What’s a “Good” Half Marathon Time? It’s Not What You Think
After a race, one of the first things people love to ask is:
“So, what was your time?”
And just like that, our brains start labeling it—Was that good? Was it bad?
But hang on—what really makes a half marathon time “good” or “bad”? And who gets to decide that anyway?
The Story of Anna — And Why Perspective Matters
I once coached a runner—let’s call her Anna.
She ran her very first half marathon in 2 hours and 40 minutes. She crossed the line with the biggest smile… until she hopped on Instagram and saw people posting sub-2-hour finish times.
Boom—her joy got crushed.
She later told me, “I felt like I failed.” That stung, because I knew how hard she worked. And 2:40? That’s solid for a first-timer—right around the global average.
So I asked her:
“Did you run your heart out? Did you finish strong? Was this something you couldn’t even dream of a year ago?”
She said yes to all three.
My response?
“Then it’s a damn good time.”
She started wearing that medal with pride again. And that’s the energy I want you to carry, too.
1. You vs. You
Forget what others ran.
If your half marathon PR is 2:05 and you clocked 2:03 today, that’s a personal win. Doesn’t matter if the guy next to you ran a 1:45—you beat yourself, and that’s what counts.
And even if you didn’t hit your PR? It’s not “bad.” It’s just one run on a longer timeline. Learn from it, adjust, and go again.
As Verywell Fit puts it: your first half marathon? It’s automatically your PR. From there, it’s all about progress.
Question for you: Did you beat your last time? Or learn something for next time?
2. Context Is Everything
Was it 90 degrees and humid? Were you nursing a tight hamstring? Did you stop to help a runner who collapsed at mile 10?
Then guess what—your slower time tells a story of grit and character.
One of my own examples: I’ve got a Bali half marathon that’s 12 minutes slower than my California PR. On paper, it looks worse.
But that Bali course? Brutally hot and humid. I placed higher because of those tough conditions.
In my book, that race was just as good—if not better.
Ask yourself: What challenges did I face out there today? How did I show up?
3. Stats Are Just Reference Points
Yes, you can look up the averages.
- Most folks finish a half between 2:10 and 2:15.
- In the UK, the average is 2:02:43.
- In the U.S., it’s closer to 2:10–2:15.
So if you came in under those numbers, great. But if you didn’t? Doesn’t mean you failed—it just means you’re running with the majority of everyday athletes who got it done.
Someone on Reddit pointed out that most runners in any given race finish after the 2-hour mark. That’s normal.
And if you’re faster than average? Awesome. But stay humble—there’s always someone faster.
Even a 1:30 half puts you in the top 5–10% of runners. That’s objectively strong. But what’s fast to one person might be “easy jog” pace to another.
It’s all relative.
4. What Was Your Goal?
Did you finish when finishing was the goal? Then that time is a win.
If your target was sub-2:00 and you ran 1:58? Hell yes—that’s a strong race.
Missed the goal? Don’t trash the effort. Look at what happened. Maybe you misjudged pace or trained through burnout. Learn from it and get smarter for next time.
I’ve had races I thought were trash… only to realize later they were the turning point in my training.
Sometimes a “bad” time is just the nudge you need to level up.
5. “Good” For Who? Define It Your Way
There’s what’s good in general, and what’s good for you.
- Sub-2:00? That’s a respected benchmark for many recreational runners.
- 2:30 and you never thought you could even run 13 miles? That’s a major achievement. Period.
Own your narrative. Tell people what it meant, not just the number.
If someone tries to mock your time? Ignore them.
Most runners—especially the ones who’ve been through the ups and downs—will cheer you on regardless of pace.
That’s what makes this community powerful. I’ve seen it time and again in Facebook groups and Reddit threads: people lifting each other up, saying, “If you gave it your best, it’s a good time.”
That’s the only judgment that matters.
Age Grading: Your Secret Mental Boost
Look, if you’re ever feeling a little down about your half marathon time, age grading can give you a new lens.
It’s like adjusting your time based on your age—or gender—so you get a better sense of how you stack up against a younger version of yourself or a level playing field.
For example, say I run a 1:40 half at age 45. An age-graded calculator might bump that down to the equivalent of a 1:30 in my “prime.”
That’s not just fluff—it’s a legit way to remind yourself that your effort is solid for where you are in life.
There are a bunch of online tools that can run these numbers for you (verywellfit.com has one). And women can use these too to see how their times would compare against male standards.
It’s not about ego—it’s about context. And sometimes, a little context is the fuel you need to stay proud and keep pushing.
Question for you: Have you tried age grading your time? What did you discover?
The Journey vs. The Time on the Clock
Now let’s zoom out. Maybe you went from a 3:00 half to a 2:45. That’s a massive step forward.
I don’t care if someone else calls 2:45 slow—your personal progress is what counts.
Or maybe you trained through something heavy: a breakup, stress, illness, burnout. Maybe finishing was the win. That makes any time a good time.
I say this to myself and my runners all the time:
The goal isn’t beating everyone—it’s beating the old version of you.
If you’ve done that? You’ve already won.
One of the most meaningful races I ever ran was a 2:20 half.
Sounds average, right? But I was fresh off an injury and hadn’t run in months. Just toeing the line felt like a win. That 2:20? Pure gold.
Compare that to a 1:30-something I ran once, where I paced like a fool and missed my goal. I crossed the line pissed off despite the “better” time.
So which one was really the better race?
The clock only tells part of the story. The why behind your time—that’s what really matters.
What Makes a Time “Good” or “Bad”?
Short answer? You do.
If you finished a half marathon, you already joined a rare crew of people who dared to train, show up, and go the distance. You’re part of the 1%.
Doesn’t matter if you didn’t hit your dream time—what matters is that you did the hard thing.
And if it wasn’t your best day? Use it as fuel, not shame.
Beating yourself up won’t get you any faster. But asking, “What can I tweak next time?” will.
Zoom out.
- Did running this race help your health?
- Did it teach you something about resilience?
- Did you feel proud walking away with that medal?
Then yeah—your time was more than good. It was meaningful.
Heck, I remember a Reddit thread where someone worried their time was too slow. A reply stuck with me:
“You’re out there doing it, which is more than most. That already makes it good.”
Couldn’t agree more.
Conclusion
Let me tell you something real—your finish time isn’t your identity.
Whether you clock 1:30 or 3:30, that number doesn’t sum up the grit, sacrifice, or heart it took to get to that starting line.
I run in Bali these days. Some mornings I chase pace. Other times, I just breathe in the salty air and remember what running gave me.
I’ve had races where I hit dream goals, and others where I ended up in a med tent. The truth? The real win was always the journey.
Think about it—weeks of early alarms, juggling life, nursing aches, training when your friends were still sleeping. That’s the hard part. Race day is just the celebration.
I’ve coached runners who finished their first half in over 3 hours and came back months later running 2:15.
I’ve also seen runners break 90 minutes and feel empty. The real joy comes from loving the process—not just chasing the clock.
So ask yourself after a race—not just “What time did I run?” but:
- How did I feel?
- What did I learn?
- What did I overcome?
Those are the questions that actually matter.
And if you’re chasing a PR, awesome. Let’s get after it.
But promise me one thing—don’t lose the love.
That long run where everything clicks. The medal clinking against your chest. The friend who paced you. The quiet pride of finishing something tough.
That’s running magic.