Fast times don’t always make for a quick story. And I’m not just saying that because in this case the Berlin Marathon happens to have so many that if I were to list them all we might be here all day. 13 world records over the span of 49 years tends to have that effect. But those fast times are more than numbers: they have plenty of history to show for themselves too.
The flattest, and the fastest, of all the major marathons. A cliché, but it’s true. Hills make for good viewing but not always the best running. And in case that number 13 seemed small to you, the next closest is London with 6 marathon world records. Or in other words, less than half. I talked about lucky numbers with Sydney, and 13 is the certified opposite, but here that can only mean one thing. That another record is about to be hit by the Berlin Marathon curse.
When was the Berlin Marathon founded?
That curse, and the marathon itself, began in 1974. And, in keeping with the Berlin Marathon legacy, it was only 3 years later that the course saw its first world record. A record which was set by Germany’s very own Christa Vahlensieck. The woman who became the first to ever break the 2:35 barrier. Berlin’s tendency to produce fast times was sparked from within. And it would then go on to spotlight individuals from all across the globe, each with a unique story to tell.
The next stop on that journey was South America. It was 1998, and the men’s 10 year old marathon world record was about to meet its end. An end which was met in style- with cartwheels, in fact. And some samba dancing too. Because Brazilian Ronaldo da Costa had done more than just run fast. He’d made himself the first South American to ever hold a marathon world record. One of two firsts, because up until that point the Berlin Marathon hadn’t seen any male records. And also a last, since no South American has ever managed to reclaim it. Although if you also count the lasting impact he left on the marathon’s history, then maybe you can make that two as well.
What happened at the 2000 Berlin Marathon?
Speaking of two, fast forward that many years later, and the new millennium was reached. An event which is said to be once-in-a-lifetime, and based on what happened at the 2000 Berlin Marathon, the same is probably true there. Pacemaking can make or break a race, and this case, it did both. Simon Biwott from Kenya was a pacemaker that year, and while loyal to the task, it can’t be said he was exactly loyal to the job itself. The pace he set was fast. So fast in fact it brought the winner over the line in 2:07:42. The 5th fastest in the world that year.
Except that winner was him. Instead of dropping out at 28km he carried on, surprising himself and the men who spent most of the race running dutifully behind him, with a spectacular finish. It’s ironic that once the other runners were no longer obliged to follow Biwott’s lead, they found they couldn’t escape it. In the end Simon Biwott ended up winning big that day. Not only did he take home the prize money for first place, but he also still got to reap the benefits of the job he initially set out to fulfil. Which he did fulfil, just maybe a bit too well.
Female world records at the Berlin Marathon
So that’s one way to take advantage of a fast course. Another, perhaps more traditional way, would simply be to enter as a runner and hope you come away with a personal best. Which is exactly what 2001 female winner Naoko Takahashi of Japan did. Her win was the second in what would end up being a 6 year streak of Japanese female champions, but still singular in its own right. No woman had ever run a marathon in less than two hours and twenty minutes before Naoko Takahashi crossed that finish line in 2:19:46. And while that particular world record only lasted 7 days, 25 years later her performance still stands strong.
Up until now the discussion of the Berlin Marathon has centred around metaphorical barriers. Times. From the first female sub-2:35 in 1977, to sub-2:20 in 2001, and most recently Tigist Assefa’s sub-2:12 in 2023. But there’s also a physical barrier of great importance here: the Berlin wall. For the first 16 years of its existence the Berlin Marathon only knew one side of the city. The western half. Yet a country so permanently divided had never been so temporarily united. Political factors may have been pushing them apart but running was pulling them together. Many Eastern Germans would register under false names, anything to experience that one day in early autumn. And when that barrier was finally broken and in 1990 both sides of Berlin crossed for the first time, it wasn’t just the people who were set free. It was their potential too.
The legacy of the Berlin Marathon
Uta Pippig of East Germany’s win that year in a course record was no coincidence. Nor was the fact that the period in which the marathon saw the most world records began with the year the finish was moved to cross the Brandenburg Gate in 2003. It was symbolic. Freedom can be propelling, and the Berlin Marathon is living proof of it.
