Well, after three months of preparation, the long-awaited day finally arrived: my first marathon.
It marked the end of a long journey—three months of intense training, running five days a week, lots of long runs, 80 kilometers per week, and a total of 900 kilometers of preparation…
The week leading up to the marathon, I was a bundle of nerves. Constantly thinking about every little detail—nothing could go wrong. I asked some friends to run parts of the course with me, I picked out the right shoes, worked out the pacing strategy with my coach, planned my hydration and supplementation… Everyone kept telling me I had done an amazing job preparing, that they had complete confidence in me… but doubts started creeping in. Apparently, that’s normal. Things like: the longest distance I’d ever run was only 26 km; 42 kilometers is a lot; what if something happens to me? What if it’s too hot? Total nightmare. On the other hand, I ran a great half marathon three weeks ago, set a personal best, so that had to count for something. And I had followed every single instruction from the great Pytu: nailed every training session, loaded up on carbs this week…
And although it felt surreal when I signed up a year ago, the day finally came. It was time to find out if I was really ready for this. Alarm went off at 6:45. I barely slept—not just because of nerves: the Copa del Rey final was on last night and there was no way I was turning off the TV before it ended.
But I jumped out of bed like a shot—breakfast was important: orange juice, toast with jam, and coffee. You have to follow the sacred race-day routine: breakfast, get dressed, pin on the bib, put on the heart rate monitor, apply Vaseline to feet and other critical areas, lace up the shoes… and into the car. Picked up my friends, who were also running today, and headed into the center of Madrid.
After parking and walking to the bag drop, I stripped down and packed away my extra clothes. A cool breeze made me shiver a bit, but I was wearing just shorts and a tank top—I knew that after five kilometers, I’d be overheating anyway. We met up with some other friends, snapped some photos to remember the day, and took the edge off the nerves a bit. A short jog to the start corral.
I was in corral number 7, along with Miguel, José Antonio, and Ana. Miguel was going to pace me: he was running the half marathon and would stick with me until kilometer 19. José Antonio and Ana were running the full marathon, and the plan was to stick together for as long as we could. Marimar was also running, but she was planning to go with the 4-hour pace group. We entered the corral. The starts were staggered: the first group went off at 8:45, the elite runners, and the rest followed in waves. Ours started at 9:35. They had to do it that way because there were 45,000 registered runners between the 10K, half marathon, and full marathon—no way everyone could start at once.
And the race begins. We start off cautiously, because the beginning is tough: it’s an uphill stretch of three kilometers along the Castellana, from Emilio Castelar to Plaza de Castilla. The four of us are running at a 5’30″/km pace, just as planned. Good, warming up the legs, not burning out on the climb. The incline ends at Plaza de Castilla, and we hit a flat stretch with an out-and-back to the Cuatro Torres. With the terrain leveling out, we slightly pick up the pace, but still sticking to the plan. On the way back to Plaza de Castilla, we start the descent down Bravo Murillo. Here we speed up a bit, taking advantage of the downhill, hitting a pace of 5’05″/km—but it feels good: we’re going downhill, making up for the time we lost on the climb. I feel great, happy, and really enjoying the race. We see Pilar cheering us on—what a boost she gives us!
At Cuatro Caminos we spot Miguel Tendi, who yells and fires us up. Thanks for the energy, man! We reach Raimundo Fernández Villaverde, another downhill stretch. I feel good and hold a 5’00″/km pace. The course takes us along Francisco Silvela, through several tunnels. We hit the 10 km mark in great shape, at 4’55″/km. We pass a water station and grab a quick drink. At kilometer 11 I see my daughters who came out to cheer me on, along with my cousin and her boyfriend, my aunt and my mom. High-fiving them was such a joy. By this point, Ana has fallen behind, and José Antonio tells us we’re going a bit too fast, so he drops back around kilometer 12. But I feel strong, so I take the risk and keep the pace. Miguel is pacing me brilliantly. Sometimes he speeds up a bit, and I ask him to dial it back.
