showed that my injury wouldn’t allow me to run even a few kilometers. Frustration and disappointment were inevitable—the worst-case scenario had come true. That was my last run before the marathon. I couldn’t accept this as the end, so I immediately started looking for a good physiotherapist. Luckily, an appointment opened up, and within a few days, I was undergoing an examination. The diagnosis was clear—there was no quick fix, and the only thing I could do was completely eliminate running from my preparation. But there was still hope. So, my marathon training consisted solely of stationary cycling, strength training, and trying to shed at least a few kilograms that would otherwise put more strain on my ankle during the race. Only the day before the event did I run a few hundred meters—not for training, but just to test my new shoes (Asics Novablast 4). The process of choosing the right running shoes was long, but in the end, successful—the model fit me perfectly. Now, all I could do was hope that my ankle would withstand the strain of more than 40 kilometers.

When Dreams Meet (Harsh) Reality

The day of my first race—and my first marathon—was an immense psychological challenge. My sleep wasn’t ideal, but fortunately, I didn’t feel tired. The last few days had been dedicated to recovery and replenishing muscle glycogen needed for performance. The weather turned out perfect—no rain, a pleasant 15°C. In the morning, I ate fast-digesting carbohydrates, a small amount of fat, and quickly absorbable proteins. I prepared my supplements, an electrolyte drink, carbohydrate gels, and headed toward the municipal stadium in Vítkovice. My mind was swirling with different scenarios—good and bad, all mixed with uncertainty. The last few minutes before the start flew by. I had enough time to warm up, stretch, and use breathing techniques to calm myself down. Despite that, my heart rate shot up to almost 150. The nerves peaked as I found myself standing right at the starting line—next to the favorites from Kenya. An indescribable feeling. At that moment, I had no idea what was ahead of me.

The elite runners disappeared from sight right after the start, but the adrenaline pushed me forward. I ran the first few kilometers at an unsustainable pace, but I soon realized I had to slow down—there were still too many tough kilometers ahead. The first ten kilometers felt absolutely amazing. If only I could say the same about the rest. At the 10-kilometer mark, I was caught by a pace group aiming for 3:30. Even though I already felt the need to slow down, I stuck with them for another 15 kilometers. Running in a group helped me maintain a steady pace and kept my mind off the exhaustion. That’s what pace groups are for—you’ll never achieve a great time running solo. After 25 kilometers, I decided to go at my own pace—I could no longer keep up with the 5'00" per kilometer pace. As the kilometers added up and my concerns about my ankle grew, my running form started to deteriorate. But ironically, that actually helped take some strain off my ankle. Passing the halfway mark, I was surprised that my injury still hadn’t flared up. That gave me new hope—the marathon was within reach. Now I just had to finish.

At the 30-kilometer mark, near my university, there was a slight incline, and my legs started feeling significantly heavier. Even so, my pace remained solid, and I got lucky—I managed to join two other runners. We pushed each other forward, trying to maintain our performance as best as we could. The biggest crisis came after the 35th kilometer. Up until then, I had been aiming for a sub-3:40 finish. But my legs, which had been cramping since kilometer 15, made it clear that taking risks wasn’t worth it. I slowed down rather than risk a full-on cramp that could knock out all the effort I had put in. Unfortunately, our trio broke apart—each of us continued alone, beginning the toughest battle of all: the battle against ourselves. The final kilometers were a struggle between extreme physical exhaustion and overwhelming mental determination that pushed me to give it my all. The very last kilometer was almost my fastest of the entire race. The finish line was in sight, and adrenaline took complete control. The final sprint on the stadium track was magical. With pure euphoria, I crossed the finish line in 3 hours, 41 minutes, and 33 seconds.

Words cannot describe what I felt at that moment. I was in shock—not just because I finished, but because of the time I achieved. Considering my preparation and my injury concerns, simply making it to the finish line was already a huge success. My ideal goal was to break 4 hours. But to beat that by more than 18 minutes? Unbelievable.

More Than Just a Finish Line

This entire experience was extraordinary—from the moment I decided to do it to the moment I crossed the finish line. It’s permanently etched into my memory, and no future race will ever match that explosion of emotions. Despite all the doubts and the pain, it was worth it. I know I’ll stand at the starting line again, but next time with a different mindset—without unnecessary self-destructive pressure and, most importantly, with proper preparation that allows me to enjoy it physically as well. Because it’s not about proving something to myself—it’s about embracing every step, feeling the joy of running, and getting lost in the moment. The real victory isn’t in the time on the clock, but in what I take away from the journey. And in the end, it’s not just about running—this is how we discover the essence of all the paths we take in life. More details about my running performance on my Strava profile Official results Official event website ČT Report