Sevilla Medio Maratón - Race Recap

My first race in Spain! Well, besides a small local race in Palma last weekend as a warm up, my hopes were high for better weather and organization. Going into race weekend, my weather app had been showing a rain cloud looming over Sevilla for the upcoming days. I went to Sevilla last fall and experienced nothing but pure sunshine and sweltering heat. When signing up for the race, I was expecting that big beautiful sun and clear blue skies again. I crossed my fingers for cool, yet pleasant Spanish winter temps and nothing more than a gentle breeze, conconcoting the perfect race conditions. This over optimism is of course my toxic trait that inevitably led to disappointment when landing in Sevilla the afternoon before the race. We were greeted with clouds, drizzle and a bite in the air that my stylish, yet definitely not whether appropriate, trench coat couldn’t quite combat. 

This also was the first race I had fully trained and prepared for without a guaranteed bib going into race day. My boyfriend, Ramon, had signed up for the race and originally I planned just to go along and support him. However, I know the insurmountable degree of fomo I would have felt cheering from the sidelines, when I was more than capable of training for and running the race alongside him. So, after a solid month of race training, I decided I better go actually sign up for the event. This was back in November, 3 months before the race - and to my great disappointment, the first words that appeared on the English translated 1/2 Marathon Seville webpage - SOLD OUT. I was determined to not let that stop me. Ramon and I had set our hearts and running legs on a sub-1:40 and I was determined to attempt it together during THIS Sevilla Half marathon. I spent the next few months joining every relevant Strava group, facebook page or local run club WhatsApp chat hoping someone would eventually be selling a bib. 

Race Expo open from 12pm-8pm Saturday

Finally, just two weeks before the race, I got lucky! The Strava community saved the day! My knight in shining running attire, aka a complete stranger from somewhere in Barcelona who just happened to be on the same Strava thread, had an extra bib! I was to meet this complete stranger at the race expo to secure my entry after a quick bizum transaction. Not sketchy at all. Arriving at the expo, however, at Centro Deportivo San Pablo, an easy two-stop bus trip from the Sevilla airport, was the perfect meeting location in the spacious stadium and the bib exchange went off without a hitch. The only catch though, I would be running as a male under the name of Max Ruiz. I was hoping to channel his Cajón 2 energy that was written on his bib, indicating that his starting wave was expecting to finish in under 1 hour and 30 mins. This is certainly more ambitious than my goal of sub-1:40, but I was hoping maybe some of this speediness would be with me on race day. 

After the expo, we were fortunate enough to be graced with a break in the clouds and enjoyed a lovely walk around Sevilla exploring the beautiful city with some sun on our faces. We went on a mini tapas crawl to fuel up, stopped at Confitería La Campana for the best chocolate truffles (more carbs), then after visiting the infamous La Giradla, Plaza de España, and catching a flamenco show, we topped off our glycogen stores with some stir fried noodles from Restaurante Ming, located close by Las Setas. So we were not under fueled in the slightest going into race day.

Patatas Arrugadas de Salsmento

La Giralda

Plaza de España

Impromptu Flamenco at Plaza de España

However, all the walking took a toll. We returned to our Airbnb with tired legs, and a bit of regret but tried not to let it get in our heads too much. We woke up the next morning well rested, but to the sounds of heavy raindrops. Thankfully our 15K race the weekend prior was good preparation for rainy race days. We didn’t let it get us down. We headed out the door at 8 AM (I love a Spanish time race start - 9AM!!) destined to catch the bus to take us to the start line. 

But the bus didn’t come. Apparently, a lot of public transit routes were cancelled during race hours and google maps failed to update these changes. Nor were there any posted signs at the bus stop. Thankfully, we still had enough time to briskly walk the 2.5 kilometers to the start line. The hope was to catch a taxi, but that also did not come. The walking did keep our muscles warm, nonetheless, and we were able to stop in a cafe to use the restroom pre-race instead of waiting in the forever dreaded port-a-potty lines at the race start. We just tried to ignore the slightly aching pains in our feet from all the walking yesterday - we were fine! We’ve got this! Mentally, I was zoned in. I had all my race day mantras inscribed in my brain. I had just listened to a presentation by Lisa Bentley, an Ironman champion with Cystic Fibrosis - what an inspiration. I had no excuses to let a little rain and some sore feet get me down.

Quick pic in Cajón 4 before taking off.

We arrived at the race start with what we thought was a generous 15 minutes early considering we were not dropping a bag off at gear check and the bathroom situation had already been handled. Only then did we find that we could not enter the corrals from the side of the fence we were on. Panicked, we started jogging towards the open end of the gate, along with a substantial number of other frantic runners who had committed our same error. By the time we made it into the corrals, heart rates were already high, anxiety was elevated more than pre-race butterflies, and we had put nearly a collective 4 kilometers on our feet prior to even crossing the starting line - much more than my ideal warmup. Panicked, we entered the first cajón we were able to sneak into - Cajón 4, a wave start with an anticipated finish time of 1:50, ten minutes slower than our goal time. It didn’t sound like a bad idea, starting with a slower pace group then picking it up once settled in. But the problem was, it was quite hard to settle into any pace with how crowded the first 5 kilometers were.

My anxiety gave way to frustration as I tried to settle into even a conservative pace of ten seconds slower than my goal pace to start. Attempting to weave through other runners, break though groups that were blocking the only entryway to get ahead, mixed in with dodging all the various traffic cones and bike line pylons — it was a mess. I tried to keep Ramon in my line of sight, but I lost him around kilometer 10, where finally, I felt like I had some space to kick it in a bit.

