Humbled in Hong Kong: A Half-Marathon of Stubbornness

I usually show up to a race feeling "almost prepared" - that familiar blend of pre-race nerves and quiet optimism. But for my Hong Kong half marathon, there were no illusions. I was objectively undertrained. This wasn't just a gut feeling, it was a conclusion supported by the cold, hard facts of my training log and a string of missed weeks thanks to a stubborn winter cold that gifted itself to me right around Christmas.

It all started with the best intentions. After my half marathon in Munich, I planned a proper break before building a solid base for Hong Kong. But that break stretched longer than expected, and just as I found the groove again and actually enjoying the sessions rather than just surviving them, life intervened. A weeks-long cold is not what you hope for when flights and hotels are already booked.

Back home in Germany, a health setback like this would have meant a polite cancellation. But Hong Kong was different. The last time I tried to travel here, a pandemic forced me to abandon my plans entirely. I wasn’t about to let a virus do the same twice. A week before the flight, a cautious 8km treadmill test run went better than feared. It wasn’t fast, and my heart rate was higher than I liked, but it was enough to spark a bit of hope. Armed with a healthy dose of stubbornness, I decided to give it a try, not for a PB, but just to reach the finish line and claim that medal-cum-future-fridge-magnet.

Race morning was a masterclass in efficiency. Thanks to Hong Kong’s fantastic transportation system, I arrived without the usual frantic scramble. There was something almost comical about the scene at Admiralty station: hundreds of runners packed into an MTR train for the one-stop hop to Tsim Sha Tsui. An almost empty train pulled in, and five minutes later, we were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a pressurized capsule of pre-race energy until exhaling us all onto the streets, just a few steps away from the starting line.

I purposely joined my pen late, tucked so far back that the starting countdown was just a muffled echo. But as we crossed the line and headed north onto Nathan Road, my discipline of a "slow pace" evaporated. I probably expected this, too. Unless I am on a treadmill, I cannot seem to keep a slow pace. As soon as my thoughts are trailing off, my feet decide to speed up. Running between soaring glass towers and neon shopfronts, the traffic signals clicked past with a rapid, rhythmic pulse, as if the city itself were urging us to run faster.

Once we hit the highway and left the few supportes on the roadside behind, the atmosphere shifted. It became quieter, more communal, just humans alone with their thoughts and the sound of shoes on pavement. The route wound toward the Western Harbour Tunnel, plunging into the depths of the South China Sea before the long, grueling climb up the other side. I had seen this incline from the windows of the airport bus earlier, but knowing the geography doesn't make the gravity any lighter.

By this point, I began to pay the tax on my early enthusiasm. Frequent walking breaks became my reality. It wasn’t about giving up, it was about listening to my body and ensuring I’d still be able to enjoy the holiday ahead. I spent more than a third of the race walking. A tactical retreat that allowed me to keep moving forward.

Emerging from the tunnel into Central felt like a rebirth. The crowds reappeared, their cheers growing louder with every step toward Victoria Park where the finish line was. There is a specific kind of magic in being cheered onward when every fiber of your being wants to slow down.

Looking at my final result, I’ll be honest: a good portion of my time was spent on my feet, but rather walking instead of running. Maybe I didn't run the Hong Kong Half, but I finished it. And perhaps that small chip on my shoulder is exactly what will bring me back to these streets for a second try. But for now, the medal is on the fridge, and Hong Kong has reminded me why I keep showing up.