Somewhere Between Fear and Finish – Seoul Half Marathon
( Apr.27.2025 )
After spending most of January and February in bed without breaking a single sweat, I barely managed to drag myself out for some last-minute runs for a race I had signed up for months ago, back when I was feeling a little more hopeful and ambitious. March came and went. I didn’t even run 100 kilometers that month.
And then, suddenly, it was April.
On the day that marked exactly one year since I began running 5Ks almost every morning, I crossed the finish line of my very first half-marathon. It was something I never thought would be part of my life. I was able to finish it safely, and even joyfully, thanks to a friend who stayed by my side from start to finish.
Just three weeks later, I found myself standing at another starting line. My second half-marathon.
The Beginning Is Never Easy
This was my second half-marathon, and my first time running a road race completely on my own.
I still remembered how anxious I had felt on my first solo trail running race. The packed crowd behind the start line, the pressure of the race, and the fear of being stuck alone in the mountains had triggered a wave of panic even before the race had begun. So this time, I asked a friend who was running the same race to stay with me just until the start line.
After groups A and B had taken off, our turn had come. At the end of the countdown from ten to zero, we crossed the start line, pressed the start button on our watches, and the 21.1 kilometer journey began.
Not long after the race started and our bodies had warmed up, my friend and I exchanged a few words of encouragement and wished each other good luck. A moment later, I was running alone, somewhere in the middle of the road, surrounded by a moving sea of people. That was when the fear crept in again. I thought about sprinting to catch up with my friend several times. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish the race if I pushed too hard too early. So I let that thought go. I tried hard to collect my thoughts, focused on my breath, and kept my eyes on the road right in front of me.
Chasing the 2:15 Balloon
Up until the 13K mark, I think most of my energy went into holding off panic. I kept debating whether I should take the emergency medication I had tucked into my running belt. At the same time, I filled my mind with quiet reassurances. I can always call a taxi. There will be a police officer nearby if I need help. I planted those thoughts like safety nets for myself, just in case. But even with all of that, the part of me that wanted to finish the race was stronger.
Once the road thinned out and became a little quieter after the 13K mark, I finally began to feel at ease. Only then could I start focusing on the race itself. Somehow, I had already made it through 13 kilometers, barely remembering how. I was just relieved that there were still 8 kilometers left in front of me.
At my last half-marathon, I finished with a time of 2 hours and 16 minutes. My goal for this race was to come in under 2 hours and 15 minutes. As long as I crossed the finish line ahead of the 2:15 pacer in my group, I would make it.
By the second half of the race, my muscles felt noticeably fatigued. Each time I paused at the side of the road to spray pain relief on my aching legs, the 2:15 pacer would pass me. I had to sprint several times to catch up before they got too far ahead during that stretch.
I spent much of the later part of the race weaving back and forth near the balloon marked 2:15, falling behind and pushing forward. And then came the highlight of every half-marathon: the 18K mark.
Runners who had experienced this course before often said that this stretch was where both the legs and the mind were pushed to their limits. It was the tiring final part of the race, and the long, flat road toward an invisible turnaround point felt dull enough to crack the mind when the body was already too exhausted to stay focused.
On the opposite side, runners who had already made the turn were passing by, so I knew the turnaround was somewhere ahead. But I had no idea how much farther I had to go. I was already drained, and I kept asking myself, why isn’t it here yet? How much longer? Time seemed to slow down.
I realized I was starting to mentally fade. My body felt heavy. My pace slowed.
I caught that feeling and shifted my focus. The turnaround will come when it comes. I told myself not to think too much. I let the music fill my ears and focused only on my footsteps.
When I spotted the balloon marked 2:15, I pushed myself to speed up.
I told myself I needed to get ahead of it if I wanted to hit my goal.
Moving Forward Is Enough
Somewhere along that long, empty stretch, I started passing people, one by one.
Maybe the best way to stay steady is to stop overthinking. Maybe just moving forward is enough.
Just after rounding the long-awaited turnaround point, with only about 1 kilometer left to the finish, I stopped briefly to spray my legs again. That was when my foot cramped. The 2:15 pacer was probably not far behind, and I didn’t have the time or space to take off my shoe and loosen the cramp. There was no room for that. From that point on, I kept telling myself, just 1K left. Just six more minutes. Please, please hold on. I begged my foot to stay with me. Just this once.
Later, I found out that the final kilometer was my fastest lap of the race. (Amazing what desperation can do in a moment of crisis. lol)
Right after receiving the finisher medal, I sat down on the side of the road and hurried to untie my shoes. The foot that had cramped was all curled up, and the moment I took off my shoe, it tightened even more. I pulled my big toe and gently massaged the arch, finally letting my foot relax.
My leg didn’t even feel like my own anymore.
But with the dopamine that came from the finish-line high, there wasn’t much room left to notice the pain.
And of course, because human ambition never really stops, the next goal is to run it in under 2 hours and 9 minutes.
You tried. You held on. You made it through.
Good job, me!
From Fear to Finish
After crossing the finish line, I checked my time. It marked 2 hours and 10 minutes, five minutes faster than the 2:15 I had hoped for! Since I ran this race alone, there was no one waiting to share that small, emotional moment with. And that felt a little empty. But even so, I couldn’t help but feel proud of myself.
Then, every part of the race started to replay in my mind. The fear that made me feel small and unsure at the beginning. The middle, where I tried to stay focused and steady. And the final stretch, where I fought through the mental fog and heavy legs. That whole two-hour journey passed through me in a moment, and I felt myself getting a little emotional.