But my legs just wouldn’t turn over. I knew I needed to make up time now after running significantly slower than my goal pace for nearly the first half. In all honesty, this was part of the plan. But even reaching the goal pace felt exhausting. I didn’t understand what was happening with my body. I took a gel, tried to zone in with my music but the damp, gray frustration wouldn’t leave me. I tried to take the course. Here I was! Sevilla, España! Famous for its beautiful architecture and sunny weather! But all I saw were industrial buildings, wet pavement, and neon running shirts contrasting the bleak skies. My optimism was fading. 

Around kilometer 16, I saw the back of a Cuatrecasas Sports Team shirt and a man bun sticking out of a Lululemon hat, bouncing nearly 50 meters ahead of me. Ramon?! It couldn’t be. No way I caught up to him with the pace I’d been running. I was so certain he had the sub 1:40 in the bag. I had created my own monster by getting him into distance running with me. He had been crushing every single one of our training runs and workouts. I’d nearly lost my running partner at this point, he had gotten that much faster than me. As much as I desperately wanted to beat him in this race, it almost broke my heart to see him this far off our goal. I tapped his shoulder as I caught up to him. He gave me a disappointed shake of the head. I acknowledged it with a sad “SAME” frowny face. We ran together for a few minutes - but I could tell he was in pain. I also knew, that if he were feeling good, he would have left me in the dust. And that’s exactly what I would have wanted him to do.

So with my newfound goal of beating Ramon just for bragging rights - I pulled a head with a bit of energy, not that I was feeling any much better. Sub-1:40 was nearly out of the question at this point, but I could at least get back at Ramon for beating me in our race the last weekend - which at this point I’m also realizing was probably a bad a idea being so competitive with each other so close to the race that really was our priority. I took my last My Protein gel, felt a bit of a boost and finally a came across a nice change of scenery through old town Sevilla around kilometer 18. Yet, running even ten seconds slower than my goal pace still felt strenuous, but I kept having this feeling Ramon was right on my tail, like he was playing a little trick on me - hanging back just enough to be outside my peripheral vision, yet close enough to kick it in at the end and beat me to the finish. This thought in mind, I willed my body to keep that meager 4:45 for the next two kilometers. It felt like an all out sprint. It hurt my soul that it pained my body so badly when it should have been an easy pace to keep. 

Max’s Bib that did me absolutely no good.

Looking at my watch at the 20K marker, I started negotiating with myself that maybe my watch was glitching. Maybe the course markers were a bit off. Maybe I really was right on pace. I had to be if I was feeling this awful. In the end, my timing chip would tell all. That was the first time I thought to look down at my race bib that I had attached to my running belt with two pathetic safety pins. I found the crumpled, soggy paper now hanging by a thread. I tried re-adjusting it, knowing that if I lost that this stupid piece of paper, my chance of a magically faster official time was gone. In doing so, I realized that the foam timing chip fastened to the back of the bib had fallen off! You’ve got to be kidding me. All the stress of trying to find a bib in the first place and in the end it still counts for nothing?! How hadn’t they thought to make rain resistant timing chips!? This stupid stupid rain that hasn’t stopped for even a minute! In a rage, I ripped the sad, soaking wet bib off its final pin, crumpled it in my fist and sprinted with everything I had in me, the last 600 meters to the finish - now furious by how horribly everything had gone. 

When I crossed that red carpet finish line and stopped my watch that I had just convinced myself was malfunctioning, I was quite literally dumbfounded to see that I had just set my Personal Best in the Half-Marathon. That could not possibly be, though I was a lot more willing to believe the new record versus the pace the watch had been reporting to me the whole race. Then I remembered, my current PR had been two and a half minutes slower than my goal time. I, in fact, had beat it by a mere 14 seconds - just barely enough to see that gold-medal PR badge show up on the Strava activity. I wasn’t proud of myself though. My legs were cramping, I couldn’t find my way out of the finish corral and worse, minutes had now gone by and I still hadn’t seen Ramon cross the finish line. 

Eventually we reunited in a rain-soaked, sweaty hug, amidst a mess of other runners trying to collect their finisher medals. It turned out Ramon really wasn’t far behind me at all, yet we both commisterated with how awful that had been, so far off our goal. Then took a step back from all the complaints. We had just ran 21 kilometers in the most unexpected of conditions with numerous obstacles and challenges, and we both still managed to beat our most recent half marathon times by a pretty significant amount. We should be proud of everything we were able to put our bodies through. If anything, the miss of the goal was only fuel for the next race. To come back stronger, faster and above all - wiser. 

We hobbled away from the race grounds on broken legs and battered spirits, looking forward to a cozy day in, with the rain finally doing us a favor and giving us an excuse to do nothing but stay off our feet. Nearly after eight hours of lounging, we managed to make it our for our celebratory dinner at MaríaTrifulca. Let me tell you, the decadent meal in the quaintest riverside restaurant did not taste any less amazing because we didn’t make our race goal. The miss didn’t destroy my love for running. It didn’t make me want to never travel for a race again nor write Sevilla off as a terrible city. It made me hungrier for more. A reason to keep pushing. A desire to come back. It would have been one thing if we had given up, but I genuinely believe we both showed up with our absolute best considering all the odds against us - and that alone is something worth celebrating.