How I accidentally ran a marathon (and how it changed my life)

by Jorge Becerra

Kilometer 38 of the 2023 Mexico City Marathon.
My legs feel like they're carrying concrete.
My head is spinning.
No music, no clear thought. Just one question:
What the hell am I doing here?

I remember exactly how this madness began: I sent my registration to my coach, excited, thinking I was signed up for the half marathon.

His response:
—A marathon, Jorge? Are you serious?

My reaction was automatic:
—Huh? I thought it was the half. Let me check...

And yes. I had indeed signed up for the full marathon, without realizing it. (But that story deserves another blog... if you want me to tell it, let me know in the comments)

What I thought was going to be my first official race... ended up being 42.195 km of suffering and redemption.

But if I really want to tell you how I got there, I have to go much further back.

---

The race that taught me to hate running

I was 10 years old. I was in fifth grade, at a school in Morelia.
That day there was a school race, I think a kilometer. Maybe less. But it wasn't optional. You had to run, no matter what.

I was excited. I imagined myself taking off and leaving everyone behind.
I thought I was invincible.
The whistle blew, I started strong... and a few seconds later someone stepped on my heel.
I fell to the pavement.
And since we were all piled up, several classmates ran over me.
One stepped on my head. Literally.
I scraped my knees, got a bump on my forehead, everything hurt... but what hurt the most was my ego.
I didn't finish the race.
That was my first experience with running. And it couldn't have been worse.

Since then, running was synonymous with pain and humiliation.
And so it remained buried.

---

Running to look good

At 20 years old, I was living another stage.
I was obsessed with the gym, with a toned body and protein shakes.
As part of cardio, I ran on the treadmill.
I ran about 6 km, I don't remember the time or the pace, but I do remember that I liked it.
It was a feeling of control, of doing the right thing.
But I wasn't running for pleasure... I was running for aesthetics.

Then I gave it up. Or rather, life took me down other paths.

---

The hell of Veracruz

At 27 or 28 years old, I was living in San Andrés Tuxtla, Veracruz.
Don't ask me why. It's a period I prefer not to talk about.
But there, amidst humidity, questionable decisions, and a significant drop in spirits, I tried running again.

It was horrible.

I was out of shape.
The physique I had worked so hard to build was gone.
My knees hurt. The heat was unbearable. My spirits, non-existent.
I hated it with all my soul.
And I gave up almost immediately.

---

My girlfriend's insistence

At 36 years old, already in Mexico City, my girlfriend—a runner for years—insisted that I try running with her.
I was deep into partying, chaos, the nightlife.
I loved that life. Or so I thought.
I was sinking deeper and deeper into a dark tunnel.
Endless sleepless nights, 72-hour hangovers, an inertia that dragged me down and emptied me.

I ran with her a couple of times. I didn't like it. I felt clumsy, without energy, without a soul.
And I gave it up again.

---

Pandemic, treadmill, and redemption

During the pandemic, my girlfriend injured her knee, and we bought a treadmill so she could do her rehabilitation at home.
And that's when, almost without planning it, I got back on it.

The sensation took me straight back to the memory of the gym, when I was 20.
And without realizing it, I started jogging.
One day yes, one day no.
My condition was terrible.
I was overweight.
I was still drinking and staying up late as if I were 25.
But running on that treadmill, cooped up by the lockdown, almost compulsively, gave me peace.
It made me feel like I could regain control.

And one day, I decided to go outside.

I didn't know what to expect.
But what happened was the great surprise of my life: for the first time, running outside I liked it.

---

The change

I started running more often.
I joined a team. I left. I joined another (which I'm still with).
Parties were no longer daily.
Running, little by little, started winning.
Until, by the end of 2022, I was more concerned about my training than about party plans.

It was at that moment that I decided to sign up for the CDMX half marathon... and you know what happened: I accidentally signed up for the full marathon.

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The marathon that changed my life

I thought crossing the finish line would be an epic scene.
Arms raised. Victory shout. Tears of emotion.
But no.

I arrived trembling, with a lost gaze, in an almost trance-like state.
Destroyed.
In shock.
With only one question in my head:
Why the hell did I do this?

But deep down... I knew the answer.

Because I needed it.

That marathon not only broke my body, it also opened my soul.
It made me understand that running was no longer something I hated.
Nor something I did to look good.
Nor another failed attempt.
Now it was something that saved me.

---

And since then…

I quit partying.
I lost weight.
I started sleeping better.
My mind cleared.
And with my girlfriend, we created a brand that was born from that process: Cultë.

After the CDMX marathon, I ran my second marathon in Valencia 2024.
And I'm going for my third in Chicago 2025.

Today I am a runner.
Not because I'm fast, or because I win medals, or because I have spectacular times.

I am a runner because running changed my life.
And I am convinced that it can change the life of anyone who dares to try.

---

One last thing

If you also feel like you're going around in circles, that you can't find your way, that something is missing, run.
It doesn't matter if you start on a treadmill.
It doesn't matter if everything hurts.
It doesn't matter if you fell on your first attempt.

Run.
Because sometimes, all you need to regain control is to take the first step.