Marathon Eindhoven: All or Nothing

Posted on October 14, 2026•By John Kraijenbrink•Trail & ultra races

Race

Marathon Eindhoven

Place

Eindhoven

Country

The Netherlands

Marathon Eindhoven had to be the cherry on the cake. A new personal best on the marathon. The second of the year. But then the training all went wrong.

I’m getting cold. Five minutes and we’re allowed to run. The first wave of the Eindhoven Marathon has just started. Two girls in front of me just became best friends. Taking selfies. The girl next to me is on her phone. Typing messages. Everybody is on their phone. I thought we were here to run. I’m probably getting old.

Second Marathon

I am getting old. The girls are talking about this being their first and second marathon. Luckily, there is another man with grey hair next to me. So I’m not the only oldie here.

Shit. He’s telling the girls it’s his first marathon as well. I ran my first marathon in 1993. That’s thirty-three years ago. This is marathon number six for me. Eight, if you count the two trail marathons. And then there are fifteen ultras.

But those are all in the past. This year has been triathlon year. Half-triathlon year. Although I did run the Kruibeke Marathon in Belgium — half trail, half road — and the Enschede Marathon in spring. But that feels very long ago.

Personal Best

My longest run for this race has been the Bosland Trail, 32 kilometres. I hoped to have done more. Wanted to do more. This marathon was planned as my personal-best attempt. Our holiday was supposed to be a training holiday, but Corsican roads, reckless Corsican drivers and running were not a perfect combination.

So I’m standing here without a specific marathon block in my legs. Yet I’m also standing here with the stamina to do a half triathlon. And with quads that are prepared to handle a marathon. In Enschede I felt them after 21 kilometres. In Corsica I’ve been hammering them on the downhills. They should be good today.

Training Block

Plus, I can keep whining about the lack of a good marathon training block, or I can just go for it. I’ve got two more marathons coming up: Dublin – my fundraiser for Amnesty International – and Florence. They were supposed to be fun marathons. Sightseeing marathons. But I can always make Florence my PB attempt if I fail today. And then today is just a good test.

So let’s see how far I get. Let’s see how my legs feel in the first five kilometres. Let’s run a good half marathon and then decide.

Carnaval Music

Two minutes to go. Carnival music. The selfie girls in front of me swaying from left to right. People like this. I don’t.

And we’re off. No more horrible music, just running. Beautiful running. Forty-two kilometres and 195 metres.

I’m behind the 3:45 pacer group. They were glued to the start line. They should run 5:19 per kilometre. That will give them a forty-second margin. It’s what I did last year in Rotterdam. Well, tried to do. I hit the wall between kilometre 32 and 33. Finished in 3:46:53, missing my dream sub-3:45.

Today my dream is sub-3:40. In Enschede this spring, I ran 3:40:57. Those fifty-seven seconds are bothering me. 3:39 looks better.

Clockwork

5:11, 5:12, 5:09, 5:07, 5:10. Clockwork. 5:12 per kilometre will lead to a 3:39:25 marathon. As long as I can stay just below 5:12, I’ll scrape together seconds that I can lose later in the race if the going gets tough.

My legs are feeling good. Surprisingly good. The weather is all I could ask for. Fresh. A little sun, but not hot. Enough to keep the legs warm.

And I have space. So much space. We’ve only just started and I’m already in love with this marathon. Rotterdam was crazy. We were shuffling along in a huge crowd. Enschede was better, but still busy. Small roads. Here, we’re running on the main road. The asphalt is a bit slippery, but nothing crazy.

I never understood why people like big city marathons. Rotterdam, London, Berlin, Paris, New York. You can’t run in a big crowd. At least not if you have long legs and very big feet like me.

Feeling Happy

Passing the 3:45 pacer group. A good sign. Feeling happy.

Bands every couple of kilometres. Drum bands, jazz bands, DJs. People cheering. And stretches with almost nobody. Perfect mix.

“John!” Somebody is yelling my name. Tall guy. Is that the son of Jos, Ron? I always see him in the swimming pool in Lommel, training for triathlons.

Low fives

Still in the low fives. Don’t go too fast. A couple of seconds is okay. Too many can be too much. You’ll regret it later.

Keep eating. I know it’s early, but keep eating. One gel every twenty minutes. Run, eat, repeat.

Another yell. Laurens, the bike-fit guy. He’s got seven athletes running the half marathon and three running the full. He’s on his bike, checking in on them. Good to see him.

Feel the Pace

Ten kilometres. 51:44. Sixteen seconds ahead. Still clockwork.

