Run Like a Woman

Given my short legs and limited coordination, I’ve known for a while that I am not what one might call a “natural born runner.” This notion was confirmed to me when I watched the video of the first group of runners set off from the start line of last month’s eDreams Mitja Marató de Barcelona (also known as the “Barcelona Half Marathon”) on February 10, 2019.

They ran in perfect unison like a family of gazelles. In comparison, my form and pace resembled that of a three-legged alley cat.

That being said, while I knew that I wasn’t going to break any world records, my only goal was to get around the course without stopping. And despite completely missing my mouth as I threw Powerade all over my face two thirds of the way through, I wasn’t going to stop.

Maybe it’s genetics, an ill-fitting sports bra or, God forbid, having that “time of the month” fall on race day, but it’s easy to imagine that many women might have harder time running than men. Combine this with the stereotype of women competing and undermining one another and you have a potential recipe for disaster.

However, throughout this half-marathon, I found quite the opposite to be true. As I tried to convince my legs to put one foot in front of the other, I saw women cheering each other on, offering their water to strangers struggling next to them.

In a society where women are often expected to look “nice” at all times, it felt extremely gratifying to unleash my “ugly” face during the run. You know the face: bright red, splotchy skin; sweaty hair stuck to the head; and mouth panting voraciously, in a desperate attempt to find a rhythm. I bore mine with pride, without a second thought of what I might look like. (On rare occasions, dare I say I even felt like a gazelle, too.)

When these moments of perfect rhythm coincided with the most picturesque parts of the course, it produced an awe-inspiring moment in which I felt grateful to be alive. Although I doubt the idea of free running tours will catch on, there really is no finer way to see Barcelona, as running routes can show you the city in a way you’ve probably never seen it before.

I live in a small town outside Barcelona proper and most of my half-marathon training was done on the same, boring, path. Perhaps this is why when I was running down Gran Via, with its stylish architecture and tree lined streets, or on the final stretch with La Sagrada Familia staring straight at me, I managed to take eight minutes off my best time. There’s nothing like giant statue of Christopher Columbus literally pointing in the direction you need to be going to quicken your pace.

The majority of this year’s registered runners were men: 13,000 compared to 6,000 women. According the results, 32 men had crossed the finish line this year before the first woman did at a time of 1 hour and 6 minutes. That woman was Roza Dereje and she is nothing short of an inspiration.

In a word, the sensation that overwhelmed me when I finished this race was “inspired” … by other women, specifically. As I collected my recovery banana, the first thing I remember seeing was a woman with a medal around her neck, beaming with pride while being passed her small baby—which means that woman must have either trained pregnant or with a newborn.

Women might be slower than men and fewer of us participate in marathons. But when you look at the figures, more and more women sign up every year. This year alone saw over a thousand more women take part in the half marathon.

I know we can continue on this trajectory. As long as we have women like Dereje and others to look up to, there is no reason why the gap between men and women can’t get smaller every year. Women will continue to get better—not only at running but at encouraging one another in a never-ending relay of support, an empowering marathon with no finish.