My Marathon was canceled due to Coronavirus, so I ran 26.2 miles in Cairo, Egypt.
In March 2019, I was on vacation in Bethlehem when I looked up and saw a banner on a side of a building advertising the Palestine Marathon. I had only just gotten into long-distance running but the moment I saw that marathon, aptly named the Freedom of Movement Marathon, I promised myself that I would sign up for the race the following year.
I ran my first marathon that April in Belgium. It was a life-changing experience. I had never been so amazed at what the human body is capable of. I finished the race in 4 hours and 45 minutes and enjoyed every second of it. That is not a particularly fast or even impressive time in the world of marathoners, but for me, that first marathon was just about proving to myself that I could do it. Once I did, I felt like I could do anything. I finally understood why very few people ever just run one marathon. It is addictive. It is empowering.
I spent the summer of 2019 eagerly anticipating my next training cycle, this time, for a race that I would run for a purpose bigger than myself. I signed up for the Palestinian Marathon, scheduled for March 27, 2020, because I wanted to show love for Palestine. To share stories from that region. To put money into their economy. To combat stereotypes about Palestine being a “dangerous” place. To spread awareness. To engage in conversations.
Since I had already run one marathon before, I knew what the training would entail. I modified a Hal Higdon intermediate marathon training plan and made it longer (22 weeks) just to give myself the time I needed to get back into the rhythm of a four-times-a-week running lifestyle.
While the training was by no means easy, it was at least somewhat more manageable the second time around. I could anticipate where my “walls” were going to be and I felt more mentally equipped to deal with the emotional, as well as the physical, toil running takes on the body.
Late February 2020: I hear about coronavirus for the first time. I will admit, I didn’t give it much thought.
Then, rumors started spreading about events getting canceled.
I thought to myself, I’ll be fine…the Palestine Marathon is a small race and I can’t imagine they’ll get any coronavirus cases…
On March 5th, I was sitting in my school gym watching a basketball game when a student came rushing up to me.
“Ms. G, did you hear the news? Elizabeth Warren has just dropped out of the presidential race!”
“Wha — ” Before I had a second to process this disappointing information, I hear my phone ding. It was a Facebook message from a running friend in Qatar.
Hey Ashley, I just heard the Palestine Marathon is postponed.
My heart dropped. But the optimist in me thought: Postponed, well that’s good, at least it’s not canceled! Then reality sank in. Even if it’s postponed, it will not be happening any time soon. I would not be running the marathon I have been training for on March 27th, 2020. My training plan was off. This was it. It was over.
After I let myself be a sad drama queen for a few days I realized that all the training I have been doing wasn’t for “nothing”. I got into the best shape of my life. I felt strong, happy and healthy. And why was I running the Palestine marathon anyway? For the medal? For the selfies? For the attention?
No. I was running it because I can, because I wanted to, because I love running and I love freedom and I believe in freedom and equality for all people.
I decided that even though it wouldn’t be an “official” race, I was going to run 26.2 miles on my own around my neighborhood in Cairo, Egypt.
I told a few friends about my plan and they enthusiastically rallied support for me. They made me a “race kit” with instructions, a course map, Gu, bibs, bandaids and of course, a small bottle of hand-sanitizer. They made “Ashley’s Cairo Marathon” t-shirts for me and my “support team”. I couldn’t believe their creativity and positivity. Some friends even agreed to run a few miles on my route with me so I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
In the days before the race, I came up with a marathon route that was on stretches of roads I had trained on consistently and felt comfortable on. I would do the first half of the marathon on a highway out and back and then the last half would be five 5k loops (where friends could “hop on” and join me for moral support).
On the morning of the marathon, Friday, March 27th, the date that I was supposed to run Palestine, I learned that two of my friends had decided to run the entire thing with me! They both have run numerous marathons together and I considered them “pros” so I was deeply humbled and grateful that they agreed to run with me, a relative novice!
A small group of my friends had roused themselves out of bed at 6:30 am to wish me luck on the first leg of the race. My sister counted down and in 3–2–1 just like that, I was off. 26. 2 miles to go.
I started off strong, maybe a little too fast, but I felt good and energized. And then I hit 10 miles…and I didn’t feel so good anymore. I thought to myself, I’m not even at the halfway point! How are my legs already so tired? Then my 18- marathons-in-18-months friend reminded me that we had been running up a slow incline for the past 6 miles. Oh yeah….that will do it.
The sun was creeping up faster and faster and by the time I hit 15 miles, I was ready for it to be over. Why was I doing this again? What was the point?
I just want to stop. I just want to stop, my head was screaming at me. But look at all these people out here rooting for me and cheering for me. I have to keep going. I have to keep going.
I took frequent walking breaks and stopped for copious water and fruit several times but I kept going.
This wasn’t a race about time. It was about finishing. It was about getting those 26.2 miles under my feet. It was about running a race despite life not going according to plan. It was about perseverance.
I couldn’t carry on talking after mile 16. I was just too tired and breathing was my only focus, but I was surrounded by friends who kept cheering me on and reminding me to breathe and who told me stories and made me laugh and smile and roll my eyes at their cheesiness.
Friends who “don’t run” came out and joined me for a few miles. One friend roller-skated 5k with me. Another pushed their child along in a jogging stroller.
On one stretch of highway, I heard some loud music and turned around to see a car full of women bumping to some upbeat Arabic pop songs. They slowed down and rode alongside me for a few minutes clapping and cheering for me. I couldn’t help but also throw my hands up in the air and smile and laugh and blow them kisses for their kindness.
Running is slowly, but steadily, gaining popularity in Egypt. On Friday mornings (our “Saturday” or the official start of the weekend) it is not uncommon to see small groups of runners and cyclists on the roads. I still get stared at, but that may simply be because I’m a white woman, but recently I have felt the stares to be more encouraging and friendly and less “wtf is that white girl doing?”
The last few miles of the marathon were a blur. I was grateful to have my marathon-savvy friend leading the way otherwise I would have completely lost track of the route. We had to do some loops around midans (roundabouts) to make up some mileage but sure enough, we hit 26 miles and made it down the home stretch.
My friends were waiting for me at the end of the road we had deemed the finish line and they were holding out a long green ribbon for me to run through. My marathon gurus held back so I could be the first to cross, but before I could celebrate I had to add 0.08 miles. Gah! I wasn’t quite there yet!
After an unceremonious trot up the street and down the street to get to exactly 26.2, I could finally stop moving. I did it! I ran a marathon.
We popped a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling “pink drink” and cheers-ed the sugary beverage in plastic cups. I couldn’t stop pouring out “thank yous” to every single person who had waited in the hot sun to cheer for me, run with me, feed me and just be there for me.
I was the official “winner” of the marathon and was given a bouquet of flowers, a scarf from Palestine and a tiara in lieu of a crown.
This is what marathons are all about: community, suffering, smiling, pushing through mental hurdles, gratitude, humility, celebration.
While I was so disappointed weeks ago when I heard that the Palestine Marathon I had been dreaming about and training for was postponed indefinitely, this makeshift, unofficial, friend-supported, off-the-grid marathon ended up being more special than anything I could have ever dreamed of.
This race would never have happened had COVID-19 not ripped through our lives and halted all our well-laid-out plans.
I am aware of our collective need to stay safe, to self-quarantine, to avoid group gatherings and blows to our egos about what we “can’t” do for the next few weeks. But the only way we are going to get through this ordeal is together.
I realize I am lucky in that I live in a city that hasn’t completely shut down (yet). In the end, I guess I embodied the ethos of the Palestine marathon after all: freedom of movement.
Stay safe. Move when you can. And don’t forget to breathe.
