Valencia Happiness

My running had not been a very happy one lately. Well, with “lately” I mean six months or so. Since the aborted Regensburg marathon in Germany in May to be precise, where despite a great course, awesome organisation, and no excuses, I had enough after 20 miles (32km) and could not face the final lap of 10km. Instead, I listened to the siren song, luring me with the finish area that I had to pass before doing the last bit. I stopped. My legs hurt, my chronic heel pain was worse than ever, the spring temperature far too high, and my mood at an all-time low.

What followed were months of trying to bounce back. I even did a faster run with running buddy Julien, which gave me the idea that picking up the pace could be possible again. The thing with this heel condition is, that it comes in waves, and it is easy to miss the trend. So a week before the Valencia Marathon I ended up feeling unfit to run anything more than 25km. My legs felt tight and achy and the heel soreness level was between 6 to 8 out of 10, which is too high for attempting a marathon. So, again, no real bounce back. This seemed to be yet another addition to the long-term downward spiral of marathon running. And no, I refuse to believe it is age-related (despite what my mirror says).

Anyway, if marathon running had taught me anything then that showing up is halfway there, and the second half can surprise you for the better. So I showed up and clung on to faint hope of being surprised. I wasn’t convinced, and the omens of my hotel booking weren’t good ones. Not sure what had gone wrong, but the night before catching my flight I realised that my hotel was not located next to the start and finish (bless), but in a random port town 30km away. Luckily I had hired a car, but still, the logistics of getting to a big city marathon via car, finding parking, and who knows what else, was something I had little to no mental capacity for. My friend Lucia, who lives in the North of Valencia was already hosting Ester and Toby, two other marathon runners who had just arrived from Germany. Nevertheless, she kindly offered me to stay on her couch despite a packed flat. Solid backup plans are always calming my nerves, so I am forever grateful. It turned out not to be necessary, the friendly helper at the marathon expo ensured me wide-eyed and nodding: “Si! Car! But early!” I wasn’t sure whether that meant: Yes, but you are crazy to try, or, well, it’s gonna be alright if you come a bit early. The 92-page PDF marathon info pack had indeed a short mention of parking spaces near the start. So, the decision was made.

I also withstood the temptation to keep my 3:30 start place. (You can see how optimistic I was beginning of the year when I signed up for it.) Instead, I decided to join the last group, which was for everyone from four hours target or slower. And it was the group Ester and Toby were in. So we agreed to meet at the start. Lucia had been warning us public transport is not the fastest (well, she said it’s faster walking than taking the metro), and as a result Ester and Toby already left over two hours before the start. About the same time I left that nameless port town by car. And while I was extremely lucky (or blessed) to find a place to park, my new German friends were not. The bus did not show up and the metro was not was you expect a metro to be when you are not from Valencia. (Well, we couldn’t say we hadn’t been warned.) While I had to spend over 90 minutes in the cold, and went eventually back to my car to warm up, only to be confronted with an angry resident (it seemed that this space with mine and 11 other cars on it was not an official parking – but I played dumb), Ester and Toby got lost trying to find the bag drop area. You would think after studying 92 pages of PDF manual, basics like these would be crystal clear, but when I bumped into them and thought I knew where the bag drop was, I led them even more astray, which meant more lost time until we eventually found it. Once we reached our start group everyone had been gone. These groups move on with previous groups starting. So while we had still five minutes, it was not enough to cover the whole distance from our block to the start. We did not seem to be the only ones. So we missed all the buzz with fellow runners at the start, but we could see the group in front of us, we were only two minutes late. My legs were tight and my heel hurt. I tried not to overthink and said to Ester and Toby (but really to myself) that my best marathons have always been when I started from the back. Because then you can overtake, rather than being overtaken. Then, I put one leg in front of the other. I guess you could have called it “running”.

It took ten miles (15km) until it felt like running. My hope of experiencing a miracle dwindled. Ester, Toby, and I split from very early on, deciding we all needed to run our own races: Toby went for a sub 4, Ester for finishing before the cut-off and I for finishing at all. The atmosphere was great though, and I saw why this marathon is so popular. A lot of music, cheering, and performances were going on. The route has many straight and level stretches through wide avenues, which helps with focus. The sun and 16-degree temperatures are ideal running weather. Maybe it was because of my running sandals that drew attention, but I can’t remember hearing my name being g shouted that often: “Vamos RrrOooy!” I have to say, hearing your name enthusiastically shouted at you does do something to your running morale. Eventually, I started to have good moments, where things felt like coming together, the tiredness and heel pain occasionally vanishing, and persistence being rewarded. Around mile 20 I suddenly got very emotional. Like, wow, I can run, I am doing this, it’s hard, but worth it. I felt grateful for having a body with legs, and feet that don’t always hurt.

Around mile 22 I felt I needed to stop. It is not an unusual feeling for me in a race, and often you can push through it. But the voice of recent history of dropouts did not instill any confidence. I tried not to listen to it, but to do what I could control: regulate my breathing, try to keep my steps short and light, think good thoughts, and do positive self-talk. At mile 24 something changed.

I had the last deep sip of sugar water (my fuel) and shortly after everything felt different. The 39 km marker came and, well, I felt like going for it. The pain was gone, strength back, and cheering spectators all around. The last two miles just flew by. Of course, I felt the distance in my legs, but that’s normal. Taking in all the buzz and excitement of the last stretch while feeling relatively fresh is such a blast. I had to take my phone out and do a recording. Markers counted down the last kilometre: 900 m to finish, 800 m, 700 m, … These countdowns are so powerful, I wonder why they are not done more often. The 300 m long finish line takes you over the lakes of the futuristic City of Arts and Science. It was like running into an outer space colony. In a good way. I crossed the finish line and felt so happy. I call it the Valencia Happiness.

I remember that running shirt of a runner that said: TEAM GET F*CKING HAPPY. Was that the point when things changed for me? I can’t say for sure. But being happy is so much better than being fast. I’d pick the first one over the other anytime. It felt like a very undeserved and unearned positive experience. I am very grateful. Lucia had managed to sneak her way into the closed-off runners’ arrival area and waited there with Toby, who had managed his sub 4 time! Yay! Next to us was that photo arch from New Balance. Left and right videos were playing showing runners in different shapes and styles. “Run your way” is their motto, and it seemed so fitting (watch their ad on YouTube). Find your own way of running as long as you feel good and it makes you happy. Ester joined us shortly after and was also happy. There is a German saying: “Ende gut, alles gut”. I leave it on that note. Don’t think there is an English equivalent.