Chasing a Personal Best at the Enschede Marathon

Posted on April 22, 2026•By John Kraijenbrink•Trail & ultra races

Chasing a Personal Best at the Enschede Marathon

Race

Enschede Marathon

Place

Enschede

Country

The Netherlands

The Enschede Marathon is known as one of the faster marathons in the Netherlands—not because it’s perfectly flat, but because it’s smaller. Fewer runners means more space to find your rhythm, fewer bottlenecks, and less wasted energy weaving through crowds. On 12 April 2026 I lined up in Enschede with one clear goal: a personal best.

Months of training, one day to get it right.

Sometimes it’s scary how much depends on the form of the day.

Just some random thoughts going through my mind as Sara and I walk to the registration office in the Connect-U building. It already closed yesterday at 4 pm. Too early for us to pick up my bib. The Netherlands might be a small country, but Enschede is still on the other side of it, from where we live.

I’m not a fan of picking up my bib last minute. It means more time on my feet on race day. More stress. That’s why we’re out at 7:15 am. I want to be there the moment it opens. Before the big crowd.

Get in and out. And back to the hotel room for a few more minutes on the bed.

Only one Goal: A Personal Best

I know I’m an average runner. I will never win a race, but I don’t care. I’m not here to race anybody else. I’m here to race me. I want to beat myself. Prove to myself I can be faster than I was before.

In Rotterdam last year I raced my 22-year-old self. That 22-year-old kid held the record: 4:06. And he was pissed off that day, in 1995, that he didn’t break the four-hour barrier.

Last year my 52-year-old self broke it. He knew he could. He was wiser. He knew how to train. That’s why he raised the bar. Goal B: under four hours. Goal A: break 3:45.

Breaking 3:44

Today there is no Goal B. There is only one plan, and that plan should lead to 3:44.

I’ve written all the split times on my bib. Upside down, so I can read them while running.

With half an hour to go, Sara says goodbye at the entrance to my corral. It’s always weird that you can’t do a proper warm-up for what is your biggest race of the season. Instead you’re just standing there, squashed between thousands of other nervous people. Wasting precious energy. Getting cold.

Luckily I’m close to the start. Catching a bit of morning sun. Breathing deeply to keep my mind calm. I don’t like big crowds. I prefer the sounds of birds, the wind in the trees.

Okay. Breathe. Focus.

Three, two, one, go!

Before we know it, we’re off. No clapping, no loud disco music. Just a three, two, one, go.

That go, is also for me. I’m surprisingly far forward. I can even see the top athletes.

And more important: I’ve got space to run. I’m not squeezed between thousands of runners like I was in Rotterdam. Okay, the half marathoners are with us, but it’s not overcrowded.

Fast marathons are slow marathons

It’s funny: the marathons with the reputation of being the fastest in the world are, for most runners, the slowest—simply because they’re also the biggest. You can’t run. You’re trapped.

Not this spring morning. I find my rhythm from the start. Enough space for my long legs to tick the kilometres away. I don’t even lose the minute I expected to lose. Instead I clock 25:51 for the first five kilometres. That’s almost a minute and a half ahead of schedule.

Pacing Plan

5:15 per kilometre is the goal. Don’t let the runners around you tempt you into going faster. Breathe. Stick to the plan.

The crowd is fun. Two or three rows deep. Much quieter than Rotterdam. Better for my mind.

Behind me, a big noise. As if a herd of bison is approaching. A few seconds later the bus passes me, led by the 1:45 half-marathon pacers. That’s 3:30 marathon pace. So: let them go. It only underlines that I started too quickly.

The road is long and straight. A loop, by the looks of it. On the other side the leaders run in the opposite direction. The crowd is clearly here for us. Everybody has their back turned to the fast Kenyans. They’re cheering for the ordinary runners. The nobodies. Their wife, daughter, husband, boyfriend, son.

Ten Kilometres

Ten kilometres. Goal: 53:30. Split: 51:53. Still too fast. It doesn’t feel effortless. On the contrary: it feels like work today. Time for gel two. Eat, and keep eating. That’s the secret.

City, then a bit of countryside. More hills than expected. Well—hills, viaducts. But still: up and down. Not what you expect in the Netherlands.

Fifteen Kilometres

Fifteen kilometres. Goal: 1:19:45. Split: 1:17:39. Even if I ignore the minute I expected to lose at the start, I’m a minute faster than planned. That’s four seconds per kilometre. Closer to 5:10. Will I pay for this later?

Another straight road. I’m running alongside Jamie Rozeboom, the girl in pink. She’s aiming for 5:10 per kilometre to break her personal best. I’m definitely going too fast.

