Belfast City Marathon: It’s funny what you hear surrounded by people at their limits

I am Daniel Stewart, and for the last number of weeks and months, I have been training to complete the 2022 Belfast City Marathon in 3 hours or less.

Cutting to the chase – with a time of 3 hours 50 minutes, I didn’t achieve my time-goal. In fact, I only bettered my first attempt in 2016 by a few minutes.

However, I will not expend the word limit on the pseudo-scientific reasoning around the result – I’m going to focus on my hometown city, the city I love, along with the people in it: Belfast.

The day started, and so did the race, in Stormont Estate. Turning right on to the Upper Newtownards Road; from the east, we headed west into the beating heart of Belfast City. Despite a gloomy grey skyline peppered with rain clouds, the atmosphere was electric. Warmth cascaded from the streets, as droves of spectators lined them.

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‘Thought of all these small moments disappearing into the ether is a painful one’

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We were all little cowboys and cowgirls who had left their horses behind

With a main aim of ticking the 3-hour time off, I began pottering along with the chap with the 3-hour flag strapped to his back. For a while, it was great. We were all little cowboys and cowgirls who had left their horses behind, passing bottles of water to each other, whilst we embarked upon this fun-filled trip around the Northern Irish capital as a unit.

I’ve thought a lot about Belfast throughout my life – as you’d imagine, being from here: the culture, the history, the legacy, and maybe sometimes, the politics – however what I’ve never really thought was the geography of the place: it’s hilly! And as I stormed up a lumpy bit of ground, just before the Boucher Road, the Rise Monument – more commonly known as the Balls from the Falls – glared down at me; hinting that some dreams may not be reached today.

Destiny took its toll as my posse of blood brothers and sisters soon faded away . . . becoming strangers once again. Alone in a Northern Irish Industrial Estate, gradually running slower, was not mentioned alongside the typical ‘being a fireman’ or ‘being an astronaut’ aspirations I had when I was younger. Then again, when you’re younger, you rarely find out what the older version of your reality will be.

I succumbed to mine quickly and got on with my day. Fight or flight, I had chosen to fight – mainly because the task was running in the first place – a key type of ‘flight’. And I was slowly stagnating to not being able to do that very well.

"Can I borrow your bike?"
A runner, stopping for a rest, jested to a cycling marshal.
"Haha! You can't have that, but I do have some jelly babies if you want? Or some Lucozade?"
" . . . no thanks. I'm looking for redemption if you've got any of that . . . "
It's funny what you hear surrounded by people at their limits.

Scampering past, I thought about the last time I completed this marathon. And the last time I was running on this same towpath to complete a marathon attempt. I wasn’t exactly near the finish just yet, but I knew I would be finishing around a similar time as 2016. A pang of pride shot through me before any disappointment could be felt from not achieving my goal.

On 2016’s towpath, I remember hating my body, and its lack of compliance on not going any faster – nowadays, my respect for the prime Irish hunk of beef I live within has increased significantly – it is the only one I will ever have, and I am grateful I have the health to throw my limbs around 26.2 miles of roads I grew up around.

I was hit by a car while I was cycling to my shift

I ran past the little furniture shop that I used to work in, where one time, I was hit by a car while I was cycling to my shift – still making it in, but too embarrassed to tell anyone else but the manager what had happened.

I ran past the call centre I used to work in, an ugly building towering over the Lagan, where working hours were filled dealing with complaints and yells from a variety of customers.

Marathons are an adventure: they push; they humble, they remind you – where you are going, and how far you’ve come.

The reason to why I write this through endorphin-fuelled euphoria, is the people. Take part, watch, volunteer at your nearest marathon to remind yourself about the power of people. The sheer number of strangers across the route, committed to waving at me, cheering for me, spurred me on, handing me refreshments, kept me going; alongside the event’s many participants, all trying to give their all to achieve their dreams.

We’re human: it’s easy to get stuck in routines which become laborious, boring, and miserable; sulking and scowling at the next person along who is just like me, and just trying to get by and go home. Marathons are that shining reminder that our planet and its people are phenomenal.

Another marathon goal missed, but plenty of other reasons to be grateful.

Thanks for reading the series . . . now, to think of the next project!