Heidi I can officially call myself a marathon runner. How crazy is that?! On 30 May 2016, I ran my very first marathon in Stockholm. That’s 42.195 km through the heart of the city, finishing in the historic Stockholm Olympic Stadium. It’s a medal I am incredibly proud of, mostly because it symbolises the entire journey it took to get there.
Running a marathon in my absolute favourite city was a dream I had filed away under ‘impossible’ for years. That was until—step by step, via the Broloppet—it suddenly became a tangible goal.
Whether you are thinking about running the Stockholm Marathon yourself, or you are just curious about how I experienced it all, I wrote this report for you. And honestly, a little bit for myself too, to make sure I never forget.
The spark: how a bridge changed everything
I used to be a recreational runner, until a stubborn injury threw a spanner in the works. I tried restarting a few times after that, but always ended up giving up. Then, about two years ago, some big news broke: a unique race was being organised across the bridge connecting Denmark and Sweden (the Bridge Run aka Broloppet).
That was exactly the spark of motivation I needed. Guided by the Start 2 Run app and their gradual training schedules, I fought my way from literally zero fitness to a half marathon in fifteen months. The physical and mental benefits of running were so profound that setting a next goal felt like the most natural thing in the world. I signed up for the Stockholm Marathon.
Book your starting ticket in time!
Because I hesitated just a fraction too long, the Stockholm Marathon completely sold out. I was left with two choices: buy a ticket from someone pulling out, or book a package deal through a sports travel agency. Since resale websites didn’t yield any results and I wanted absolute certainty, I opted for the package deal.
While I was thrilled to have a spot on the starting line, I did feel a bit ripped off afterwards. The hotel was decent, but I paid well over double the standard rate. On top of that (despite the hotel being packed with marathon runners) the breakfast options were incredibly limited when it came to carb-rich, easily digestible foods.
The reality of marathon training
When you think of a marathon, you picture the finish line. The arms raised in the air, the sheer release of emotion. But for me, the real magic was in the process. When you train for a marathon, the project temporarily takes over your life. I am not a fast runner, and my sole objective was simply to finish. Still, there is so much more to it than you think:
- The never ending laundry: training four times a week means your laundry basket consists almost entirely of sportswear. Even with four complete running outfits, it was sometimes a logistical puzzle to get everything washed and dried in time for the next session.
- Fuel & recovery: the more intense the training, the more fuel your body demands. I dived headfirst into sports nutrition: carbohydrates for fuel, protein for recovery. Once I started eating more, my runs improved significantly and I felt much less fatigued.
- Training your stomach: you genuinely have to train your stomach to digest energy gels while on the move. Every long run became like a military operation: calculating gels, mixing sports drinks and electrolytes, and applying anti-chafing stick. And, of course, making sure my Garmin, earphones, and phone were fully charged!
What I didn’t anticipate was how wonderful that routine would become. During those long, solitary runs, my mind would go completely quiet after about an hour. Sometimes the best creative ideas would bubble up; other times, it was just ninety minutes of pure peace in my head. I grew to love that structure, feeling my mind and body adapt and grow stronger. Where a 90-minute run used to feel like an epic endurance test, it became ‘just’ a 90-minute jog.
The race weekend in Stockholm
I flew into Stockholm from Thursday to Sunday. My itinerary looked like this:
Thursday: Checked into my hotel, did some grocery shopping, picked up my race number (bib), and visited the Expo. The Expo was great—packed with running gear, gadgets, stalls from other international marathons, photo spots, and a station to make cheering signs.
Friday: Attended the official Pasta Party in the historic Olympic Stadium. I skipped the Shakeout Run at 6:30 PM to save my legs, but it was lovely to soak up the atmosphere and load up on some final carbohydrates.
Saturday (Race Day!): Headed to the Stadium at 10:00 AM to drop off my post-race bag, and made my way to the starting pen at 11:00 AM.
Top tip for the start: Queue for the toilets very early and stay in the shade for as long as possible before the starting gun goes off.
Ready, Steady, Go!
And then, the moment arrived. At 12:16 PM, the starting gun fired for my wave. It turned out to be a scorching hot edition. The forecast had promised a cloudy 19°C, but we were hit with 25°C and blazing sunshine. My original plan to follow the 5:00 pacers quickly went out the window; instead, my strategy became chasing patches of shade and running through every single water sprayer along the route.
One moment that will stay with me forever was running through Gamla Stan (the Old Town) and crossing paths with the frontrunners. They were moving more than twice our speed. An incredible cheer erupted from the recreational runners. It gave me instant goosebumps; that was the marathon at its absolute finest.