The half marathoners are gone now. It’s just us. More room to run. A bit of wind to fight. Not many people to hide behind.

Twenty Kilometres

Twenty kilometres. I should have been here at 1:46 precisely. My watch says 1:43:40. That’s 2:20 ahead of schedule. Should I try to go under 3:40? Better not. I’m already feeling my legs. It feels like there are knots in my thighs. That’s new. That’s early. Even in training that never happened. What’s up with you, quads?

Do you call a band that’s not playing a band? I need distraction. I should have brought my Shokz. They’re still in the hotel. More noise is more stimuli, more sensory overload—but the big crowds are gone now. Here and there people stand in small groups. Watching. No shouting like Rotterdam. No beer. No DJs. No party. Every marathon is different, I guess.

The website said through the city, but we’re outside more than we’re in. Always bring music. Lesson learned. With Bruce Springsteen not there to get me through, it’s up to me.

Twenty-five Kilometres

Twenty-five kilometres. The hamstrings join the quads in complaining. Goal: 2:12:15. Split: 2:09:43. Nothing to worry about yet. Still keeping the kilometres under 5:15. Barely, but I’m doing it.

Forget flow. Time to grind my teeth. It feels like I have to push my legs forward.

Weird feeling. I’ve got energy. I dutifully eat a gel every five kilometres, but the legs aren’t working. Or maybe they are—it just doesn’t feel like it.

In Rotterdam I didn’t have the energy and I didn’t have the legs. Today at least my energy is good. Hopefully good enough for that personal best. Otherwise, all those months of training will have been for nothing.

Thirty Kilometres

Thirty kilometres. Goal: 2:38:30. Split: 2:36:04. Still almost 2.5 minutes ahead of schedule. I should be able to do this. Although… in Rotterdam my 30-kilometre split was 2:36:24. Only twenty seconds slower than now. I was on schedule back then. And then the wall…

Don’t think about it. Just run. Kruibeke was fine. I’ll be fine now. Focus. Breathe.

Slowing Down

Pace is dropping. I’m more often in the twenties. How much can I lose before it’s too much? I had almost two and a half minutes. I expected to lose one more at the end. That’s three. At least I’m still running.

There was a bridge in there too. A few seconds lost. I wanted to make up for that going down, but my quads were too painful to run a fast downhill.

I tuck in behind a couple of noisy guys. One keeps shouting at the other. One minute he wants to go faster, the next minute slower. Does he know how annoying he is? Still, I stick with them. Also with a guy in a shirt that says 247. What does that mean? Does he run 24/7? Looks like I’m not the only one struggling.

Thirty-five Kilometres

Thirty-five kilometres. Goal: 3:04:45. Split: 3:02:45. Lost half a minute in the last five kilometres. That’s okay, if I can keep this up.

I dropped the annoying guys. Everything hurts. Energy is going down rapidly, but I’m still running. No wall yet.

What’s this—some sort of park? No asphalt, but gravel. Fine. I guess. I ran a 5:30, then a 5:27. Too slow. Come on. Push.

4:54. Wow. I didn’t know I still had that in me. But maybe that was too much. Still more than two kilometres to go.

Forty Kilometres

There’s the sign. 40 kilometres. Goal: 3:31:01. Split: 3:29:14. Less than two minutes ahead of schedule, but I’m close.

People are walking. It’s only two kilometres to the finish.

Now we’re back in the city. The road narrows. Hardly enough space to pass. But I have to. The clock is ticking.

And then we’re out of the centre again. Another strip of green. Why? The finish is in the centre. This is kilometre 42… isn’t it? I don’t think my legs can keep doing this much longer.

Play Pac-Man

That’s it. Back on the street from this morning. Hell, how long is this thing? I see flags. I hear the announcer, but the finish isn’t coming any closer.

Okay. Focus. Play Pac-Man. Overtake a few more people. Keep your mind off the pain and run.

The announcer walks to me for a high five. It’s a hit. Somehow I’m still aware enough to do that.

A hundred metres now. Sprint. Think of the time.

One beep. Two beeps. Done.

Finished.

Three forty… three forty-one… 3:41:44.

Wow. That’s big-time under 3:44. Almost 4.5 minutes faster than Rotterdam. That’s amazing. That’s… very close to 3:40.

Would I be able to break that in Eindhoven later this year…?

That’s for later. Now: Sara. Hotel. Bed. Because I don’t think my legs want to carry me any longer.

John Kraijenbrink

Running Coach - Massage Therapist - Yoga Teacher - Journalist - Gear Tester. I run for the joy of running. Yet, I like to challenge myself to be the best version I can be. For me that means dedicating myself to a structured training plan. You can find me on the road, trails, on my gravel bike or in the swimming pool.