My plan fell apart at the very start of the Greater Manchester Marathon. Instead of feeling ready, I found myself thinking: I do not want to do this; why am I here; I wish it were already over. And we had only just started.
This is Part 2 of the Crushing3 finale. The journey and pre-race preparation are in PART 1. This is what I came to Manchester for: the fight for a sub-3 marathon and a 2:55:18 finish.
The first crisis — before I had even settled in
It had never hit me this early before. My legs felt heavy, and the opening few hundred metres were awful. I could not tell whether I had warmed up too little, got too cold before the start or simply released weeks of accumulated tension.
After 300–400 metres, my watch showed around 4:30 per kilometre. I looked at the words on my hands: fight, strength, you can do it. I thought about 20 weeks of preparation and more than 1,300 kilometres of running. I could not give up at the start. I began to accelerate and search for a rhythm.
The first kilometre: 4:07. Then it got faster
The first kilometre came in at 4:07. Good. Then came some downhill sections, and I decided to make use of them. Immediately, the “chimp” in my head piped up: too fast, slow down, you will burn yourself out before halfway.
I tried to outsmart it. I told myself 4:00–4:05 was not that far from my planned 4:10. I had completed 35-kilometre long runs, including 24 kilometres at 4:12 pace. My legs began to loosen up, motivation returned and I finally started enjoying the race. A slight stitch made itself known, but fortunately it was manageable.
The course and the crowd
The name suggested Manchester, but I saw little of the city itself. We mostly ran through residential neighbourhoods rather than the centre. That did not matter much for my goal: the more important point was that the course was flat.
The atmosphere reminded me a little of Dębno. Residents sat in deckchairs, families cheered and people offered water and sweets. I particularly liked the small bottles at the official water stations: easy to drink from or carry onwards. There were bands and stretches with substantial crowds. “Well done” came from every direction, sometimes joined by Polish shouts of encouragement.
Finding my rhythm and a familiar face at kilometre 8
Once that first crisis passed, I felt great. I decided not to force myself back down to 4:10. I watched how hard the effort felt, told myself the pace was comfortable and kept running. One kilometre in 4:00, another in 4:08 — as long as I stayed under 4:10, I did not want to interfere.
At kilometre 8, I saw Kamil, run.like.runner. He took my photo and gave me a thumbs-up. It was good to see a familiar face. Instagram really did make the world feel smaller.
Five kilometres at a time: a strategy for my mind
I broke the marathon into five-kilometre chunks. Compared with the full 42 kilometres, a single five felt entirely different. I told myself: keep this pace until the end of this section; do not think about the next one yet. After 10 kilometres, I had roughly a 50-second buffer against my hoped-for 2:56 finish.
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Gels and the support I kept returning to
I took my first gel at kilometre 10. I had heard Magda Boulet say in a podcast that she eats gels slowly. I decided to try the idea even though I had not tested it in training. Instead of my usual roughly 30 seconds, I ate the gel over almost a kilometre. It worked for me in this particular race; I do not treat that observation as a general fuelling rule.
The negative thoughts returned at times. When they did, I remembered the people supporting me: family, friends, colleagues and people on Instagram and Facebook. I thought back to their messages, comments and gestures. That helped me regain momentum.
Wind, groups and small targets along the course
When the wind picked up, I tried to catch a group of at least three or four runners and shelter behind them. My experience from Kraków came in handy. In a big marathon, there were plenty of people targeting a similar time.
I also picked individual targets. I spotted a shirt carrying a Polish slogan about Poznań and tried to keep it in sight. Around kilometre 16, I overtook its wearer, said hello and chose another runner to follow.
Halfway: my fastest kilometre
The elevation profile told me the biggest rise was around halfway. I kept wondering when it would appear and how much time I would lose. Yet I still felt great, and a downhill section at kilometre 21 let me run 3:46 — my fastest kilometre. I took my second gel, again more slowly than usual.
