My First Marathon: The 10km That Felt Like 100km

Let me start by saying this: I ran a marathon.

Okay, before anyone gets excited and starts calling me Helalia Johannes, let me clarify: I ran a good 10km at the Husab Marathon event.

And yes, it was only the 10km race, but my bru, those 10km felt like 100km.

At some point, I genuinely started wondering if the finish line had packed up and gone home.

It started with confidence … sort of.

When I signed up, I thought: “I can do 10km. How hard can it be?”

Famous last words.

The morning started with excitement. Everyone looked ready. People were stretching, warming up and taking pictures.

There were serious runners with proper running shoes, running watches and the kind of confidence that says they’ve done this before.

And then there was me.

I was there with faith, determination and absolutely no idea what I had signed myself up for.

But okay, let’s go.

The race started.

About 2.5km later, my body submitted its resignation letter.

My legs were saying: “Madam, we did not agree to this.”

My lungs were saying: “Please contact management.”

And my mind?

My mind was already looking for an escape route.

I was ready to give up.

At 2.5km!

Not even halfway.

I thought: “You know what? Walking is also exercise. I have made my contribution. Let me go home.”

But then I had a conversation with myself.

And sometimes, hawu, you need to talk to yourself because nobody else can hear the conversation happening inside your head.

I told my mind: “We can do this.”

My body said: “No, we can’t.”

I said: “Yes, we can.”

My legs said: “Please stop lying.”

But I kept going.

When I finally reached the turnaround point, something changed.

I looked at the distance and thought: “Wait, I’ve already done half.”

Half!

Yoh.

Suddenly, I realised I was capable of something I had almost convinced myself I couldn’t do.

That turnaround point became a psychological victory.

I had already made it halfway.

There was no turning back now.

Well, technically I had already turned around, so there was definitely no turning back.

THE SECOND HALF IS EASIER

And strangely enough, the second half became easier.

Not because my legs suddenly became professional athletes.

They were still struggling.

But my mind had changed.

The moment I stopped telling myself this is too hard and started telling myself I can finish this, everything felt different.

The distance didn’t change.

The road didn’t change.

My tired legs didn’t magically disappear.

My mindset changed.

And sometimes, that is all you need to take the next step.

One thing I absolutely love is seeing how popular marathons and running events have become in Namibia.

From Windhoek to Swakopmund and beyond, people are getting out there and moving.

You see people of all ages and fitness levels participating.

Some are running like the police are chasing them.

Others are walking peacefully, enjoying the scenery and questioning their life choices.

And then there are those of us somewhere in the middle, jogging for 30 seconds and then negotiating with our legs for another 30.

But honestly, it’s beautiful to see.

These events have become more than just running.

They are social events.

They bring people together.

UNITED IN SUFFERING

You meet new people, see familiar faces and sometimes discover that the person you’ve been chatting to at the water station is actually your neighbour.

And of course, Namibians have given these events another nickname: ‘Namibian Tinder’.

Because apparently, if you haven’t found love on a dating app, perhaps you should just run 10km and see what happens.

Imagine going to a marathon looking for fitness and coming back with a personal best and a potential husband or wife.

God works in mysterious ways, neh?

It’s exercise for the body and the mind.

What I learnt from my first 10km is that running is not only physical.

It is mental.

Your body will tell you to stop.

Your mind will tell you that you are tired.

And sometimes both of them will submit a formal complaint.

But you learn to keep going.

You learn that you can do difficult things.

You learn that discomfort does not always mean you should quit.

And most importantly, you learn that sometimes you are stronger than the story you’ve been telling yourself.

That lesson goes far beyond running.

There are moments in life when we stop at 2.5km.

Not literally, of course.

We stop because the business is difficult. The degree is difficult. The relationship is difficult. The job is difficult. The dream is taking longer than expected. And we decide maybe this isn’t for me.

But perhaps we just need to keep going a little longer.

Maybe we need to reach our own 5km turnaround point before we realise how far we’ve already come.

Would I do it again?

Ask me while my legs are still recovering and the answer might be: “Absolutely not.”

But I’m proud that I finished. Not because 10km is some extraordinary distance, but because I almost gave up and didn’t.

That is the victory.

So, if you’ve been thinking about exercising, joining a running club or entering one of Namibia’s many running events, I’d say: Do it.

You don’t have to be the fastest. You don’t have to look like a professional athlete. You don’t even have to run the whole thing.

Start where you are. Walk if you need to. Jog when you can. Rest when necessary.

And when that little voice in your head says you can’t do this, answer it with “watch me”.

Because sometimes the biggest obstacle isn’t the road in front of us, it’s the voice in our own head telling us we can’t finish.

The moment I told my mind I could do it, my body followed.

Now excuse me while I go stretch, because yoh, those 10km are still living rent-free in my legs.

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