#12 The Olympic Marathon

We're slowly moving away from this Olympic cycle, and into a new era. I call it part two of my career, and maybe even my life. Within the span of three days, I finished the Olympic Marathon, and had to say goodbye to my father. As these two events coincided so closely together, they will always be connected in my memory. As time goes on, I might be able to find beauty in this connection. As the loss of my Dad is something I want to process with my family, I want to focus on my Olympic experience in this blog post.

The last ten days before the Marathon, I didn't write anything anymore. I tried to, but my mind was just so focused to execute the last few days perfectly. This mostly revolves around not getting sick, not stupidly rolling your ankle on a sidewalk and the simple things, like drinking water and sleeping. 72 hours before the race is basically stuffing your face with carbs, which exercise physiologists call carb-loading.

The day before the race, we had an official team meeting to discuss the last details. As we're talking through the bottle station strategy with the staff, I suddenly get really nervous. We're actually here. Nothing went wrong, I'm not sick, I'm not injured and I'm super fit. As your mind starts to realize that you're at the Olympics, it goes something like this: "This is not a drill! I repeat: This is not a drill!". I was enjoying myself in the Olympic Village, but now I just want the race to start!

We walked through the Hotel de Ville on our way to the start line, and rows and rows of people are standing to get a glimpse of their favorite runner (probably not me). Seeing the start line in front of us, absolutely packed with screaming fans draped in their national colors, you don't need to pump yourself up. This is it. I'm not nervous anymore, I checked every box I can possibly think of, every stone has been turned to prepare for this moment.

The start of a marathon is always less dramatic than you anticipate. When the gun goes off in any other distance event, from 1500m to the half marathon, it is absolute mayhem. The marathon, however, starts quite leisurely. Everybody's finding their rhythm, letting you pass if necessary, no stress. You can move around the field by just indicating with your hand where you want to go. "I'm gonna go run here for a bit if that's okay." "Sure, go ahead, my good sir." It's all very gentlemanly. This is not because we are not fierce competitors. It's because positioning in the first five kilometers is just not that important. Also, we realize that it is not really each other we're competing with. Up until 35km, I'm not even thinking about who I'm running against. I'm just trying to execute the race, and conquer the distance (can we ever really conquer the marathon?).

The first 10 kilometers are humming along, passing 31'00". This is about a minute slower than I'm used to. I feel good, but not amazing. I'm asking myself whether I should be feeling like I'm jogging at this pace. I decide to just sit in the pack and focus on getting my bottles as efficiently and calm as possible.

Coming up the first big hill around 15km, I feel the energy around me lifting. I think everyone had the same idea of wanting to be close to the front at the base of the hill. This way you can respond to moves if necessary and make sure there's not a huge pack that breaks away as the pack splits in front of you. Great plan, until everyone has the same plan... I feel the rhythm changing and for the first time today, I let the legs spin a bit faster. My watch beeps for kilometer 13, 2'54. Didn't even affect my breathing. Back to the drawing board: I do feel amazing!

Between 16 and 20km, the course rises gently. Never too steep, but it's a long hill, and still very early on. About 2km before the top, I decide to back off the lead pack, as there's a move made up front. I don't want this hill to take too much out of the legs, and feel that this is the smartest move. I pass halfway in 65'14, about 30 seconds off the leaders. I'm in 28th position at this point. There's a chase pack forming in front of me, but I'm more concerned to run within myself at this point. As we're coming up to Versailles and the course starts to run back to Paris, I'm clocking under 3'00" kilometers by myself, and still the pack in front of me is moving away. In that stretch, I'm in no man's land, not really passing anyone, but also not getting passed. And then came the monster. As a marathoner you do everything in your power to prevent hitting the wall, but in this case, we all had to conquer the wall (monstrous hill) between 28 and 30km. When you arrive at the base of this hill, you don't dare to look up. I did a course recon in February, and I had to push as hard as I could to get up it... on an e-bike.

