Running the Antarctic Ice Marathon in –20°C taught Robin Behl what his daily fitness routine didn’t

Extreme endurance has very little to do with physical fitness.

Running the Antarctic Ice Marathon in –20°C isn’t just about strength or stamina. It’s about what happens to the mind when comfort fades away, routines collapse, and the body becomes the least interesting part of the experience.

People often assume that, as a fitness coach and athletic trainer, my relationship with movement begins and ends in the gym. It doesn’t. I’m drawn to environments that disrupt routine and place me outdoors. In such settings, effort is dictated by terrain, weather, and unpredictability rather than equipment or convenience. 

Climbing mountains, surfing in testing waters, and running marathons have felt less like feats of endurance and more like negotiations with nature. Difficulty doesn’t feel audacious to me; it feels clarifying. When something becomes too comfortable or predictable, its fun factor diminishes. That instinct is what led me to attempt the Antarctic Ice Marathon—42.2 kilometres run in temperatures that can dip to –20°C.

Extreme goals impose structure. They narrow focus, remove decision fatigue, and demand presence. For me, discipline, focus, and consistency aren’t about performance; they’re how I stay oriented in a world that constantly pulls one’s attention in too many directions. 

Why extreme endurance challenges aren’t really about physical fitness

While the official preparation for the Antarctic Ice Marathon spanned eight months involving a structured running programme and strength training thrice a week respectively, and mobility and prehabilitation sessions twice a week along with daily spine work, the reality is that everything I’ve learnt over the past decade fed into this moment. The marathon was special for me. Two days before race day, discomfort felt secondary to clarity. The journey itself, three full days just to reach Antarctica, was a reminder that endurance begins long before the race. 

I was well aware that running in frigid climes was going to hurt, but I dealt with it with gratitude. Ever since my time learning Kung Fu (Wushu) at China’s Shaolin Temple in 2017, I have learned to respect my training environment and my body as equal participants. You don’t fight either; you listen. Giving importance to small aspects like the spine, the joints, breathwork, the stabilising muscles is crucial—details that matter more when nothing is forgiving. 

Choosing discomfort in a culture built around convenience 

Extreme environments often have a way of reordering identity. Being in a sleeping bag in a tent on an icy-cold glacier makes you appreciate warmth. 

Running 42.2 kilometres in -20°C, my first-ever time completing the entire marathon belt, largely in solitude stripped everything down. Antarctica is vast, silent, and indifferent. And yet, what amazed me was the clarity. Without distraction, different perspectives began to flow in, all at once. You start noticing how often opportunity is ignored simply because it feels inconvenient or uncomfortable. 

During the marathon, the dominant emotion within me was gratitude. In moments of strain, I would pause, and remind myself, “Even if you’re hurting, look where you’re hurting”. The landscape reframes perspective. Pain fades into context. 

Solitude on ice is absolute. I was in one of  the most isolated places on earth. Beyond the crew and the other runners, the only constant was the sound of ice and snow.  City life has never been my natural orientation. During the run, silence did the work that noise never allows. It steadies you. It sharpens attention and recalibrates the nervous system. It stays with you long after you return to movement and noise. 

Antarctica was the most recent chapter. Preceding it was a year spent in a beach town in Mexico, followed by reaching the summit of Mount Manaslu in Nepal (8,163 metres above sea level) in 2024. From the outside, this pattern might appear compulsive. For me, these environments function as anchors. It gives structure to ambition and momentum to grow beyond sport alone.

When identity narrows and something sharper remains 

Comfort can lead to complacency. Over time, that ease dulls attention. Athlete or not, growth often comes from choosing situations that introduce a degree of discomfort and staying present within them.Running the Antarctic Ice Marathon reshaped my understanding of both physical and mental endurance in ways I didn’t anticipate. 

There were moments when quitting felt like the simplest option. The impulse to stop was persistent. What the experience taught me was not how to eliminate  those voices, but how to respond to them with restraint. I understood the meaning of taking one step at a time. Progress became literal. In learning to sit with discomfort, motivation began to come from within rather than any external reassurance. 

What stays after the Antarctic Ice Marathon

We often move quickly in pursuit of one goal to the next without pausing to reassess our direction or intention. In Antarctica, I was reminded that we are capable of being present without constant stimulation, and that silence is not as intimidating as it seems. 

Running the Antarctic Ice Marathon humbled me. It reinforced that growth does not always come from acceleration. Sometimes, it comes from slowing down, paying attention, and allowing an experience to recalibrate how you move through the world.