Shota’s First Paris Marathon Part 1

Why Am I Even Running This?

Shota’s Road to Paris

“Allez, allez, allez!”

Shota didn’t understand what the crowd was yelling, but he could tell it was for him. At 35 kilometers, deep in the Bois de Boulogne, every part of his body hurt. And as the pain crept in, so did the question: Why was he even doing this?

Rewind six months. Shota, not much of a runner, had casually applied for the London Marathon. When he didn’t get in, he acted on impulse and signed up for Paris. No deep reason, no major training plan. Just vibes.

Running wasn’t a passion. It was something he started during the lockdown, doing it on and off for a few years. He didn’t particularly love or hate it. For Paris, he gave himself a goal: finish under four hours.

He didn’t even know the race started at 10 a.m. until the day before, when his wife mentioned it. That morning, he packed up early and headed to the metro. The train was packed with runners. It was happening. He stepped out into a transformed Champs-Élysées. The scale hit him hard. This wasn’t just a run. This was a city-wide event.

As the race began, nervous energy filled him. At 5 kilometers in, things finally clicked. He felt good. He powered through the Marais and into the woods of Vincennes. Then, back along the Seine, soaking in the views and the cheers.

Halfway done. Still smiling.

But the second half was waiting.

To be continued in Part 2: “The Wall, the Pacer, and the Finish Line”