Lisbon Marathon & Half: Rain, Resilience & a Dead Phone

It all started way too early.
The kind of early that only runners and bakers know.

I was staying in a small hostel in Lisbon, where the city was still asleep when I left. No coffee to be found near the start line — my Lidl Guy back in Porto would’ve been proud of my suffering.

The train to Cascais was, thankfully, the easiest part of the day. Smooth, quick, and filled with quiet faces — each runner trapped in their own pre-race rituals. I bumped into a few familiar smiles from the Running Expats Porto crew, but this time, I needed to stay in my own bubble.

The organization was flawless. The drop-bag system worked perfectly and kept me warm until minutes before the gun went off.

Then came the rain.

A light drizzle first.
Then heavy showers.
Then drizzle again.
Repeat.

Conditions were far from ideal, with a mix of wind, rain, and that sticky coastal humidity. The course itself was quite flat, except for a few climbs around Cascais, where the waves crashed hard and the runners went quiet.

Running back toward Lisbon, the bridge appeared in the distance, a massive reminder of just how far we had come. Around the 25–30 km mark, my legs stopped cooperating. Those were the tough miles — the kind where the race becomes a negotiation between body and mind.

By the time we reached Belém, something shifted. I found my rhythm again, picked up the pace, and somehow managed a strong finish.

The arrival at Praça do Comércio was absolutely stunning — wide, golden, full of life. A perfect setting for a marathon finish.

And right there, just after crossing the line…
my phone died. Completely.

No restart. No map. No credit card. No ID.
Just me, drenched, smiling, holding a medal, and realizing how dependent we’ve become on these little rectangles of glass.

I was supposed to grab lunch with my friends from Porto, but without money or contact, I made my way back to the hostel — luckily, I had a second phone waiting there. Crisis averted (sort of).

The finish area was huge and well-organized, though I did miss that post-race beer we got in Porto. But hey — I had other races ahead.

Overall, Lisbon delivered. Smooth organization, a beautiful yet demanding course, and a day that tested both patience and persistence. I came here to chase a personal best, and even if it wasn’t as fast as I’d hoped, I got what I came for.

And because one race is never enough…

The next morning, I found myself back on the start line — this time for the Lisbon Half Marathon.

I’d managed to grab a bib just two days before, and when I saw that the route started on the Vasco da Gama Bridge, closed especially for the event, I couldn’t resist.

The only problem?
Two hours of waiting on the bridge before the start. I probably spent more time standing than running that day.

But what a view.

Sunshine this time, a bright blue sky, and that magical image of thousands of runners standing above the river — it was worth every minute.

Once the gun went off, we glided down along the Tagus, all the way to — once again — Praça do Comércio. Another medal, another smile, and a weekend that felt perfectly, ridiculously Crazy Runner.

Two races.
Two days.
One city.

Rain, sun, fatigue, joy — all mixed together into that strange cocktail only runners truly understand.

Lisbon, you soaked me, tested me, and stole my phone — but I’ll be back.