A Return to the Marathon

Looking back on the marathons I ran – and the ones I didn’t – I often struggled to find the right balance between ambition and acceptance, between strength and surrender, between pushing too hard and not pushing at all. It was a contradiction that stayed with me – not just in running, but in life. And because it never really let me go, I felt the need to return to the marathon. I wasn’t done yet. But this time, I knew I had to approach it differently.

MILAN 2025 – FINISHED 3:56:40

Ten years after my first marathon, I returned to the start line – this time in Milan.

Instead of chasing a target or following a strict training plan, I chose a different path. No time goal pinned to the wall like a threat, no fixed schedule, no pressure to hit certain paces – just a daily check-in with myself. How did I feel? What did I need? Some days that meant rest, others a long, slow run, or a hard session when the energy was there.

This time, it was less about pushing – and more about listening, trusting, and seeing where the road would take me. In my training, I focused mostly on running slow. I wasn’t chasing performance – I was simply running and loving it most of the time. It was a softer, more joyful kind of preparation. Even through the dark, cold winter days, I found myself running more often and with more ease than ever before.

And somehow, without even trying, I got stronger, and my endurance improved. I was ready for longer and harder sessions – and they came easily. Still, I avoided locking in a target time. But the closer race day came, the more I felt it: I knew I was in shape, maybe even in the best shape of my life. For sure, I could go for a personal best. Maybe – just maybe – I could finally go under four hours.

As race day drew near, the nerves returned. Memories came back – Cologne, Berlin, Frankfurt, Hamburg. The achievements. The setbacks. The illnesses. The starts that never happened. I became hypersensitive to every ache, every sneeze, every flicker of doubt. And yet, alongside the fear, the thought of crossing another finish line filled me with joy and anticipation. I wanted it. I felt ready. But I was scared to hope. Still, beneath the nerves, there was a quiet belief in myself: I can do this.

Then came race day.

And it turned out to be one of those magical days when everything seamlessly fell into place. I started slow, careful not to rush, easing into the rhythm. The kilometer marks ticked by. At the halfway point, I still felt strong – light on my feet, calm in my head. So I picked up the pace.

The real test came between kilometers 33 and 39 – when the body starts bargaining and the mind grows loud. It wasn’t easy. But I always found my rhythm again when things got shaky.

And then – with just a few kilometers to go – I realized: I’m going to do it. I’m going to finish this one, strong. I wouldn’t hit the wall. I wouldn’t crash. I’d finish. And I’d do it in under four hours. That realization caught me off guard. My throat tightened for a moment. It was a flood of emotion. It was overwhelming – a release.

It gave me wings, and for the final two kilometers, I ran faster than I ever had in this race. The final steps were pure emotion. Joy carried me over the finish line at 3:56:40. What a moment. What a run.

This marathon wasn’t about proving anything – and yet, it proved everything. Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. Sometimes, the gentler path takes you further. I didn’t always get it right. There were days when ego overpowered intuition, when the craving for recognition was louder than the quiet voice reminding me to ease up. And there were other times when the opposite was true – when comfort won over effort, and I held back more than I should have.

Finding balance – in running and in life – is always a work in progress, a daily act of recalibration, a challenge to face again and again. But in the search for that sweet spot in a marathon, I’ve never come closer than I did this time. I ran my best race the moment I stopped trying to outrun myself. 

This time, I didn’t chase the perfect race – I let it come to me. And it turns out, that made all the difference.