The Mental Marathon: More Than Just Miles on Your Feet
People say marathons are 80% mental and 20% physical. I don’t know if there’s a way to prove that ratio, but I can tell you this from experience—your mind is just as much in the race as your legs are.
I’ve coached runners through their first 26.2 and toed that starting line myself more times than I can count. And every time, it’s a battle not just against the course, but against the noise inside your own head.
Training Will Mess With Your Mind—And That’s Part of the Deal
Marathon prep isn’t just about building mileage. It’s about building grit. One week you’re feeling unstoppable after crushing a 16-miler, thinking you might secretly be Eliud Kipchoge’s long-lost cousin.
The next week? You bonk halfway through a long run, legs cramp, your stomach turns, and you start questioning why you signed up at all.
I’ve been there. I still remember a brutal long run in the Bali heat. It was supposed to be 18 miles. I gave out at mile 12. Sat on the curb, completely wiped, shirt soaked through, and mentally spiraling: “You’re weak. You’re not cut out for this. What made you think you could run a marathon?”
That run nearly broke me—but I refused to let it define the whole training cycle. I scribbled in my journal later that night, broke down what went wrong (rookie mistake: no breakfast, blazing 90-degree weather), and reminded myself it was just one bad day. Not a failure—just feedback.
Then I texted a running buddy and told him what happened. He hit me back with:
“Shake it off, bro. One run doesn’t erase the miles you’ve already banked. You’re in it. Trust your training.”
That single message flipped the script in my head.
And that’s the kind of support you need when training for a marathon—people who remind you of the big picture. If you don’t have a local crew, find an online one. The r/MarathonTraining subreddit has saved my sanity more than once.
Those folks are brutally honest and incredibly uplifting. You’ll see you’re not the only one second-guessing everything at 5 a.m. in soggy shoes.
Listen—mental fatigue is real. And just like you train your quads and lungs, you train your brain to stay in the game. You learn to recognize the voice that says “Quit” and say, “Not today.”
One of my favorite quotes?
“The marathon isn’t about racing others. It’s about conquering yourself.”
That one hits home every time.
Night Before the Race = Butterflies + Chaos
Let’s fast-forward to the night before race day.
You’re lying in bed, tossing around, heart pacing faster than any warm-up jog you’ve ever done. “What if I oversleep? What if I hit the wall? Did I train enough?”
Welcome to the party—every marathoner knows that pre-race anxiety. I still get it, even after all these years.
But here’s what I remind myself—and my athletes—every single time: If you’ve made it to the starting line, the hardest part is already done.
You showed up for months. You ran in the rain, the dark, the heat. That matters more than any perfect taper.
The start area? It’s pure nerves and excitement. Everyone’s pacing around, triple-checking their gear, sprinting to the porta-potty line like it’s the real race. That energy is electric—use it. Don’t fight the nerves. Turn them into fuel.
And hey, I’ll admit something a little cheesy. For one of my marathons, I wrote a note to myself the night before. Folded it up and tucked it in my pocket.
“You earned this. Enjoy every damn mile.”
I pulled it out that morning, read it while waiting in the corral, and it grounded me. Corny? Maybe. But it worked. Sometimes we need our own voice cheering us on.
I’ve seen runners tear up at the start line—and definitely at the finish. One woman on Reddit wrote, “I never cry… but I cried at both the start and the end of my first marathon.”
I get it. You train for months, sacrifice weekends, mornings, and comfort—crossing that start line is emotional. And the finish line? That’s something else entirely.
The Emotional Middle Miles: Where the Real Battle Begins
Let’s talk about the hardest part of the marathon—not the first mile, not the finish line—the grind in the middle.
You’re rolling through mile 8 or 9, feeling decent, soaking up the crowd energy, thinking, “Maybe I’ve got this.” Then you hit mile 14. Or 17. And it starts creeping in.
“Still double digits left? My legs are heavy. Is that a cramp? Maybe I’ll just walk…”
This is where your mental game makes or breaks your day.
The Journal of Sports Science & Medicine actually looked at this. They found that psychological strategies like self-talk and mental chunking significantly improved marathon finish times and reduced the perception of effort.
In plain English? What you say to yourself matters. And how you break up the race makes it manageable.
I use what I call the “Mile-by-Mile Rule.” Don’t think about the 10 miles ahead. Just run the one you’re in.
“Just get to 18… now 19… keep your form. Breathe.”
If I’m really struggling, I go back to my “why.” I picture the finish line. I visualize the high-five, the medal, the cold banana. Sometimes I even imagine my girlfriend waiting at the finish, proud look on her face—even if she’s not actually there. That image pulls me forward.
And mantras help. Mine changes with the race, but one I use often is:
“Strong. Calm. Forward.”
I repeat it every few steps when things get rough.
You’ll bargain with yourself out there. But remember—you trained for this. You’ve got the tools. You’ve built the strength, physically and mentally.
