‘I’m not even at the starting line and I’m already crying’: 42 thoughts I had during my first Sydney Marathon
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Bright and early on Sunday morning, I laced my Asics Superblast 3s for the final time of my 16-week training block. It was time to run the TCS Sydney Marathon – my first-ever time running 42.2km.
I was still in denial that I was about to tackle a marathon, something I swore I’d never do. Not just any marathon – a new addition to the Abbott World Marathon Majors cohort.
The TCS Sydney Marathon marked my first time running 42.2km. Supplied/Siena Hocking
I was about to join more than 40,000 people from all over the world on the course. As this was my marathon debut, my thoughts and feelings came at me thick and fast.
1. Oh God, panic. It’s 5:30 am. My heart is racing with a mix of wild excitement and sharp dread. I must fuel up properly. I shovel down two bagel thins slathered in banana and honey, chug an almond cappuccino and gulp a bottle of Sodii hydration salts. In just two hours, I will conquer my first-ever marathon.
2. I need to stop my hands from shaking as I put on my race day gear. I need to distract myself with the Instagram-girl-approved race hair method: lathering it with gel, glitter spray and star clips, and meticulously stuffing my running vest with gels, AirPods, hydration sachets, anti-chafe balm and my precious inhaler.
3. I am ready; it’s time to leave the house.
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4. Thank God my friend let me stay at her place in North Sydney and I didn’t have to get up early to make my way here.
5. Oh no. My eyes are prickling. I’m trying to hold it together as I flick through all the lovely messages of encouragement from friends and family.
6. The start line feels more relaxed than I thought. It’s nice how strangers from all over the world are chatting, the MC is keeping the energy high, and volunteers are handing out extra gels. I should grab a couple extra, just in case.
7. It’s happening, it’s really happening. My legs are carrying me down Miller Street before my brain can register what’s going on.
Nothing prepares you for how spectacular it feels to be one of the thousands running over the iconic landmark. Getty
8. I need to be conservative with my pace, keep my strides short and relaxed to save my knees and shins. I was warned the first 10km of the marathon is all downhill, so I can’t go out too hot.
9. Crossing the Harbour Bridge is an unforgettable moment. Nothing prepares you for how spectacular it feels to be one of the thousands running over the iconic landmark.
10. My legs are already feeling heavy. I remind myself of the advice from Olympian and Asics athlete Izzi Batt-Doyle: take carbohydrates every 20–30 minutes, and hydrate little and often. I might have struggled with feeling thirsty in my training runs, but I am determined to keep it under control.
11. Thank God the water and Powerade stations are every 5km or so; I’m feeling way more confident. The people handing out cups are true heroes of the day.
12. Squeeze the cup into a funnel so you don’t throw it all over yourself. Oops... sticky shoes.
Speeding towards my friends as I spotted them in the crowd. Siena Hocking
13. I’m worried about under-fuelling; should I have a gel already?
14. I’m only 12km in, and I’ve taken the gels too far too soon; my stomach hurts. I know these things should be practised! Try to ignore all the gut-oriented horror stories, hold back on the gels and stick to lollies until my stomach calms down.
15. Note to self: If I ever do a marathon again, bring a mini packet of tissues in case of dire emergency.
16. I need to keep an eye out for some friends around Paddington who are cheering me on.
17. I’m so thrilled to see their faces. My legs are inadvertently speeding up in their direction. Smiles! High-fives! “Love you”s! They’re a blur before I continue towards Kingsford.
18. This is the out-and-round part. It’s the time to lock in and switch my chilled marathon playlist to the “Marathon: Vibey” option. I need some Fred again… stat.
19. I’ve never run around these parts before, and I’m enjoying not knowing where I am. It’s surprisingly peaceful having no concept of time or distance. Just one foot in front of the other!
20. I’m approaching 25km, and I was warned this is where the demons would kick in. Don’t think about how far you have to go, focus on how far you’ve come.
When people say race day energy carries you, they aren’t lying. Siena Hocking
21. Now is the time to crack open one of the Gu Energy gels being handed out on the course. I know these are gentler on my stomach, so here’s hoping. Even if I’m feeling rough, I have to keep the carbs up.
22. There are the girls, again! Oh no, I’m about to cry. I need a hug.
23. OK, Centennial Park. This is where things are going to get sticky. Do I have to do it? This feels like a taxing detour off the main road, and it’s so demoralising.
24. Fine. Pretend it’s now just a casual 12km run! I need some more silly signs to spur me on, like the “Only Leo would stop at 25” one I saw a while back.
25. It’s getting hot. I’m getting tired. The doubt is setting in, but think of the advice Olympian Eloise Wellings gave me: “Don’t panic about it. That voice is your inner critic. I disarm it by laughing at it internally and then turning the volume up on my inner coach – ‘You’ve got this, you’re OK here, this is what you’ve trained for’.”
26. I’m at 32km; I’ve never run further than this before.
By the end of my longest training run, I had flatlined, unsure how I’d possibly run another 10km. Now, I feel surprisingly cruisy. When people say race day energy carries you, they aren’t lying.
27. Finally, at 35km, I’m out of Centennial Park and into what feels like the home straight.
28. No, no, no, something bad is happening in my knee. My muscle (?), tendon (?), ligament (?) feels like it might pop or tear. Don’t you dare.
Note to self: If I ever do a marathon again, bring a mini packet of tissues in case of dire emergency. Supplied/Siena Hocking
29. OK, relax, it’s not that deep; I can stop. It’s my race. I’m allowed to walk. Stretch it out, rub it down and keep shuffling along.
30. At the corner of Hyde Park, the crowds erupt; the atmosphere is so electric I can feel it in my bones. I’m so close to the end that even the nasty elevation around Mrs Macquarie’s Chair can’t deter me.
31. How am I at 39km? I’m so close to the end! Stop crying – I’m about to give myself an asthma attack.
32. This is it. I’m flying towards the part down to the Opera House. Time to empty the tank.
33. Think of a victory lap song, quick, I need to run as fast as I can to the finish line.
Queue Go by the Chemical Brothers and turn the volume up to a medically unadvised decibel.
34. OMG, I’ve done it.
35. There’s the Opera House in all its glory. A medal is being slung around my neck. There’s no point holding it back – I burst into tears of relief.
36. I’ve actually just finished something I never thought I could.
37. So much pride.
I actually can’t believe I finished! Siena Hocking
38. Get all this sweaty gear off me.
39. Did I actually run a marathon?
40. I need a stupidly cold pint.
41. Wow, this was the coolest day ever.
42. Twenty-four hours later, I am struggling to walk down the stairs, and my stomach is still fighting for its life, but no bother. I’ve hung my medal up, a stark, tangible reminder I – and anyone – can do hard things.
The writer was invited to the TCS Sydney Marathon for the purpose of this article.
