Two years ago, the Warsaw Marathon hit me so hard that I made myself a promise: never again. Or at least, never again without being fully prepared.
The rules were simple. I would run as my wife’s pacer or chase a personal best. Anything else — I wouldn’t run.
I ran.
And I got everything a marathon can throw at you: sweat, blood and tears. There was the dream of three hours, a rubbed heel, lost gels and increasingly difficult conversations with myself. But at the end, there was a smile too. And a 3:07 finish.
How did that happen? Let’s start at the beginning.
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Warsaw found its way back into my head
I was nearing the end of my preparation for IRONMAN 70.3 Poznań when the Warsaw Marathon started coming to mind. This race means a lot to me. I made my marathon debut here in 2013. In 2024, I returned to this course after knee surgery.
With a full Ironman coming in 2027, perhaps I needed a reminder of what a marathon actually feels like?
So I entered.
The entry wasn’t followed by a dedicated marathon training block, though. There weren’t many long runs. There wasn’t even that much running: around 100 kilometres in July, 180 in August and just under 130 in September. There was plenty of swimming and some cycling instead.
I was curious about what that mix would produce. I had fitness from triathlon training, but how would it translate into more than three hours of running? I wanted to find out on my own two feet.
A hotel near the start. Naturally, I left too late
We arrived in Warsaw the day before. On Saturday, my daughters had their races, while Ola ran the Warsaw 10K. A sporting weekend for the whole family.
Our hotel was very close to the start. You know what happens when everything is nearby? I tend to leave at the last possible moment.
This time, I kept the tradition alive.
A relaxed breakfast, packing, checking out. At 8:30 I headed towards the start, although by then I should already have been there, warming up and getting my head ready. Instead, I was looking for the bag drop.
I reached the start area at 8:45. A quick meeting with my parents, then the thought: right, time to warm up.
Except there was no time left. All I could do was get into the starting area before I managed to be late for the race itself.
Three hours were still at the back of my mind
Garmin predicted 3:16. Stryd was more optimistic: 3:04, with a margin of around three minutes. Somewhere at the back of my mind was an even bolder thought: could I break three hours after all?
Predictions were one thing. None of them could add the long runs I hadn’t done.
Before this race, I also had something I had recently created myself: RACE READY, my race planner. I’d used it to write down different goals and responses to situations where things went wrong. At that point, they were scenarios on paper. I was about to test several of them for real. The planner is currently in Polish.
Then “Sen o Warszawie” interrupted the calculations. Time to get to work.
The opening kilometres and the first warning signs
The start was packed. First kilometre: 4:17. Then 4:10, 4:14, 4:11. I was picking up speed, and my heart rate was climbing with it. Before long, I was seeing numbers above 160 beats per minute.
The warning lights were coming on. For that day and that preparation, I felt I had started too fast. Something was also scraping the back of my heel, around the Achilles area, right from the beginning. Those particular socks and those particular shoes were great separately. Together, apparently, they were a terrible combination.
Kilometre five: 4:25. My first return to reality.
No warm-up, no marathon-specific preparation and sunshine from the morning. It crossed my mind that bringing home a good result was better than failing to bring home a result at all.
But I wasn’t ready to let go yet. The kilometres came back towards 4:15–4:17.
Around kilometre ten, the rubbing hurt enough that I had to stop. I adjusted the sock, pulled it into place and set off again. It helped a little, but there was already plenty of blood.
And this was only the beginning of the marathon.
Gels planned out. Water at every station
Fuelling was supposed to be organised: gels at kilometres 5, 10, 15, 21, 32 and 37, with electrolyte tablets in between. I had saved an espresso doppio gel for kilometre 32, when I expected the hardest battle.
At the aid stations, I took water to drink and poured some over myself to cool down.
For the next few kilometres, things felt good again. The pace returned towards 4:14, and for a while I could believe that, despite the difficult start, it might still come together.
The people who make this race worth returning to
One of the things I like about the Warsaw Marathon is Biegam Dobrze, its charity initiative. In 2024, I ran for the Polish foundation “Na Ratunek Dzieciom z Chorobą Nowotworową”, which supports children with cancer. It was my way of giving thanks for being able to run again after knee surgery.
There was so much support along the course. When I saw children cheering — including children facing illness, yet smiling and full of energy — the emotion caught in my throat. Joy? Gratitude? Probably both. Tears came to my eyes.
At those moments, the number on my watch briefly mattered less. What mattered was that I was there and could run.
Thank you to everyone who cheered. You really did carry us along.
And thank you to the volunteers. For handing over water with a smile, for the kind words and the energy you shared for hours. This was your day too. Your work is part of every one of our finishes.
Garmin said zero. I was still trying
My heart rate occasionally approached 170. After around an hour and twenty minutes, I also saw Garmin’s stamina reading hit zero.
Excellent encouragement when there was still so much running left.
That’s how I remember the message on the course. I don’t treat it as a measurement of exactly how much I had left — after all, I was still running.