Kilometers 13 and 14 go smoothly, through Doctor Esquerdo, O’Donnell, Alcalá and Goya. We turn right onto Velázquez, and at kilometer 15 there’s another water station, time for my first energy gel with a sip of water. I see the girls again. Still feeling strong and holding a steady 5’00″/km pace until the turn onto Diego de León. We cross Castellana again over the Eduardo Dato bridge, take Almagro to the Glorieta de Bilbao, still cruising, now at a 4’50″/km pace. I start thinking I might regret this effort later, but since it’s downhill and I feel great, I just go with it.
On San Bernardo, there’s another water station. I drink some water and take an electrolyte tablet to counter all the sweating. At the end of San Bernardo comes a bit of an incline, together with Gran Vía, but I’m feeling fine, and at the corner of Gran Vía and Preciados, the girls are cheering again. Another huge morale boost. At this point, Diego, my cousin Guada’s husband, starts running with me. Perfect timing, because when we reach Sol, the half and full marathon routes split, and Miguel continues on his way. Diego tells me I’m doing great, hitting my paces exactly and overtaking a lot of runners. This is kilometer 20. We go through Plaza de la Villa and arrive at Bailén. At the Palacio Real, Bego and Kike join me, they’ll be running all the way to the finish with me. 21 kilometers of support—what legends!
We pass the halfway point. 1h49’. Way faster than planned. This could either be an incredible success or a total disaster… we’ll see. I start to wonder if I’ll pay for this effort later. We reach Plaza de España and head up Princesa. Still going strong, about a 5’05″/km pace. Another round of high-fives from the girls. Princesa has a slight incline, so I ease off a bit to around 5’20″/km, but I’m still feeling good. We hit Marqués de Urquijo with a bit of joy, because next is the downhill of Paseo de Camoens, which we cruise at under 5’/km. Another water station, I pour some water over my head and take my second gel. We turn left to go up Avenida de Valladolid, it’s a bit of a climb, about two kilometers, but we take it at 5’10″/km. Still doing great. At Príncipe Pío, I see the girls again, giving me a boost, and Dani cheers me on, giving me a surge of energy. So lucky to have these friends!
We enter Casa de Campo. Water station, electrolyte tablet, sip of water, splash my head. Starting to feel the heat. Kilometer 27. From here on out, everything’s unknown. I’ve never run this far before. Between here and 30 km there’s a slight uphill grade, and I have to slow to 5’30″/km, but that’s okay, we’ll make it up later. At kilometer 29, another water station, drink, splash my head again. Bego and Kike are starting to accumulate water bottles in their hands, haha.
We hit kilometer 30 and start heading back. Somewhere past 31, I guess the heat starts to take a toll and I have to stop for a moment, I feel a bit dizzy. It’s okay, we stop for a minute, I take a sip of isotonic drink with water from Bego, rest a little, and get back on track. Isma joins us now, planning to run with us for a couple of kilometers. We’re not doing too badly, slightly slower, but 5’40″/km isn’t bad. We’re taking it step by step, seeing how it goes. If I get through this… I have to finish.
We head out through Puerta del Ángel, this hill is tough, but it’s only about 200 meters. I see the girls again; it’ll be the last time I see them until the finish line. Miguel Tendi is there cheering me on again, he even runs a few meters with us. The guy is a legend, jogging alongside us in his blazer and dress shoes, shouting encouragement like a madman. Then we go down the Paseo de Extremadura. We’re at kilometer 34 now, pacing at 5’40″/km. I’ve had to slow down, but I’m starting to believe I can actually do this. My legs are hurting; my right hamstring started bothering me back in Casa de Campo, and now my left calf is acting up. But it’s manageable. We keep goingggg!