By kilometer 12, I was already struggling. Fortunately, a colleague suddenly appeared on the sidelines with a water spray, a heavenly refreshment that gave me a massive boost. From that point on, it was all about gritting my teeth and running from milestone to milestone.
At kilometer 21, I thought to myself: this is where the real work begins. Luckily, the support messages from home started flooding in. My brother, a marathon runner himself, texted exactly the right words at the exact moments I needed them. At kilometer 25, I crossed my longest distance ever. From there on out, every single step was a victory, and the running actually felt surprisingly smoother than the first half. Perhaps that was because I had let go of my time goal. (For a first marathon, the goal is always just to finish, but I secretly had a target time in mind. Hindsight tells me that probably wasn’t the smartest move.)
Although I had planned beforehand to walk the steep inclines at Slussen and the infamous Västerbron bridge, I ultimately had to take brief walking breaks on other hills and at the hydration stations too.
In hindsight, my intense hyper-focus meant I probably didn’t enjoy the scenery as much as I should have, but the iconic view of the Stadshuset (City Hall) from Norr Mälarstrand truly felt like coming home. The final 10 kilometers were physically grueling, but mentally they passed surprisingly quickly. The ultimate treat? The savoury vegetable broth at the late aid stations. After a dozen sweet gels, it tasted like a Michelin-starred meal! At one point, it felt like we were on a food tour: a salted pickle here, a banana there…
A victory lap in the Olympic Stadium
I don’t remember much of those final kilometers. It was just one foot in front of the other, step by step. Until, finally, the Stockholm Olympic Stadium came into view. We were almost there, and I somehow managed to find a final burst of energy. Inside the stadium, the crowds were roaring from the stands and the atmosphere was electric. One victory lap around the track, and then: FINISH!
Not a single runner around me had dry eyes at the finish line. Running a marathon does something to a person. It’s not just the 42 kilometers on the day itself; it’s the whole journey. Weeks and months of training. Showing up when you don’t feel like it, through wind and rain. Growing, getting stronger, taking a setback on the chin, and fighting your way back. You can only truly explain it to someone who has been through the exact same process.
And there is nowhere else in the world I would rather have done this than in Stockholm.
Catching my breath
My feet were overjoyed when the running shoes finally came off and were swapped for my recovery sliders. In my bag was a note I had written to myself before the race. I took the time to read it, pulled on my finisher shirt, and drank my protein shake. Although the free hot dogs sadly weren’t vegetarian, the kanelbullar (Swedish cinnamon buns) and hot coffee tasted better than anything ever before.
The next day, a wonderful vibe buzzed through the city and at the airport. Everywhere you looked, runners were proudly sporting their finisher shirts. Some even wore their medals around their necks. I didn’t wear my shirt, but my compression socks and recovery sliders gave the game away: I belonged to this exclusive 1% club. You could spot fellow runners instantly by their stiff, gingerly walk down the stairs (though luckily, my soreness wasn’t too bad!).
At first, I regretted flying home the very day after the marathon, but looking back, it was actually at home that the achievement truly sank in. The entire journey was intense and incredibly tough, but in retrospect, it is perhaps the greatest gift I have ever given myself.
The post-marathon blues
At the same time, something hit me that nobody had warned me about beforehand: the post-marathon blues. The muscle soreness was manageable and I recovered quickly physically, but mentally, the hardest part was only just beginning.
For months, every single day, every meal, and every weekend plan had been revolving around those 42.195 kilometers. For a while, my entire identity had been ‘training for a marathon’. And suddenly, that completely vanished. You have achieved your goal, the medal is shining on the wall, and the calendar is empty. The sudden absence of that strict structure brought a rather confronting emptiness with it. The contrast between the intense focus of the preceding months and ‘normal life’ afterwards was massive.
It made me realise that running a marathon is about so much more than just that one day. Even though I had been running multiple times a week for two years and had completed two half marathons, I still hadn’t viewed myself as a ‘real’ runner back then. And now? Now I am a marathon runner. How on earth did that happen?!
Ultimately, a marathon isn’t about the medal around your neck or the time on the clock. It’s about who you become along the journey. The discipline to step out the door when you really don’t want to. The mental resilience to push through when your body tells you it’s had enough (while still knowing when to listen to it). The unshakeable belief in yourself that, step by step, you can achieve something that once seemed completely out of reach. The road to the destination is often more beautiful than the finish line itself.
As @frejkutar beautifully put it on Instagram: Loppet tar slut. Men personen du har blivit på vägen finns kvar. (The race comes to an end. But the person you became along the way remains.)