Funny. Last Wednesday I went for a run with Sara. One kilometre easy together, three kilometres on my own at marathon pace. I was all over the place. 4:44, 5:25. Couldn’t get ‘the feeling’. Now it’s as if my legs are glued to five-oh-nines.

Sara’s Birthday

Girl with a cute skirt running in front of me. Christmas is coming up. Sara’s birthday is coming up. Going to ask her for the brand.

Oirschotsedijk. Kilometre 17. Feeling my legs for the first time. Ran the last kilometre in 4:44. That explains it. Don’t get too enthusiastic. Stay steady.

Ron again. So much fun to keep seeing people I know. I guess Eindhoven is an easy marathon to follow. We run a lot of loops. You can easily take a shortcut by bike and see us twice within a few minutes.

But Ron isn’t the only one calling out my name. I think I’m wearing the largest bib ever, with my name printed in the largest letters ever. Everybody is shouting. Sometimes it’s nice to have an easy name.

Half Marathon

Kilometre twenty. A bit of water, a sponge. Perfect organisation. Water and sports drinks on both sides of the road, sponges a little farther behind the refreshment post. I’m running with my CamelBak race vest, with two 500-millilitre soft flasks. I always do during marathons. I don’t like to slow down at aid stations. But here I don’t have to. No big crowds, enough volunteers.

Half marathon coming up. Let’s check my time: 1:48:37. I should be here at 1:49-something. Still on schedule. Still feeling good. Let’s go for a 30-kilometre PB and stay under 2:35.

Stay tall. Don’t look at your feet. What did Shane Benzie call it again in his book The Lost Art of Running? Proud Kenyan, wasn’t it? Run tall. Chest forward. Bounce. Okay, the Kenyans in this Eindhoven Marathon are probably almost at the finish line, but still…

Stupid me

Why is everybody going onto the cycle path? We’re running on the road. Yes, there is a viaduct we have to go under, but the road isn’t that slippery.

Hmm. Stupid me. The road dips much deeper than the cycle path. I’ll have to climb more. Course knowledge is a plus. Then again, I’ve got the Dublin Marathon coming up, so I’d better get used to running up and down. Luckily, if there is one thing I did in Corsica, it’s that.

30-Kilometre PB

Kilometre 30. Another kilometre in 5:06. That’s 2:32:58. A very big new personal best. Maybe this is my day. Still feeling pretty good.

Forgot to take my gel, I think. Stay focused. Eat, eat, eat. Ninety grams of carbs per hour.

Laurens rides past again. “You’re super steady.”

Left leg starts to protest. Like it’s not responding properly to every step I take. Come on, leg. You can do it. Don’t give this away now.

Right foot is joining the party. Feels a bit numb. I had tarsal tunnel syndrome in the past. Had to have an operation. If I run trails, I’m fine. Roads are harder. Literally. Stay with me, foot. We’re almost there.

High Tech Triathlon Eindhoven

High Tech Campus. A DJ playing without a crowd. Nobody to cheer. Headwind. Bite.

A month ago I was here as well. Swimming, biking, running the High Tech Triathlon Eindhoven. Seeing Sara on every lap. Good memories.

My knees start to hurt.

Running 10:56 per kilometre. What?! That’s impossible. 2:34 now. High buildings. Come on, GPS. Work. I need you.

I ask a girl how fast we’re going. Still 5:12. Good.

We run together for a bit. This is her first marathon. She wants to go under 3:40. Impressive. My first marathon was 4:35. The finish is in her neighborhood. Now that’s what I call a home race.

GPS is working again. 5:21 for kilometre 37. Lost nine seconds. Five more kilometres to go. If I stay in the low 5:20s, I should be good.

No, bullshit. Just push. Proud Kenyan. More power in the legs. Let’s eat that last gel.

Deceiving the Body

Keep smiling. That’s deceiving the body. Smile and the body thinks it’s easy. Only a Parkrun to go.

5:05 kilometre 38. 5:05 kilometre 39. See, it’s the mind that gets tired. The legs can still go.

Ow, ow, ow. In the Schrijversbuurt — the Writers’ Neighbourhood. Every speed bump we have to run over hurts.

5:09 for kilometre 40. I can do better than that. Still something in the tank, I think. Come on. Dig!

Final stretch. Running 4:44. This is going to be a great time.

There is the finish arch. Let’s speed up.

Shit! It’s an arch, but not the finish. I need another two hundred, three hundred metres. Sprint!

Yes! 3:36 exactly. Wow. That’s almost five minutes faster than Enschede.

My adjusted netto time was 3:35:57 for 42.28 km - Marathon Time: 3:35:35 (was 3:40:47).

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.