From Footy Pre-season to the Marathon Start Line. Part 1
- Ben Laskey
- Mar 10
- 4 min read
Part 1: The Stupid Bet That Changed Everything
Growing up, sport wasn’t optional — it was just what you did.
I played everything. Basketball. Little Athletics. Swimming. Cycling. And eventually, footy — proper Aussie Rules footy. Running was always there, but it was never the headline act. It was background noise - It was cross-country at school. It was fitness for footy. It was preseason punishment. It was 400m repeats until someone threw up.
Running wasn’t something you chose — it was something you survived.
Other than my early Little Aths days, I never once saw running as a stand-alone sport. It was always attached to something else. And in footy culture, it usually meant max effort, push until you’re empty, “this will make you tougher.”
Then 2016 happened.
The Conversation That Lit the Fuse
A mate of mine, Justin, had started running properly.
Not just “to get fit.” He was training. Clocking serious kilometres. Getting properly fit.
We started talking about long-distance running. I had zero concept of anything beyond 5km — or running out a full game of footy. As a backman, I’d probably cover 5–10km in a match. That was my reference point.
Then he mentioned marathons.
How hard they were. How much preparation they took. How people trained for months — sometimes years — to do one properly.
And in one of the more confidently ignorant moments of my life, I said:
“I reckon I could run one.”
He laughed. Not a polite chuckle. A full, “there is absolutely no chance” laugh.
That was it.
Challenge accepted.
Enter: The Melbourne Marathon
At 28 years old, I decided I was going to run a marathon.
Not after building up properly. Not after years of preparation. Not with any real endurance background.
Just because someone told me I couldn’t.
So I entered the Melbourne Marathon.
Looking back? Wildly naive. At the time? I genuinely thought if I just started slow and “plodded along in the crowd,” I’d get through.
My “Training Plan” Looked Like This:
A handful of 5km runs
One or two 8–10km runs
Zero understanding of fuelling
Zero knowledge of marathon pacing
Zero clue about running shoes
Three weeks before race day, Justin took me out for what was meant to be a “long” run.
We drove out of town and planned to run 15km back in.
Up until about 10km, I was hanging on.
Then everything fell apart.
I’d never run that far before. I hadn’t eaten properly. I didn’t understand glycogen, hydration, pacing — any of it. I just knew I was cooked.
By the outskirts of town, I was technically “running” — but at walking pace.
I remember looking up and seeing Justin running backwards in front of me… and I still couldn’t catch him.
He told me I should pull out of the marathon. That I’d probably DNF. That I might hurt myself.
But I’d already decided.
Race Week Chaos
My race kit? (wait for the photo)
A footy training singlet
Brightly coloured ASICS Noosa Tri shoes (because they looked cool)
No idea that proper marathon shoes were even a thing
My longest run was still that painful 13km effort. You could count my other runs on your hands.
That was my prep.
Then, race morning almost didn’t happen.
Nicole was pregnant with our first child, Daisy. It was early days — part of what had already been a long IVF journey that would eventually give us three kids.
We ended up at the hospital that morning getting checks done to make sure everything was okay. For a while, it looked like we wouldn’t even make the flight out of Tassie.
Eventually, we got the all-clear.
We rushed home. Grabbed our gear. Made it to the airport.
It already felt like this race wasn’t meant to happen.
Marathon Morning
Race day arrived.
I got there early. I’ve always had shocking nerves before big events. Footy finals were bad — this was worse.
Half my morning was spent trying not to throw up.
Nicole and Mum were still gently suggesting this might not be the smartest idea. That maybe I didn’t need to prove a point this way.
They weren’t wrong.
And then we started.
Thousands surged forward. Adrenaline took over. I went out far too fast.
Eventually, I settled into what I thought was a “sensible” pace — 6:00/km.
My strategy?
Hold that for 42.2km. No gels. No electrolytes. No plan.
I remember seeing runners squeezing gels and thinking, I wonder if that helps?
Around halfway, I felt like I needed something more than water. I saw a table full of fruit and grabbed a banana.
Halfway through eating it, I remembered: I don’t even like bananas.
But my body was screaming for something.
The Long Shuffle Home
The back half of the race was where reality set in.
It stopped being about pace. It became about survival.
Every kilometre felt longer than the last. I slowly began to understand just how far 42.2km actually is.
Eventually, I entered the iconic Melbourne Cricket Ground.
The finish inside the MCG is special.
For me, it wasn’t a triumphant sprint.
It was a shuffle.
The finishing video shows my feet barely lifting off the ground. But I didn’t walk.
And I finished.
4:05:50.
I crossed the line, stopped instantly… and completely seized up.
Within seconds, I was being helped into a chair in the medical tent, waiting for my body to cooperate enough to let me stand again.
It wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t smart.
But it was done.
And what I didn’t realise at the time was this:
That stupid challenge. That naive decision. That brutal first marathon.
Was the beginning of everything.
The Journey Continues: Stay tuned for Part 2…
Written by Ben Laskey, OVERLAP Athlete & Coach
Edited by Zac Harris, OVERLAP Founder & Head Coach
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Love it Ben. Can't wait for Part 2