There is only one real way to train for the long run.
You run.
Not once. Not only when the weather is perfect. Not only when your legs feel fresh, and your playlist is behaving. You run when it feels awkward, slow, uncomfortable and deeply suspicious.
Six weeks before my first half-marathon, I could manage about 5km on a treadmill without stopping. That was my starting point. No fancy training background. No perfect plan printed in colour and stuck on the fridge. Just consistency, determination and a little voice in my head saying, “Surely we can build from here?”
So I trained. I showed up. I stretched the distance little by little. The longest run I managed before race day was about 15km, which already felt like a small expedition.
Then race day arrived.
And I was sick.
The doctor advised me not to run. And let me say this clearly: I am not recommending that anyone ignore medical advice. Looking back, it was not the sensible choice.
But at that moment, after all the training and all the mental build-up, I had already made up my mind.
I had put in the work. I wanted that start line. I wanted to know if I could do it.
So I showed up anyway.
The Race: One Step, Then Another
It was not easy.
Actually, let us be honest. It was hard in the way only a first half-marathon can be hard. Everything feels new. Every kilometre has a personality. Some are friendly. Some arrive carrying a clipboard and a complaint.
I ran. I walked. I questioned my decisions. I had several private meetings with myself about life choices, pacing, breathing, and why anyone would voluntarily sign up for 21.1km.
But I kept moving forward.
That became the whole race plan. Not fast. Not elegant. Just forward.
Some races are not about proving you are fast. They are about proving you can keep going.
My body only gave what it could that day, and I had to respect that. Being sick meant I could not force the race I imagined. I had to accept the race I was actually running.
The Last 5km: Where the Real Race Started
The last 5km was where everything changed.
By then, I had nothing left in the tank. My legs were tired, my energy was low, and every step felt like it needed a committee meeting before approval.
That final stretch became a mental battle. It was no longer about pace or looking strong. It was about making tiny little deals with myself.
- Run to the next marker.
- Walk if you need to.
- Take the GU.
- Breathe.
- Do not stop.
There was no dramatic movie soundtrack. No magical second wind that turned me into a gazelle. Just stubbornness, determination and a little help from GU when my body started sending resignation letters.
It was pure grit. Messy, honest, uncomfortable grit.
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The Finish Line
I crossed the finish line in 2 hours and 40 minutes.
Not my best. Not pretty. Not the race I had pictured in my head.
But still one of the proudest moments of my life.
Because it was not about the time. It was about showing up when things were not perfect. It was about pushing through when my body felt heavy and my mind had to do most of the work.
It was about refusing to quit.
That finish line did not care that I had walked. It did not care that I was sick. It did not care that it was messy. It simply stood there waiting for me to arrive.
And I did.
What I Learned from My First Half-Marathon
Your body will not always feel ready. Conditions will not always be perfect. The weather, your energy, your nerves and your health may not line up neatly like a Pinterest training board.
But running teaches you something very simple and very powerful: you are often capable of more than your first panic suggests.
I learnt that preparation matters, but so does flexibility. I learnt that walking does not mean failure. I learnt that a finish line reached slowly is still a finish line reached.
And I learnt that mental strength is not loud. Sometimes it is just a quiet voice saying, “Keep going. Just get to the next kilometre.”
And Just Like That…
Somewhere between the treadmill 5km, the sick race morning, the last desperate GU and the finish line, something changed.
I realised something simple, but powerful:
I am a runner. 🏃♀️🔥
Not because I ran perfectly. Not because I felt amazing. Not because my time was impressive.
Because I started. I struggled. I adapted. I finished.
This race was part of the famous Om die Dam event.
A first half-marathon does not have to be perfect to change how you see yourself.
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