Crossing Continents: My Istanbul Marathon 15K Adventure

There’s something uniquely exhilarating about running from one continent to another. But in the end, my mind was somewhere else and did not have time to grasp what was happening. 

But I am jumping ahead, let's start in the morning. 

I arrived in Istanbul the day before, and with very little sleep, I barely managed to navigate public transport to pick up my race kit and plan my route to the starting line before falling into bed, utterly exhausted.

My alarm went off at 6:00 am, and I dragged myself up, getting ready in a daze. I would have loved to sleep longer, but I wanted to be safe and arrive early. Or so I thought. The night before, I’d asked the hotel to book a taxi for 6:40 am, but when I got to the lobby, they were just making the call. It was early Sunday morning, and the hotel was far from central, so I anxiously watched the minutes tick by until the taxi finally arrived. Due to road closures for the race, the special ferries transporting runners from Europe to the starting line in Asia appeared to be inaccessible by car. So, I asked the driver to drop me at the T5 tram line, which I hoped would get me to the Eminönü jetty on time.

Although public transport was supposed to be free for runners with a bib, only certain stations seemed to be staffed to facilitate this, so I paid my fare for the tram, and later watched another runner opting to jump the gates. The 20-minute ride gradually filled with runners, and I felt a small comfort in not being alone. Soon, we arrived at the jetty just in time for the 7:40 am ferry, only to find a long line of runners already queued up.

It was early morning, and the night sky was giving way to a gray, drizzly dawn. The wind was chilly, and those lucky enough to have brought extra layers were bundled up while others resorted to warming up to stay comfortable. Standing there in the grey light, with hundreds of colorful runners and flocks of pigeons and seagulls circling above, I couldn’t help but think: Why are we so crazy to be paying to do this? And judging from the faces, I wasn't the only one with this thought. 

The ferry filled quickly. First, runners took the seats inside; then, reluctantly, they spilled into the outdoor seating or stood in the aisles. I watched the first ferry leave, knowing I'd have to wait for the next and final one. When it finally arrived, the warmth inside felt like a blessing after the windy wait. Although there was still a queue, everyone managed to board, and we departed about 15 minutes late. The atmosphere on the ferry warmed up as well, with runners chatting and laughing, united by the excitement of running from Asia to Europe. A band on board lifted our spirits even further.

After some repacking, I ventured to explore the ship and also went outside to snap a few photos and enjoy the view. The bridge we were to cross was visible, though it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. It seemed that our ferry was temporarily holding position, possibly to let a larger vessel pass. What should have been a 25-minute ride stretched to nearly twice as long, quickly eating into my buffer time. The starting line was still a brisk 2km walk from the jetty.

When we finally docked, we poured out into the streets and made a fast-paced walk to the start. As we turned a corner, the Bosporus Bridge loomed ahead, with the first wave of marathon runners already darting across it. All I could hope was that the bag trucks were still waiting for us latecomers.

The cheerful chatter from the ferry had all but disappeared as everyone rushed toward the start. Volunteers guided us through each turn, and finally, the starting area came into view along with upbeat music. I had about five minutes until my group’s official start time, and although I probably could have joined a later group, I was glad to have made it on time. If the walk hadn’t warmed me up, the first few kilometers of the race certainly would. 

The trucks for the bag deposit were still there, overflowing, but my driver was still squeezing bags in through the cabin windows. I dropped mine just in time and hurried to my start pen, where the runners were already inching toward the line. With a quick stretch and a last glance around, the countdown began, and I was off.

The start was, let’s say, unconventional. We climbed immediately up the Bosporus Bridge, and many runners stopped to take selfies - me included - or some even to be interviewed by a TV crew. The view was fantastic, normally, pedestrians aren’t allowed here, but the strong winds had me clutching my bib, hoping it wouldn’t tear off. Fortunately, the sun was out, casting a warm light over the scene. It was perfect running weather.

After the bridge, the course continued downhill for a few kilometers toward the waterfront, giving me a chance to settle into a rhythm. One of the biggest surprises was the incredible support from locals. Turkish spectators cheered us on with infectious enthusiasm. Their cheers were so energizing that I often had to slow down afterward. Their excitement is something I’ll never forget.

The last stretch flew by, despite a few walking breaks. I’d missed some training sessions leading up to this race, so I was more focused on keeping my pace steady than sightseeing. After the 10k mark, I felt confident about finishing. And the annoying wind from earlier was now pushing from behind.

I crossed the line after 98 minutes, exhausted but happy. The race felt like a hard-won reward for the chaotic morning journey. Only later did it hit me: I’d been so rushed that I hadn’t had a single thought about being back in Asia and that I was crossing between continents on foot. The very thing that had drawn me to the race in the first place. 

If I get another chance, I’d definitely run this race again. Despite the hectic start, it all worked out. Next time, though, I’ll be sure to stay somewhere closer to the starting line.