Diary of a Gen Z Student: I did a half-marathon, who knew hell came with a fan club?

Jane Cowan: "I nearly slapped a man telling us to pick up the pace, while he sipped a cup of tea by his front door." Picture: Moya Nolan

ON Sunday, I pried my jaded eyes open at what felt like 5am.

Cursing both daylight savings and the January version of myself that decided to sign up to run the inaugural Dublin City Half Marathon, I slid into a pair of shorts, inhaled some pre-race Coco Pops, and jogged to the train station with my older sister carrying some safety pins and our race numbers.

I’ll be honest, I’m by no means an athlete. The odd pilates or yoga class is what I would usually consider my peak performance. And a combination of my poor self-discipline, low tolerance for cold or wet weather, and disdain for washing my hair more often than usual meant that my half-marathon training plan never really came to fruition.

So my main concern, as I made my weary way to the start line, was the very real prospect of my collapse at the fourth-kilometre mark.

Things didn’t start too well. The portaloos by the start line came with a 20-minute queue and no toilet paper or soap — something I was not woman enough to cope with.

My solution? Hold my pee for 21.1km (not an easy feat with my six-minutes-per-kilometre pace).

But the sky was clear and the temperature unseasonably warm. Things were beginning to defy my expectations.

We started on O’Connell St. And, even at 8.30am, the crowds were there to cheer us on. Children in buggies staring at the spectacle of hyperventilating joggers choking on Lucozade.

Scenes at Dublin City Half Marathon 2025. Picture: Stephen Collins/Collins Photos.

From there, we ran uphill all the way through Drumcondra. My lack of quad strength revealed itself to me in those first few kilometres.

Then it was uphill again until St Anne’s Park.

I sent my dad a WhatsApp voice message, telling him to keep an eye out for the two chattiest girls on the course.

By this stage, we were at the 11-kilometre mark. I was pouring cups of water over my head at every refreshment station.

But being told that we looked ‘super speedy’ was all the validation I needed... even if my dad was lying to us.

Another thing that kept my throbbing calves in motion was the immense enjoyment I was getting from all of the signs that spectators had fashioned together. ‘Run faster — we want to start drinking!’ ‘Hot girls run half marathons.’ ‘Half marathon, full legend.’ ‘I’m tired just watching you run.’

The enthusiasm of the spectators was sort of infectious. For a good 400m, I was nearly convinced I was having fun.

There were kids lining the streets too. They didn’t care what my pace was or if I looked like I was ready to cough up a lung. Handing out sweets and looking for high-fives with their sticky little paws. They were the fuel I didn’t know I needed.

Scenes at Dublin City Half Marathon 2025. Picture: Stephen Collins/Collins Photos.

After St Anne’s Park, it was a smooth five kilometres along the seafront in Clontarf. The views nearly made up for my cramping hip flexors.

But hearing a man mention how he had been chafing since the sixth kilometre put it all into perspective for me. I checked my chafe-free privilege and carried on.

The last three kilometres towards Sheriff St were challenging. Emotions were running high. My shorts were riding up and I was getting my first sunburn of 2025.

I nearly slapped a man telling us to pick up the pace, while he sipped a cup of tea by his front door. But being the refined woman that I am, I scowled at him instead.

Really, though, what kept me going was the fact that I was running in aid of Embrace Badjao — a charity I’ve been working with for years that provides vital support to the indigenous Badjao tribe in Davao, Philippines.

I wasn’t trying to get a PB, just trying to raise some funds. And that’s exactly what we did. Maybe it’s the endorphins talking or the ibuprofen I’ve been feeding myself since crossing the finish line but it really was a joyful experience.

If you ever need your faith in humanity restored, just watch a running event. The determination of the athlete who crossed the finish line in 65 minutes and 40 seconds, the commitment of people running for charities, the spectators using their Sunday morning to support people who they don’t even know, and the children handing out Haribos.

I was a little emotional as I crossed the finish line, holding my sister’s hand.

I thought I had signed myself up for two hours of hell. And I sort of had. But who knew hell came with a fan club?