Compared to my first run in 2024 Kanazawa Marathon, this run felt like a purer experience — one where all I wanted was to give my absolute best to hit that sub-4 goal.
Woke up at 5 AM, devoured a huge pineapple bun, and finished off the remaining BCAA drink from last night. Despite the short sleep, I felt surprisingly relaxed and energized. After reapplying the KT tapes to my ankle and knee, I rested in bed for another 20 minutes. The moment came finally: I geared up with my running clothes and supplements, then walked to the entrance of Tianhe Sports Center.
The entrance area was buzzing with runners warming up, chatting, and snapping photos, but I just wanted to get in the waiting zone asap. Assigned to the last starting zone (Zone F), my strategy took a hit — the 4-hour pacer was two zones ahead, forcing me to weave through crowds at a faster pace to catch up. With the sun rising and temperatures climbing, it wasn't ideal; our group started at 7:20, meaning I'd face four hours in the growing heat.
My pre-race routine went smoothly: my training sessions in the past year helped. By 7 AM, I positioned myself at the front of Zone F to minimize the gap. My heart rate spiked with anticipation, but I stayed calm, downing a final Maurten 160 gel and a Salt Pro tablet — feeling uncomfortably full.
I couldn't hear the starting gunshot from my spot. The crowd inched forward slowly, but I stayed focused on my plan. Earphones ready with my yearly Spotify playlist, I hit start on my watches and music as I crossed the line at 7:23 — a three-minute deficit to the pacer in Zone D.
For the first time, I had to surge past slower runners to clear space early and close the gap. It felt exhilarating, like running as a superstar in my zone (even if my first kilometre was just 5:31). Breathing through my nose signalled that I could handle the effort — for now. I wished my muscles wouldn't fail me today.
At the second turn from the starting line, my earphones glitched in the crowded area, losing connection on the right side. Unable to fix it mid-stride, I faced my first 42K without music or podcasts.
By 3-4K, I held a 10-second lead over the 5:41 pace needed for sub-4. Optimistically (and wrongly), I figured I'd catch the pacer around 18K. Like in Kanazawa, the start felt strong, but I remembered things turned from back to worse after 22-23K there in a moment. The lesson: monitor effort closely. I was pushing harder than ideal, but the dream of catching up the pacers kept me going.
The first water station at 5K cost me 10 seconds — I bounced between tables, not realizing energy drinks came before water. I'd made a paper bracelet with elapsed times for each kilometer, constantly checking those tiny numbers against distance markers. I had a 15-20 second buffer against the 4-hour mark, but knowing marathons always exceed 42K, I needed to be faster than 5:40 to succeed.
Before 9K, the sky brightened, and heat built up. In Hong Kong's 23-degree weather, I'd slow down, but here I pressed on. Stations started to offered cold sponges. I'd grab two, one to cool my face and neck, the other saved for sunny stretches.
Soon I hit the first turnaround at the Pazhou Bridge and started heading back toward Liede Bridge. My buffer held at 20 seconds, but I couldn't push harder. My body started to take a toll from the heat, and climbing the unshaded bridge slowed me up to 40 seconds per kilometer. I used sponges for relief and focused on short, efficient steps to preserve form.
After the bridge, I turned left toward the Canton Fair Complex. Nearing 21K, I recalled the saying: a marathon should feel like just 5K passed when it's halfway done. That was definitely not my case. I'd abandoned hopes of catching up the pacer. I fought to hold 5:36, clinging to the 30-second margin.
As soon as I passed half-marathon mark, my left leg tightened. Hesitantly, I took my first CrampFix - I swallowed it with water last year, and without the acidic taste of vinegar, it didn't work. This time, I endured the sour assault. It made me dizzy and near-vomiting, so strong that I had to slow down before recovering.
This kind of lessons helped me pave the path. This year I made another "smart" change: wearing a cap for sun protection and focus. The bonus came unexpectedly. When I found the staff offering edible ice cubes, I stuffed a handful under the cap. The cap trapped them, slowly cooling my head out of the sun's reach.
Two hours in and I finally entered Haizhu district, with crowds lined the roads cheering. I did not take the risk to slow down with the cheers. I ignored them, eyes forward, but I had to stop once. My left thigh cramped again. At a medical station, I waited anxiously for spray, losing 10 precious seconds before resuming.
Fatigue hit me after 25k in, but shifting focus to my upper body changed everything (Afterthought: I should've done it from the start). Swinging arms like punching pillows behind me propelled me effortlessly, gliding without leg drag.
The boost faded by 28K. I was groggy and tired. Taking a caffeinated gel helped but soon both legs protested again - my focus blurred, memory faded. All my thoughts fixated on kilometers left and seconds to spare for sub-4. Thighs, hamstrings, and calves cramped in unison. I imagined myself running in a perfect posture, one that a 1% deviation will led to a total breakdown. I followed the rules, stayed in my course, and comforted the muscles. At one time, an electric shock in my calves nearly toppled me, but I steadied and pushed on.
By that time I was already far too drained for bracelet time checks. I relied solely on my watch's pace alerts. "Pace slow", it said, and I did anything to stay under 5:40, until the goddess of watch said "Pace in range". I kept running because of my nonsensical and arbitrary goal: sub-4. I first wanted it only because I, by chance, ran a half marathon at 1:59:56 last year. Naively, I thought doubling effort with training would work easily — but Kanazawa proved otherwise (4:50:06). This year, the goal evolved to symbolize my 18 years each in Guangzhou and Hong Kong, for my family and friends.
But this dream crumbled. I did not get the Hong Kong slot. Months later, my grandmother — my world's anchor — passed away. To salvage something, if anything, from the loss, I printed a family photo, taped it to a card, and put it in my pant's pocket. It was enduring the same heat, sweat, and pain with me. I had to bring it to the finish line, to witness me achieving my promise, and that was the only thing I could do in this life.
At 41K, I had spent 3 hours and 52 minutes. I fuzzily calculated that I could make it with sustained effort, though my body demanded everything. Most details were blur, but I remembered pushing in the last 200 meters towards the finishing line and immediately paused my watch: 3:59:14.
I thought I'd done something. So trivial, and just didn't matter to the world at all. But it was something I could do and I chose to do.
I pulled out the photo, snapped a selfie with it and the finishing line. That ended my 2025 Guangzhou Marathon — and my illusive dream.