Then came kilometres in 3:56 and 3:57. My average pace dropped to around 4:02. I felt great, but a warning grew louder at the back of my mind: see you at kilometre 30. When the effort made itself known, I calmed my breathing and told myself things were still going well.
Kilometre 30: as if someone had cut the power
Another five kilometres passed, and I reached the point I had thought about so much. I was supposed to hold 4:10 until here, then decide whether to maintain or accelerate. In reality, I had been running faster. I passed kilometre 30, and suddenly — click.
Suddenly, 4:05 pace felt hard. I stopped thinking in fives and switched to individual kilometres. One more, then one more. I counted to eight and started again to distract my mind from my legs. My watch showed 31.3, then 31.5 and 31.7 kilometres. My quads were beginning to complain, and I could not bring myself to take another gel.
It felt as if more and more people were overtaking me. Still, my watch showed 4:07 and 4:08. The pace was slipping gradually, but it was slipping. Kilometre 34 came in at 4:12.
Kilometres 35–37: the crisis and a conversation that changed everything
The mental crisis was joined by a physical one. At kilometre 35, my thighs began to hurt more, and the pace slipped to around 4:20. By kilometre 37, none of my tricks worked: neither counting nor breaking the race into smaller parts.
Then I met Marcin, who was running despite having recently broken his nose. He caught up and asked whether I would break three hours. That triggered some quick arithmetic: kilometre 37, about five kilometres left, and 2:31:15 on the watch. I still had almost half an hour.
The tension eased. The pain remained, but I began to feel certain the goal was close. It was like waiting for sunrise: you know it is about to happen; you just have to hold on a little longer.
A return of energy and the final kilometres
Then Oasis came on in my headphones. Manchester, their city, my favourite band — another lift. My pace picked up a little, although working out my likely finishing time was getting difficult. I was dreaming of the finish. I ran kilometre 40 in 4:23.
I started looking for my wife, children, sister and the flag. The crowd grew denser and louder. I switched off the music so I could hear them. A thought even crossed my mind: I hoped my wife would not be too far from the finish, because carrying the flag for long might be difficult.
The final 700 metres with a Polish flag
41.5 kilometres. About 700 metres left, less than two laps of a track. My legs were getting heavier, but the finish was in sight. I could not accelerate, but at least I was not slowing down. Five hundred metres, three hundred… there was my wife. I had the flag. I was running.
I could see the clock and knew I could practically crawl and still get the result. All the early starts, sacrifices, diet, stress, pain, blisters and training in every kind of weather came back at once. This was what it had all been for.
The finish: 2:55:18. Crushing3 was real
I spread my arms with the flag. I was no longer fighting for individual seconds; I wanted to savour the moment. My smile kept growing, and I felt shivers down my back. At last, I could feel the reason I run.
Then came the finish and “well done, The Sor”. There was no dramatic 2:59:59. From the beginning, I had wanted more than a single second under three hours. I wanted to smash that barrier. And I did: 2:55:18.
After crossing the line, the emotions exploded. I could not find the words. I felt a simple, unconditional, almost childlike joy. It is a moment I will never forget.
After the race: a reward, family and sore legs
I wrapped myself in the flag and walked to collect my bag. Tears in my eyes, a sense of fulfilment. My quads hurt, and my calves joined in the next day. Despite using petroleum jelly, my nipples were chafed and bleeding, and I had a few small blisters. To me, it felt like ordinary post-race discomfort rather than anything more serious.
I reached for the reward I had promised myself before the start. I also saw another Instagram friend, siwy_raf, and we high-fived. Then I reached the meeting area and found my family.
What next? First, I wanted to enjoy this day
The marathon was slowly becoming history, but I still felt its energy. People asked what was next. In that moment, I did not want to know yet. I wanted to enjoy the day and the fact that the dream had finally become real. There would be time for new goals later.
Read PART 1: preparation and the last moments before the start · Explore the full Crushing3 project