The Marathon Mirror: What the Distance Reveals About the Human Mind
- Hannah Grencis
- 43 minutes ago
- 5 min read
They say that everything you ever wanted to know about yourself, you can learn in 42km. This may sound dramatic, however, as it turns out the road really is a brutal teacher, as well as a mirror.
For most of my life, I would have rolled my eyes at this. If someone had told little me that I would go on to cross three marathon finish lines before the age of thirty-two, I would never have believed them, probably laughed, and definitely presumed they were talking about someone the polar opposite. I can also honestly say that even three medals later, the disbelief hasn’t really left. But I’m not here to sell running. I know it isn't for everyone, and it’s definitely not the only way to support your mental health. If movement does help, then any exercise, distance, or speed is exactly where you need to be. Any step forward is a step in the right direction, and whether it’s a marathon or a mile, the mirror still works the same way.
I’m writing this because both running and mental health are things I feel passionate about. I work in the creative industries, which can often be demanding but rewarding and I’ve always had an interest in telling stories. I’m writing this now because writing and getting outside to run have been hugely beneficial to my own mental health. Additionally, there is currently a lot of noise around running, and with more people pushing themselves through gruelling long-distance challenges, I want to understand the psychology behind what happens between the start and finish line.
The First Hour: The Noise
It’s difficult to summarise the feeling when the gun goes off and you cross the start line. Those first few miles are rarely about the legs; they’re about the mind. Even if your pace feels unnaturally slow, and you feel physically strong, it is mentally impossible to switch off knowing you have such a long road ahead. Overthinking naturally occurs; is every ache an injury, was that second coffee a bad idea, what if you actually can’t do this? This is often the ‘high anxiety’ point - your brain is essentially running a diagnostic check to protect you from the effort it knows is ahead. Most runners struggle here as the brain tries to calculate if it has enough energy for the next four hours, which creates a lot of mental noise.
For me, these early miles are about drowning out that noise. I have to consciously let go of any expectations I had for the day, try to trust the training and appreciate my surroundings. It’s a lesson in staying present and taking things one step at a time. As someone who struggles with uncertainty, this is an important lesson to reflect on.
The Second Hour: Identity
We spend much of our lives presenting an outward version of ourselves. Day to day, if we don’t like the reflection in the mirror, we can choose not to look. But the marathon is a different type of mirror you cannot avoid - an internal one. The outside world disappears until you are left with only your thoughts, and the people around you who are also lost in theirs. This leaves you with the rawest version of yourself. You are doing something that less than 1% of the population will do, that you’ve trained relentlessly for, and now it’s just you and the (long) road ahead.
I recently asked a close friend what her own journey taught her, and her answer hit home: "I found a lot of respect for a body I haven't always loved." In a society that teaches us, especially women, to view our bodies as constant works in progress to be edited in often unachievable ways, the marathon mindset offers a new perspective: look at what our bodies can do.
Seeing Rob Burrow and Kevin Sinfield at the inaugural Leeds Marathon also reminded me of the bigger picture; that our identities aren't only defined by our individual struggles, but by also going that "extra mile" for someone else. For those unfamiliar with their story, after professional Rugby League player Rob Burrow was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease, his teammate Kevin Sinfield completed a series of gruelling endurance feats to raise millions for the cause, gaining national attention and an army of support in the process. If we are all capable of being kind and supportive to others, we should also be able to be kind to ourselves, however tough that can sometimes be.
The Third Hour: Choice
Passing the halfway mark is a strange milestone. Mile 13 often brings a collective sigh of relief or mutual nods of approval between runners - a collaborative ‘hey, we’re halfway; maybe we can actually do this’. It’s a brief moment where you have a small boost of self-belief, but it’s also where you know it’s probably only going to get tougher from now on.
There’s a specific choice we make in these middle miles; to keep going, despite the fear of what’s to come, or to give in to pain and anxiety and let it control what happens next. We spend our daily lives trying to control so much, but you can’t control how your body or mind is going to respond to pushing it further than it’s ever been. Having this control literally stripped away teaches that sometimes things are unpredictable and may have to get worse before they get better, and to trust the process (and yourself).
The Final Hour: Truth
At 35km in my third marathon, I hit a wall so big it felt like I physically was not moving. With mental and physical energy depleted, this is the point where most people are forced into ‘digging deep’, or hit the dreaded ‘wall’. I’ve found my thoughts cycling from feeling lucky to have even made start lines to other difficult things I’ve overcome, and focusing on getting to each next landmark for a different person I am grateful for.
The main thing I kept mentally repeating was to just take one more step (over and over again). I’d come too far to give up. A lot of emotions come out here; you learn your ‘why’, and exactly what you say to yourself when things get tough. You also realise that if you truly put your mind to something, you can actually do it. I recently listened to a podcast where someone mentioned there is "always a bit of blue sky", which, although it sounds cliché, I think is a great reminder that even the toughest moments are temporary.
The Hours After The End: Transformation
The finish line is more than physical relief; it is a mental one too. But if I’m being honest, the moment you cross it isn’t always the intense high that people expect. The immediate feeling is often a quiet, numb and exhausted sort of shock. Psychologically, this makes sense; your brain is essentially resetting after being in survival mode for hours, and does not know how to process that it is finally over.
Of course, the marathon doesn’t end at the finish line. It can take a long time to fully process and appreciate the achievement. On reflection, once you have seen what you are capable of when every fibre of you is screaming at you to stop, you can’t ‘unsee’ it. You learn that the person who crossed the line is not the same person who started.
The "pinch-me" disbelief eventually turns into a different way of looking at ourselves. It’s less about a burst of pride and more about the evidence; you’ve met a side of yourself that a younger you assumed belonged to someone else, and that a future you can hopefully reflect back on and realise that if this was possible, then any previous rules, about what you can and cannot do, no longer apply.