The Final Stretch: Where Everything Hurts—and Everything Matters
Let’s talk about mile 25.
At that point, your body’s basically throwing a tantrum. Your legs? Done. Your brain? Half fried. But deep down, you know you’re going to finish. It’s a wild mix of pain, grit, and pride that hits harder than any speed workout.
I’ve had moments during mile 25 where my throat got tight for no reason, and suddenly I was on the verge of tears. Not because something was wrong—just because everything I worked for was about to become real.
Months of training, all those early mornings, all the sacrifices… and here I was, about to cross the damn line. That feeling? It hits different.
And trust me, even the so-called “tough guys” break down. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve watched folks who wouldn’t flinch in a fistfight turn into puddles at the finish line.
One Reddit post I read said it perfectly:
“I was an emotional wreck and broke down in tears as soon as I reached the finish—I saw a photo of myself and I was visibly crying, medal around my neck.”
That’s real. A marathon strips you bare—physically, mentally, emotionally. You’ve got nothing left to hide behind. And when the body shuts up, the heart speaks.
Some folks don’t even cry at the line. It hits them later—maybe an hour after, or in the shower, or two days later when they’re scrolling through race pics and it finally sinks in.
That was me during my first 26.2. I didn’t sob, but my eyes welled up and my chin quivered when that volunteer slipped the medal over my head. In that instant, I flashed back to all the times I wanted to quit training. All the runs where I told myself “just one more mile.” Now, here I was—finished, changed, and full of something I can only call pride. Not ego. Just the pure kind that says, “I earned this.”
Camaraderie at the Line: The Silent Brotherhood (and Sisterhood)
Another thing that hits hard? The people.
I love watching runners high-five total strangers, hug like old friends, or just collapse next to each other with nothing but mutual respect. One time, a guy tapped me on the shoulder after a race and said, “Dude, I was pacing off you for the last 2 miles—you kept me going.” We never spoke during the run. But in that moment, we clasped hands like war buddies. Instant connection.
That kind of thing gives me chills. Because running a marathon isn’t just your journey—it’s our journey.
After the Finish: The High, the Low, and the “Now What?”
Now let’s be real about what happens afterward. You’ll feel like a champion. You’ll wear your medal like it’s Olympic gold. You’ll swap stories with friends, post your sweaty selfies, and eat everything in sight (as you should).
But then… maybe, you’ll feel a little off.
That’s the post-marathon blues, and yep—it’s a thing.
You spent months chasing this big goal, and suddenly it’s behind you. That empty feeling? It’s normal. Doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful—it just means you’re human.
My advice? Soak it in. Write down everything while it’s fresh—how you felt at mile 10, what worked, what didn’t. I write a race recap after every marathon, even if no one ever sees it. It’s part therapy, part celebration.
Celebrate right. Eat the junk. Get a massage. Let your body breathe. And don’t worry if your non-runner friends don’t quite get it. Call someone who will.
I usually call my dad. He’s not a runner, but he listens to my blow-by-blow of every mile and tells me he’s proud. That phone call always hits home.
And if you do feel a little down? That’s okay. Set a new goal only when you’re ready. Doesn’t have to be another marathon—maybe it’s a trail race, a 10K, or even something totally different. Just give yourself the time to feel proud. You earned that.
My Most Emotional Finish Ever: Bali
I want to share one finish that’ll stay with me forever. It wasn’t my fastest marathon—but damn, it was the most meaningful.
A few years back, I ran the Bali Marathon. Brutal heat. I was dragging hard by mile 24 and already knew I’d missed my goal time. I was disappointed, honestly.
But then, just as I turned a corner near the finish, I saw a group of my running students—people I had coached for their first 5Ks and 10Ks—holding up a hand-made sign that read:
“Coach David – You Inspire Us!”
I nearly lost it.
These were people I had encouraged to start running, and now they were out here cheering for me. In that moment, the fatigue disappeared. I smiled—maybe the first real one all day—and picked up the pace. I didn’t care about my time anymore. I ran that last stretch for them.
When I crossed the line, I raised my fist and let out a loud “YES!” Total cheesy movie moment, I know—but I meant it. I hugged every one of those students afterward. They said I inspired them. I told them they were the reason I finished strong.
That race reminded me what running is really about. It’s not about the clock. It’s about showing up. It’s about connection. And sometimes, it’s about finding strength in the people who believe in you—especially when you’ve got nothing left in the tank.
Final Thoughts: The Emotional Side of the Marathon
If you’re heading into your first marathon (or your tenth), prepare for more than sore legs. You’re going to experience a full-blown emotional rollercoaster. Fear, doubt, loneliness, joy, pride—it’s all part of the ride.
But here’s the thing: the marathon doesn’t just test your body—it changes you.
It will make you tougher. It will make you honest with yourself. And if you let it, it’ll show you what you’re really capable of.
So embrace the pain. Celebrate the finish. And don’t be afraid if the tears show up.
They’re part of the magic.