From around kilometre 17, the pace was closer to 4:20 than 4:13. That took me to halfway, where I decided to give it another go. Perhaps three hours weren’t completely gone yet?
Next came 4:11, 4:08 and 4:12. Garmin’s recording shows that surge too: the three consecutive full kilometre laps after the watch’s 21-kilometre mark had those times.
Then, around kilometre 25, I reached for my gels.
Two were gone. I had one left.
One last gel and footsteps getting louder behind me
I didn’t panic. I thought there would be gels on the course, so I decided to keep mine for later.
I passed one aid station after another. I didn’t see any gels.
From around kilometre 27, I felt the heat more strongly and my energy was fading. The dream of a finishing time starting with a two was slipping away for good.
Around kilometre 30, I heard a growing rhythm of footsteps behind me. The 3:05 pacing group was approaching. I tried to join them, but I couldn’t stay with them for long.
First, it was 4:20–4:30 pace. Then even that became a challenge.
At kilometre 32, I stopped waiting. I ate the last gel.
I can’t put a precise number on what the lost gels, rubbing or weather cost me. They all happened within the same race. What I did know was that I needed to shift my focus from chasing the dream to working with what I still had.
When plan A falls apart, there is still a reason to run
That’s when the scenarios I had written in RACE READY came back to me. What would I do if I lost a gel? What would I do if plan A stopped being realistic?
Apparently, I had predicted one of those rather accurately.
Plan A — the dream of 3:00 — fell apart in my head around kilometre 25. Later, I couldn’t hold on to the 3:05 group. By around kilometre 35, the focus was firmly on plan C: get under 3:10.
Looking back, given my preparation, that should probably have been plan A from the start.
There was no point arguing with it out on the course. The kilometres passed and I kept working. At the water stations, I looked for gels. Among the spectators, I looked for another dose of motivation.
My family near the finish
In the last kilometre, I was looking for my family.
Knowing they are somewhere ahead, waiting for me, matters enormously. When the plan falls apart, it’s easy to lose your reason to keep fighting. Thinking about them helps me find it again.
Plan C was safe by then. When I spotted my family right near the finish, I ran towards them, smiling and waving. I wanted to hug them, but they were three rows back. We exchanged a few words and I headed for the line.
With a smile on my face.
3:07. That was how the marathon I wasn’t supposed to run ended.
What did Garmin’s recording show?
After the race, I went back to the FIT file. The watch recorded approximately 3:07:47 and 42.94 km. Those are the activity time and device-recorded distance, not the official race result or a course measurement. The FIT average pace of around 4:22/km therefore relates to Garmin’s recorded distance.
I was more interested in how the race unfolded. These are averages across groups of full, one-kilometre watch laps. Their boundaries do not necessarily match the kilometre markers on the course.
| Watch kilometres | Average pace | Average heart rate* |
|---|---|---|
| 1–5 | 4:15/km | 156 |
| 6–10 | 4:19/km | 164 |
| 11–15 | 4:16/km | 162 |
| 16–20 | 4:19/km | 163 |
| 21–25 | 4:14/km | 165 |
| 26–30 | 4:23/km | 162 |
| 31–35 | 4:25/km | 163 |
| 36–40 | 4:36/km | 163 |
| 41–42 | 4:42/km | 164 |
Heart rate in beats per minute, weighted by lap duration and rounded. The final partial lap is not included.
The attempt to speed up after halfway is visible, followed by a gradual loss of pace. The closing kilometres were clearly slower, although average heart rate was no longer rising with how difficult the run felt. Across the whole activity, it averaged around 163, with a recorded maximum of 171.
That adds useful context to my memories: the hardest kilometres don’t have to be the ones with the highest heart rate. The recording alone can’t tell me how much of the slowdown came from preparation, rubbing, fuelling or conditions. It shows what happened to the pace. Understanding why requires putting those numbers alongside what I remember from the course.
I’m not disappointed. I do have work to do
Am I disappointed? No.
I gave it a lot. With a rubbed heel, missing gels and weather that felt increasingly difficult, I reached the finish in a time I’m happy with.
Afterwards, I returned to RACE READY with concrete answers. What worked? Where did the plan drift away from reality? What will I change before the next race?
First: those socks aren’t coming to another marathon in those shoes. Separately, both can be excellent. What matters to me is how the complete setup works after many kilometres.
Second: secure the gels better and carry at least one spare. I need to check what fuelling is available on the course before the race, rather than relying on “I thought there would be some”.
Third: choose a pace that reflects the preparation I actually bring to the start. A device prediction and a dream finishing time are reference points. They don’t replace the work.
And finally, the long runs. This race doesn’t prove you can run fast without much running training. What it showed me is that fitness from three disciplines allowed me to fight for a good result, but maintaining the pace through a marathon requires more specific preparation from me. Long runs need their place in that preparation.
Because in 2027, the marathon will come after 3.8 kilometres of swimming and 180 kilometres on the bike. I’m documenting my Road to Ironman here, including the training, races and lessons like this one from Warsaw.
This race was only meant to remind me what a marathon is. It did that very effectively.
See you out on the course!