We run along the Paseo de la Ermita del Santo, where Dani gives me another massive boost, he says I’m looking really strong. It gives me a lot of confidence to hear I still look solid from the outside, because inside I’m starting to feel seriously worn out. Here, we have to go downhill to the San Isidro bridge, we manage it at a 5’30″/km pace, hurting but hanging on. I spot a race volunteer and ask for some muscle spray on my calf, definitely needed that. After that, we hit the Paseo de la Virgen del Puerto, which is still flat, and we keep grinding.
But then comes kilometer 37 and the climb to the finish begins. Oh man, now we’re going to see what I’m made of. The climb up Calle Segovia is brutal. We get through it however we can. I have to slow down to 6’30″/km, but I kind of expected that. We turn onto Ronda de Segovia, which goes slightly downhill, and I pull myself back together. We reach kilometer 38 and hit Paseo Imperial. From here to the finish, it’s all uphill, just gotta hang on however I can. I’m now running at over 6’/km, legs screaming. But even so, I’m still passing lots of runners who’ve had to start walking. Time to grit my teeth. Bego and Kike are incredible, cheering me on nonstop, telling me I’m doing great and not to worry about slowing down, what matters is finishing. A perfect 10 for all three of them, they’re grabbing bottles, opening them for me, so I don’t have to focus on anything but running.
We reach Atocha, and Pytu appears with a can of muscle spray he borrowed. He asks, “Where does it hurt?” I yell, “EVERYWHERE!!!” and he empties the can on my legs. Then he runs the last two kilometers with me, shouting encouragement like only he can. The final kilometer is truly emotional, crowds cheering along the finish stretch, and at that point, I’m moving at a 6’00″/km pace. Overwhelmed with emotion, on the verge of tears, full of pride. I did it!
I pick up my medal and meet up with my teammates, everyone’s doing well, we all finished strong. I managed to run it in 3 hours and 52 minutes. Exactly the time Pytu predicted. Coach voodoo, I guess. José Antonio finished two minutes after me, and Ana, I think, five minutes later. Marimar also came in under four hours. We take a thousand pictures, grab our finisher bags, I eat a banana, and then go find the girls, they’re heading off to lunch to celebrate. I head over to get my medal engraved with my name and time, it only takes about five minutes, and then I go back to the bag drop to get my backpack and meet up with the rest of the crew.
And just like that, it’s over. For now, I don’t even want to think about another race. First, I need to recover, my legs are dead. I’ve got a walk of more than a kilometer to the car, and honestly, it feels like it’s going to take forever, haha.
As I walk toward the car, chatting with Vicky, every step is a mix of physical pain and emotional satisfaction that’s hard to describe. My body is screaming from the effort, but my mind is floating on a cloud of pride. Every time I have to stop at a traffic light, I want to sit down on the curb. But I keep thinking: “If I just ran 42 kilometers, how can I not walk one more?”
When I get to the car, I take off my shoes like they’re made of lead. My feet, calves, everything hurts. But you know what? It’s the good kind of pain. It’s the pain of victory. Of pushing your limits. I throw on some comfy clothes, sit down, and then it all hits me. All the images from the race, climbing up Castellana, the craziness of the cheering at the finish line. My daughters’ hands. My friends’ voices. The love from my pacers. The heat, the hills, the gels, the muscle spray, everything.
And I realize something important: I didn’t just run a marathon. I built a story. Kilometer by kilometer, I shaped a challenge that, a year ago, seemed like an impossible dream. What moves me the most isn’t just crossing the finish line, but having so many people pushing with me. Family, friends, training buddies, even strangers yelling my name from the sidelines. That’s the magic of the marathon. You don’t run it alone. You never run it alone.
Now, back home after a hot bath, I’m starting to process everything. My body is wrecked, but my heart is full. I did it. I’m a marathoner. No one can ever take that away from me. I don’t know when the next one will be—though I know there will be a next one—but this first one… this one I’ll never forget.
Thank you to everyone who’s been part of this journey. To Pytu, for his wisdom and belief. To my friends, for not letting go of me for a single step. To my family, for understanding all the sacrifices. And to myself, for never giving up.
Today, finally, I can say it loud and clear: I ran a marathon.