I came, I ran, I suffered: Man relives chaotic Lagos marathon experience
From being half-ready for his first marathon, to being yelled at by an official for finding a resting place, one of the participants of the recently-concluded 10th Access Bank Lagos City Marathon, Tosin Adeoti, narrates his experience
Genesis of a foolish decision
Since a friend introduced me to running in 2020, I have been eyeing the Lagos City Marathon. But each year, I chickened out because I knew I wasn’t ready. You don’t just wake up and run 42km, you prepare. But in November 2024, something possessed me. Maybe it was a midlife crisis, maybe it was foolishness – I decided to give it a shot.
I began practising. My runs became intentional, and my gym visits were regular. I was strengthening my core, building leg muscles, and feeling like Usain Bolt’s long-lost cousin. I was ready, or so I thought. By the last month, I had done 10km, 15km, 20km, and just when I thought I would do the 25km in the last week, my legs didn’t recover from the legwork I did that week. I ended up doing only 11km. But no worries, I told myself.
The weather, terrain and route
The weather was good, and the track was mostly downhill except for three or four slightly elevated stretches. It was much easier than what I’m used to during my runs. We started at Western Avenue, in front of the National Stadium in Surulere and finished at the Eko Atlantic City, Victoria Island. The route took us through Fadeyi, Gbagada, Third Mainland Bridge, Ikoyi, and Lekki.
Flag-off was at 6:30 am, all runners were to be there at 5:30 am, and the cut-off was at 12:30 pm.
Wardrobe malfunction
For a marathon, you don’t wear trousers of any kind. I didn’t know that. I wore my black sports (with two red stripes on the side) trousers. What was I thinking? Light shorts are best. Even better, men should wear tights to keep the groin in place if you don’t want to feel that part of your legs on fire afterwards.
And why did I carry all that baggage? I borrowed a pouch from a family member who just finished NYSC. Inside it, I stuffed my phone, cash, and a 30,000mAh power bank. I also carried the nylon backpack they gave us, filled with my water bottle, ID, face cap, and face towel, all useless.
At two points, I got so tired I begged the officials to hold my pouch for me. They refused, and they were right to do so. I ended up shifting the pouch from my front to my side, and later I felt like that part of my waist was dislocated.
Distance markers and water woes
For a race of this nature, there should be clear kilometre markers. For the first 9km, I didn’t see any. Then suddenly, 10km appeared on the ground. The markings continued sporadically, sometimes on the ground, other times by the road divider. Consistency would have helped and an orientation would have been useful to explain this.
The water stands were a different story. At first, they had cold bottled water and soft drinks for all. But by 15km to go, exactly when you needed them, the drinks were warm. At some stands, there was no water at all – thanks to bystanders and even the cleaning crew who helped themselves. I quickly adapted by taking two bottles at each stand, even though it was inconvenient to run with them.
No electrolyte-laden drinks were available. If you gulped down water and 7Up as I did, you were in for a rough time afterwards. Headaches, loss of appetite, and legs that felt like lead. To make matters worse, I had aches in my inner mouth due to incessant mouth-breathing.
Mistake plastered all over me
I don’t know why I collected the pain relief plaster. I put the plasters on my inner thighs, and one kilometre later, I started feeling soreness that made me walk like I was learning to use my legs. At several points, I couldn’t run because of the pain. Lesson learned: Don’t believe everything you see on TV.
Humbled by a kid and unexpected encouragement
Around the 8km mark, I heard my name. It was my friend Temidayo on the sideline, cheering me on. Without thinking, I blew her a kiss – a reflex of gratitude. It was the boost I needed. As someone who tries to encourage others, I found myself reaching out with knuckles to runners who were walking. They seemed to appreciate it and got moving again. At one point, a guy I knuckled held my hand, asking to run alongside me. Oga, don’t draw me back now, I thought. We ran together for about 2km before he let go. I never heard from him again. At another point, one of those I had encouraged caught up with me when I started walking and offered his knuckle in return. One good turn deserves another right? At one point, a kid not older than 10 ran past me. I am unable to believe we started at the same spot. He must have joined midway.
The endless Third Mainland Bridge
Third Mainland Bridge was another kettle of fish altogether. It felt like it would never end. I’ve been told that the bridge is 10km long, but it felt like 20km. Every stride seemed to echo, “Are we there yet?”