As daunting as that hill looked when I arrived, the only thing I experienced was the noise. A wall of sound, which they have dubbed "The Belgian Hill". It's deafening. As the screams grow louder, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you need to tell yourself to calm down, to stop you from hammering this hill with all your might. Patience, my young ward. I look up and see some athletes zigzagging up the road, like they do in the Tour de France. Yes, it was that steep. Even while keeping the effort under control, I'm running up that hill better than my competitors. I move up about four spots, without really redlining. Passing 30km in 24th, I get my fluids at the aid station and get ready for the most challenging part of the course: the downhill. Two kilometers of flailing limbs, the mind trying to convince the body that we won't fall on our face. I manage to stay upright, and keep my position. As the downhill ends, we turn right along the Seine, and I'm assessing the muscle damage of the past "Three Miles of Madness". It's still 10km to go at this point, and the legs have taken a hit. It's a lot harder to keep the same turnover going, and my pace is slowing. Yes, I'm overtaking some guys who went out too fast, but I'm also getting overtaken by more conservative athletes. I get passed by a French athlete, the home crowd had been announcing his arrival a few minutes earlier, as I heard "Allez, la France!" every 5 seconds after I passed spectators. He passes with such momentum and my mind wants to go with him, but my legs are complaining. My breathing was under control, but something held me back, scared I was going to run out of gas at 40km. I passed the Eiffel Tower with about 3km to go, and that's when I gained to confidence to start to push close to my max, knowing that I can hold on for about 10 minutes. I increase my rhythm, and now I'm actually competing.

I grab my bottles at the last aid station, pouring one bottle of ice water over my head while drinking from the one with Maurten in it. I pass the 40km mark in 25th place. I'm telling myself to keep the turnover as high as possible. With 1500m to go, I hear Coach Carson screaming at me. "You're going to go now. Hold nothing back. Push as hard as you can!" Or something like that. :-)

Sometimes, he knows my body better than I do. My mind wants to hold this pace and just make sure I get to the finish line. But he knows I can do more. At this point, I trust my coach, despite all the alarm signals my body is sending me. I push with all I've got. At 41km, there's a few athletes coming in sight, I'm closing in slowly but surely. I'm getting the Berlin feeling again. I'm pushing my body towards the edge, allowing the pain to enter, welcoming it. You can only go to that place when the race means enough to you. Berlin did, and so does Paris. With 800m to go, the three guys in front of me are coming within reach. We're coming up on the blue tape on the Esplanade des Invalides, it feels like I'm running into a stadium. The roar of the crowd pushes us to sprint with all we've got. I win the sprint finish, ending up 22th, with the three others within 4 seconds of each other. After a full marathon! The first thing I see when crossing the line, is Bashir with the Belgian flag on his shoulders. He did it again. What a privilege to be on the same Olympic team as one of the all-time greats.

I finished 22th in the Olympic Marathon, being ranked 67th on the startlist, based on personal best time. I ran 2 hours 10 minutes 32 seconds, less than a minute slower than my debut marathon in February 2023. That debut was on a pancake flat course on a chilly day in Seville. This time, we had to conquer two brutal hills in hot weather. I can't help but feel proud of the progress I made the past two years. This was my fourth Marathon, and this result was about as good as I could do in an event that was completely new to me only a year and a half ago. I want to take the time to enjoy this accomplishment with friends and family, as they've been a part of this journey from the very beginning. They have seen firsthand that the Olympics are not only for the exceptionally talented, but also for those who are patient (and maybe a little stubborn). Those who just can't seem the get rid of the feeling that they can be someone in the sport. This past Olympic cycle has been an amazing adventure. We went into it with positivity and curiosity, and I want to keep doing it like that. I'm satisfied for now, but I'm hungry for more. I believe I can do better, with more experience, learning more and more about myself, one Marathon at a time. We're not done yet, and I hope you'll stick around to see what the future holds. Thank you for the support!

Love,

Micky