When this mission landed on my desk, I could only think of and call one person I knew would make it a smashing hit — Luka, a Croatian graphic journalist who ran his very first Berlin Marathon in 2025. We’d met months earlier at a brunch in Neukölln, where he mentioned training “just to see if he could survive 42 kilometers.” Spoiler: he did — barely.
A few weeks after the race, we sat down again, this time with beers instead of brunch. What followed was a raw, funny, and unexpectedly emotional conversation about Berlin’s biggest running event — the sweat, the chaos, the tears at the Brandenburg Gate.
Here’s Luka’s story, told through his words and reimagined through mine — a love letter to endurance, to belonging, and to the city that turns even casual joggers into marathoners.
Bok! I’m Luka — a runner born and raised in Split, Croatia. If you’ve ever run by the Adriatic Sea, you know how the salty air can trick you into thinking running’s easy. Berlin proved me wrong.
The Berlin Marathon began humbly in 1974, when a handful of West Berlin runners—just 286 participants—set off on a quiet 42-kilometer loop through the Grunewald Forest. It wasn’t the global spectacle it is today. It was a course that avoided East Berlin entirely, running deep in the forest to steer clear of the heavily guarded border that divided the city.
By the late 1970s, participation had already grown exponentially, and in 1981, something historic happened: for the first time, runners raced through the heart of West Berlin. The route started and finished near the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate, symbols that would gain even deeper meaning a decade later. After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the marathon became a powerful emblem of unity — when athletes crossed through Brandenburg Gate in 1990, they weren’t just running a race; they were running into a new era of freedom.
Since then, Berlin has evolved into one of the six World Marathon Majors, joining the legendary ranks of Boston, London, Chicago, Tokyo, and New York City. What makes it stand out is its speed — a famously flat, smooth course and mild autumn weather that together make it the fastest marathon on Earth. It’s the track where world records are born, and where both elite runners and everyday dreamers chase their personal bests.
Note from writer: Berlin’s race has seen history — from Haile Gebrselassie’s back-to-back wins to Eliud Kipchoge’s calm dominance. But the real magic isn’t in who wins. It’s in the thousands who finish behind them.
I moved here two years ago, chasing a tech job and a fresh start. But what I really found — between currywursts, cold winters, and German punctuality — was the Berlin Marathon.
The city transforms for it: 40,000 runners, 1 million spectators, and a 42.195 km route that feels like an open love letter to endurance, chaos, and community.
September 21st, 2025, was my first time on that starting line. Spoiler: I finished, but almost didn’t. And I’m already training for 2026 — because Berlin does something to you. Once you run its streets, you’re not the same person ever again.
You start near the Siegessäule, the Victory Column, surrounded by an ocean of nervous energy. Runners from 150 countries stretch, laugh, cry, and tape their nipples like it’s a sacred ritual. The Berlin Marathon isn’t just a race — it’s a parade of human willpower with Adidas and caffeine as unofficial sponsors.
At 9:15 AM, my wave moved forward. The start gun cracked. I swear you feel it in your bones — like history is about to replay itself under your shoes.
The first few kilometers through Charlottenburg were easy. Locals clapped from balconies. Someone blasted “99 Luftballons.” A kid handed me a high-five and a gummy bear. Berlin knows how to make 42 km feel like a festival.
By the time you hit Kreuzberg, the air smells like bratwurst and ambition. Crowds pack the sidewalks. A brass band plays “Eye of the Tiger.” Someone waves a Croatian flag at me and shouts, “Ajde Luka!” and suddenly I’m flying.
This is where Berlin’s character shows — the anarchic mix of artists, expats, and grandmas in folding chairs cheering for strangers. You’ll see runners in costumes, barefoot runners, people pushing wheelchairs, and elite runners gliding like they’re made of helium.
Water stations every 2.5 km keep the chaos hydrated — just don’t grab the electrolyte drink by accident unless you enjoy lemon-flavored regret.
Somewhere near Potsdamer Platz, it hits — the infamous runner’s wall. Your legs turn to concrete, and your brain starts negotiations. I saw the Berlin Wall Memorial in the distance, and it felt symbolic: my body divided against itself.
That’s when another runner, an older guy with a Kenyan flag bandana, looked over and said, “You’re not done yet, brother.” I didn’t even know him, but his words carried me through the next five kilometers.
Berlin’s marathon isn’t about competition. It’s communion. You run beside people who’ve lost someone, beaten illness, or simply wanted to prove something to themselves.
Mitte is where reality bends. Your watch lies to you. Your gels taste like glue. Every step feels like an existential crisis in motion. But then, you hear the roar of Unter den Linden.
The Brandenburg Gate rises ahead like a mirage. It’s the single most iconic marathon finish in the world. You pass under its arches — one last sprint, one last breath — and cross the line in front of the Reichstag.
My finish time: 3 hours 57 minutes. My pride? Infinite. My toenails? Gone forever.
For the newbies out there (and yes, the rule-following Germans take this seriously):
2025 was another record-flirting year.
But the unsung heroes? The volunteers, 7,000 of them, were handing out water, blankets, medals, and moral support. Berlin runs because they do.
The Berlin Marathon isn’t a one-day event. It’s an entire week of celebration. You could even find love!
1. Berlin Vital Expo (at Tempelhof Airport): The pre-race expo where you pick up your bib, eat your weight in free energy bars, and buy gear you’ll never use again.
2. Inline Skating Marathon: The Friday before the main event — 42 km of rollerbladers zooming through the same course.
3. Breakfast Run (Saturday): A 6 km shake-out jog from Charlottenburg Palace to the Olympic Stadium — no timing, just good vibes.
4. Kids’ Mini-Marathon: Thousands of Berlin’s youngest runners take over the Tiergarten.
5. After-Run Party: Beers, bratwurst, and bad dancing — often at Postdamer Platz or nearby Biergartens.
If you’re an expat, this week gives you an intimate glimpse into Berlin’s rhythm: efficiency meets emotion, and structure meets wild joy.
I made classic rookie mistakes:
But here’s the thing — crossing that finish line changes your relationship with failure. I came to Berlin thinking I’d just run a race. I ended up running through my own limits.
I want to come back stronger, calmer, and ready to actually enjoy the route — not just survive it.
Berlin is a city that teaches resilience. You learn to adapt, to endure, to celebrate.
Running the Berlin Marathon is about belonging — to the chaos, the discipline, the history. You’ll see Berliners cheering in neighborhoods you’ve never visited, and suddenly the city feels smaller, friendlier, human.
So if you’re an expat looking for your “Berlin moment,” don’t just go to Berghain — go to the starting line. The same adrenaline, fewer black clothes.
When I think back to that final stretch under the Brandenburg Gate, I remember the mix of pain, pride, and disbelief. You’re exhausted, but for a split second, you feel infinite.
That’s why I’m lacing up again for 2026 — not to chase a medal, but to chase that feeling. Because Berlin, for all its contradictions, gives runners something rare: the sense that they belong to something bigger than themselves.
And if you see a tall, tired Croatian limping through Tiergarten next September — that’s me, Luka, chasing redemption one kilometer at a time.
Isn’t he adorable? Berlin runs on stories. And this was our first lap.
Check out Expat Magazine for more of Berlin’s exhilarating experiences, and A4ord’s Blog for post-race tips and tricks; trust me, your flat will need it; you’ll be exhausted for a week.
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