My Marathon Career

It’s 6.20am and I have just made my contribution to the crowd of people jostling to board one of the 30 odd busses that lined Vas. Konstantinou in Athens. Deep Heat and liniment forms a fug around us. Behind us, lit up against the last remnants of night sky is Panthinaiko Stadium.

Historical note: The stadium was originally used in ancient times to host the athletic events in the ancient sporting games. It was rebuilt in 1896 for the Olympic Games and is constructed entirely of white marble.

My note: the stadium is now used as the end point of the Athens marathon. It looks nice, but only has three sides (well marble is expensive).

Having worked out that queuing is not a word of Greek derivation I elbowed my way onto a bus and took one last look at the stadium. Logic pointed out how ridiculous it is to travel 42.2km by bus only to be dropped off and run back to where I am now. Far easier just to disembark now. Sense of occasion told me that logic was being a dick. I agreed, told logic to shut up and tried to sleep. I did not want to see the course, whilst making my porridge that morning a Canadian couple had told me that it is all uphill after the first 10km. I decided that, as I could do nothing about that, ignorance of what was to come would be better than trepidation.

By the time we were dropped off in Marathon the sun was coyly peaking over the side of the mountain and the morning breeze made it feel a lot cooler than the 16 degrees Celsius indicated on the board by the start.

Historical Note: Marathon was the place where, in 490BC, the Greeks and Persians had a battle. The Greeks won.

My note: In 2008 AD Marathon is a scrubby village with a nice sports stadium. Every tourist who has ever visited it has, in their head at least, made a joke about calling it Snickers.

With over an hour until the start I decided to find some shelter from the wind. I chose a position that allowed me a good view of the meticulously prepared starting area. They had held an opening ceremony the day before with a flame being lit just like in the Olympics. There was also an old stone by the flame.

Historical Note: The old stone had been excavated when the stadium in Marathon had been rebuilt for the 2004 Olympics. Some writing on it indicated to the clever Greek archaeologists that it was the very stone that had been used as the start of the marathon in 1896.

My note: I am no geologist but it was a nice looking stone. The writing looked suspiciously recent.

The whole event had been very impressively planned. The registration process the day before had been quick and simple. Today had gone as smoothly as the marble that was about to chill the posteriors of the VIPs waiting at the finish line. It was clear that this event meant a lot to the Athenian authorities. They wanted a proper marathon, they wanted to reclaim their event. Not for the first challenge I found myself wondering how a chump like me had got into an event like this.

“Bet you wish you were wearing long sleeves”, an American accent brought me out of my self-deprecation. That was good, I had just decided to find somebody to talk to and he had saved me the much needed energy. However, it turned out this was not soi much a conversation as a soliloquy. Uninvited information I discovered (and I am sparing you his supercilious detail) included, this was his 20th marathon this year, he had done 50 in total because amrathons were his warm up runs because he is an ultra runner who preferred to travel 50 plus miles across deserts and other wilderness. Marathons did not exhaust him and his ex-girlfriend was even more into it than him (man, she had energy). He fitted his exercise around his job in television. He had just had a dump but there was no toilet paper and he hadn’t had breakfast, which did not worry him because he did not need the energy as amrathons are so easy. Also he had got laid last night.

“Do you travel as part of a team?” I asked him.
“No, man” he replied, making an exaggerated mime of tugging at his crotch, “I don’t want hangers on taking y glory”.

I nodded, but thought that it would at least give him someone to talk to. The announcer finished telling us about the stone for the third time and asked all those who had not yet dropped their excess clothes off to do so immediately. I didn’t need a second invitation to escape.

Bang on 9 o’clock a gun was fired, a load of balloons were set free and several thousand runners shuffled forwards. The bunching spread out surprisingly quickly and soon we were running. And it was hot. My tactic was to just plod on. I had not taken a watch, I though I would listen to my body, and take stock every 10km, hoping that by splitting the run up like that it would seem less daunting.

0-10km – hot, mostly flay and I felt quite comfortable. At about 6km there was a statue of Fidippides and several runners stopped to have a picture taken with it.

Historical note: After Greece won the battle Fiddipides was the soldier given the task of going to Athens to spread word of the victory. He ran all the way, passed on the information and died.

My note: The statue has been erected at a point where the route doubles back on itself, indicating that if we are following in his footsteps Fiddipides did not have a great sense of direction. Also, apparently there is a shorter flatter route to Athens – maybe if he had followed that he would not have died.

We passed through a village where the local school’s brass band was playing for us. I distracted myself by observing the different nationalities taking part. Just about every country in Europe seemed to be covered and USA and Canada had a lot of representatives. Clearly the majority were Greek, and in their singlets they revealed just how hirsute a nation they are. You could have knitted several jumpers from the hair on their backs and shoulders. And the men were even worse (boom tish). Official Time to 10km 55:03.

10-20km – Hotter, mostly uphill with one short, steep downhill. Feet hurting from the pounding but otherwise fine, I knew I was going well because the song that popped into my head was good – Painting and Kissing by Hefner. I spent much of this spell talking to a very pleasant guy from Essex/Andover/Middlesborough who was running with his army unit in aid of the Poppy Appeal. He told me that he had done the London Marathon a few times, almost always with a time of 3hours 30 to 3 hours 45 but this course was tougher and he would be delighted to beat 4 hours. I left him behind at about 17km, although I am not sure if he was fading or if he stopped for the toilet. Official Time to 21km 1:54:31

20-30km – Hotter still, all uphill, Out of Jail by They Might Be Giants. For the most part I was still feeling pretty good and was getting excited at the countdown for the last 10 that was approaching. I had been distracting myself by trying to work out what the Latin Alphabet equivalents of Greek letters were. I was still managing to smile at the old ladies shouting “bravo”. But then, at about 27km my left knee started to hurt and my right calf felt very tight. Both legs deciding to give me trouble together. I tried to change my gait to take pressure of the left knee and right calf but in reality I think this just meant slowing down a bit. I had no intention of stopping until the pain made it impossible to continue so just hoped I could run it off. Official Time to 30km 2:42:54.

30-40km – very hot, the downhill started at about 33km and did not stop. I was counting down to the end and whilst my legs were feeling the pounding, I was not out of breath. I was beginning to look out for the distance markers and the songs had stopped completely. By about 35km the aching passed in both knee and calf and I picked up the pace a bit, I was overtaking more people than were overtaking me.

40km – finish – I felt pretty good, no wall hit and the end very much in sight. I picked up the pace with the intention of accelerating significantly at 41km, but then did not see the 41km marker. By the time the stadium came into view I was travelling quicker than anybody else around me and put on as close as I could a sprint finish for the end. Grimacing and shouting at people to get out of the way. I went under the finish line as the clock ticked 3.48.59. I hoped there had been more than 4 minutes between the gun and me crossing the start line. As it turned out I had been 3minutes and 53 seconds crossing the start line – Official time to finish 3:45:06. Those 6 seconds do irritate me.

Challenge complete.

So what to make of marathons? I hate to sound like an American ultra runner but they are in my opinion* overrated. I certainly had an adrenalin rush after finishing and my legs ached for a couple of days but I was not out of breath and did not feel as bad as the media images make you think you will. In fact, as far as I can tell they are designed for one thing only, damaging your legs. I am very glad I have done it but unlike a lot of the other challenges, which were equally demanding, if not more so, I have not come out of this thinking I may do another one. Paula Radcliffe did not finish this course, Fidippides died at the end of it. I might as well quit while I'm ahead.


*Although I am not sure who else’s opinion you were expecting.