Running for my daughters
While running, I met a guy who told me he had run the Lagos Marathon five times. I was impressed. If he could do it six times and I was matching his pace, I wasn’t doing badly. We had a friendly rivalry going. I would catch up with him, overtake him, and then he would overtake me again. Around the 27km mark, I saw him in one of the BRT buses meant for those who had given up. Ah! My morale dropped to zero. But then I remembered my three daughters at home. I wasn’t about to let them down. Especially not my little ‘Nike, who always asks, “Daddy, you’re going for exercise to run?” I had to finish, if not for me, then for her. I had left the girls at home, all ill. So, this cannot be a waste of time. By the time I got home, one of them had been admitted to the hospital and I still had to limp to see her.
Traffic chaos and near misses
The Lagos State Government announced road closures from 5 am to 1 pm. By 10 am, we were fighting with cars. Intersections were chaotic. At one point, I was nearly run over by a danfo bus. That was the closest I’ve come to meeting my maker. At one point around the 29km mark, I didn’t care anymore. “Hit me if you want,” I thought. Thankfully, no one took on my death wish.
A quest for snacks
I saw an egg seller and felt the urge to buy. I dismissed the thought, only to regret it moments later, eagerly scanning the crowd for another vendor. Then, I saw an eggroll seller and felt the same urge. Once again, I dismissed it. But by the time I spotted a puff-puff seller during the last 15km, all restraint was gone. I beckoned him over and bought two pieces. For a man who evades greasy food like the plague, I was disappointed in myself. But some guys nearby offered consolation, “Oga, eat o. This race na die. We don chop buns too.” Is this about a misery-loving company? I couldn’t care less.
Almost lost my way to a ‘monumental’ victory
I almost mistook the 10km finish point for the 42km finish line. When I saw people with medals coming towards me, I panicked. One guy told me I missed my way. I turned back and ran 1km in the opposite direction before realising he was wrong. I cursed under my breath and turned back. What a waste of energy. The finish line was at Eko Atlantic. As I entered the gate, I breathed a sigh of relief. Only for them to tell me the endpoint was still 2km away. What sort of wickedness is this? I kept asking people, and they kept saying, “Just keep going.” By the time I saw the finish line from a distance, I was determined to overtake at least four people before crossing it. To my delight, I overtook six, many of them tired and resigned to walking by then. It was a small victory, but it felt monumental.
Not enough medals
I eventually arrived at 11:28 am, only to hear the most heartbreaking news – “Medal don finish” – meaning medals have finished. How can the medals finish? Didn’t they count the number of people who registered? And to make it worse, those who took the bus and the 10km runners all got medals. My people, I almost cried.
A moment of great unkindness in search of a resting place
After realising my medal dreams had been shattered, I went looking for water. Guess what? There was none. Tired, I needed a place to sit. Everywhere I could lay my head was in chaos. There was even a tent where bags were being shared and you could imagine how disorganised it was. I found a tent with some officials and went to rest. Suddenly, one plump, bearded man started shouting, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy? Get out of here!” Even when a young lady vouched for me, this man insisted I was pretending. “Iro lon pa! Eni tokan domi sori!” (He’s lying. He just poured water on himself.) If I had strength, I would have laughed. But at that point, I just wanted to faint.
Perhaps there is some context to his reaction but it was a cold reaction. Here I was wearing my green vest with my marathon number displayed. I looked in pain. Yet this man could not display kindness.
At the end, someone mentioned I needed to go to the clinic. Of course, I didn’t need a clinic; I only needed to rest my sore back and legs, but I welcomed any opportunity to leave that place. Thankfully, one of the male staff came to me, lifted me, and pointed to another tent which acts as a makeshift clinic. There, I recovered. Got ointment from a fellow runner and received temporary relief after some 30 minutes of rest.
The unending journey home
After crossing the finish line, the ordeal was far from over. We had to walk about 30 minutes to get to the gate where hailing drivers and local buses were available. Why provisions couldn’t be made to have the stand closer to the exit is beyond me. How do you make dehydrated runners walk another 30 minutes just to get a vehicle home? It felt incompetent at best and callous at worst.
Would I do it again?
No. Never. Not even if they promise me gold bars at the finish line. I came, I saw, and I suffered.
