The Marathon That Shouldn’t Have Happened

My name is Adam Kourakis, and I’m the Race Director at Somersault. It’s my job to plan every detail of our races: from course design and permits, to hiring staff and police, to buying all the bananas, and I genuinely love what I do.

Over the past five years, I’ve organized more than 60 races and worked at over 100 other Somersault events before becoming Race Director. I’ve also participated in more than 100 races myself. Triathlons, running races, bike races, and more. I enjoy a wide range of sports, but never really mastered any single one, which is probably why triathlon suits me so well.

Even with all that experience and passion, I’m not immune to mistakes.

This is the story of how I unintentionally ran a full marathon on a 106-metre indoor track, with one window, no company, fluorescent lighting, and a few other hard-to-believe features.

When I was 18, I ran my first marathon. I had always enjoyed running and knew about the marathon distance, but it felt like a huge leap from the casual running I’d been doing. One day, I found myself wondering how hard a marathon actually was. So I laced up my shoes and started running.

I went to my local high school track and ran 105.5 laps on gravel until my watch read 42.2 km. It was harder than I expected but I was also surprised by what I could do. I didn’t think I could run a marathon, but with a bit of luck, stubbornness, and the kind of naïveté only an 18-year-old can have, I did it.

I was hooked.

I started thinking about how few people my age ran marathons, and then wondered how old I’d be when I ran my last one. That’s when the idea hit me: Wouldn’t it be cool to run a marathon every year until I couldn’t anymore?

I’m 34 years old now, and I’ve run 17 marathons. I’ve completed one every year, with one exception - a year when I did two (a solo marathon and an Ironman triathlon).

2025 was supposed to be no different.

I originally planned to run my marathon in September, but training didn’t happen the way I’d hoped, and work at Somersault kept me busier than expected. I pushed it to October.

October became November. November became December. I wasn’t any fitter than I’d been in September.

By mid-December, I finally sat down and tried to lock in a date so my 16-year streak wouldn’t end.

My wife is a nurse and works shifts, which meant there were days I couldn’t run because I was watching our daughter. Other days were booked with holiday plans. Some days, we were travelling to see family. Eventually, it became clear that there was only one possible day left: December 30th.

There was no room for error. If I couldn’t run a full marathon that day, I wouldn’t have time to recover and try again. Any later, and it would be a new year, and no marathon for 2025.

We were visiting my in-laws in Kitchener, Ontario, and I told them the plan ahead of time. I scheduled the run for the morning so I’d still be around for the rest of the day.

Then the ice storm hit.

On December 29th and 30th, Kitchener was covered in ice. When I woke up on the 30th, the roads were terrible, the sidewalks hadn’t been cleared, and the forecast called for more ice, snow, rain, and wind all day.

That’s when my brother-in-law made a suggestion. “The local YMCA has a running track.” 

That simple sentence was all I needed.

I looked it up online and saw that the YMCA advertised a 160-metre track. There were no photos or additional details, which, in hindsight, may have been a blessing. If I’d known more about what was waiting for me, I might have tried my luck outside.

When I arrived, I quickly realized the track wasn’t 160 metres. It was 106 metres. That meant I’d need to run 395 laps to complete a marathon.

At that point, I was already dressed, had set up a few water bottles in the corner, and was mentally committed. So I started running. 

This marathon became a true test of mental strength. The track was only two lanes wide, and that day you had to run counter-clockwise. I had hoped to switch directions occasionally, but that wasn’t an option. The walls were close on both sides, painted white, and made of concrete. The lights were fluorescent, and the ceiling was low. There was no art, no colour, nothing to look at.

There was one small window, but it was a really tight space that would bring out the claustrophobia in anyone.

Every 106 metres, it the window reminded me of what I could have been running in. It looked out onto the highway - nothing scenic, just a few cars crawling along far too fast for the conditions.

The floor was covered in peel-and-stick panels that were slippery when wet and squeaked constantly.

Each corner had a wheelchair ramp, which meant that every 26 metres I had to make a tight 90-degree turn, run up or down a ramp, take a few strides on the straightaway, and do it all over again.

The track wasn’t busy, but I was the only person running. A dozen or so people walked laps, and trying to stay out of everyone’s way was a constant challenge. I had hoped to get in, run my laps, and leave, but the short track, tight turns, walkers, and complete lack of stimulation made it incredibly difficult to maintain any rhythm.

After running 16 marathons, I knew that I could run a sub-4-hour finish this year with the fitness I had. That idea disappeared quickly. I couldn’t run faster than about 6:30 per kilometre, and it became clear that I’d be there much longer than expected.

So I put my head down and kept moving.

And that was it. I ran for what felt like forever.

Every 106 metres, I hit the lap button on my watch to keep track. Each lap took me past my makeshift aid station, where I grabbed water or electrolytes. Over the course of the run, I ate three XACT energy bars and drank a few bottles of water - far less than I normally would, but the prison-like atmosphere made food lose all appeal. I just wanted to finish.

After nearly six hours, I did. The streak lives on!

For 2026, my New Year’s resolution is simple: run another marathon. Hopefully, under better conditions. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll use my Race Director skills to make this one memorable for the right reasons.