In the first stages of the marathon, during those times when I was still gliding along like a gazelle in full flight the cries of "Allez!*" made me smile. All the cheering, the encouragement, the support from strangers lining the roads of Paris, the bands, the bongo drums (the French seem to have a weird affinity with bongo drums), the singing. By the end, particularly when I was at the walk/shuffle stage and my body felt as though it had been kicked by a thousand bulls, I had even given up nodding acknowledgements (and Lord knows waving was well and truly beyond me) preferring to conserve what limited energy I had left by simply staring straight ahead. If I ever managed to finish this thing (and I swear there were times I truly thought it was never going to end) and once I finally recovered from being dehydrated and delirious, I was getting down on bended knee and thanking my lucky stars that I had survived it.
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| 2011 Paris Marathon (10.04.2011) |
Finally, marathon day has arrived. The day I've been planning for, training for, scrupulously preparing for.
Oh wait, no I haven't. I'm thinking of Online Trainer. I haven't done anything apart from my usual gym classes and a few short, panicked runs a week or two before I left for Paris (as you can see, I don't bother with a taper). Despite over four months worth of training plans, training tips, and weekly encouragement messages (petulantly ignored by me) which rapidly turned into more frequent and repeated begging and pleading emails from Online Trainer ("just 20 minutes, can you fit in even a quick 20 minute run?...") I did not actually train for a marathon. I might teach fitness classes for a hobby but as it turns out, Body Attack and Body Pump** do not a marathon-runner make.
Oh wait, no I haven't. I'm thinking of Online Trainer. I haven't done anything apart from my usual gym classes and a few short, panicked runs a week or two before I left for Paris (as you can see, I don't bother with a taper). Despite over four months worth of training plans, training tips, and weekly encouragement messages (petulantly ignored by me) which rapidly turned into more frequent and repeated begging and pleading emails from Online Trainer ("just 20 minutes, can you fit in even a quick 20 minute run?...") I did not actually train for a marathon. I might teach fitness classes for a hobby but as it turns out, Body Attack and Body Pump** do not a marathon-runner make.
It's a long way, 42km. Conceptually I know this. It's a long way to drive, let alone run.
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| Near the Hotel de Ville, approx 3km mark [Image courtesy of Apple 10.04.2011] |
Nerves only really started to set in while sitting on the Metro heading to the starting line on the Champs Elysee. We were surrounded by fit, competent, well-trained, prepared marathon runners. They looked excited. They looked ready to rock and roll. They were even smiling, for God's sake. I pursed my lips. This was shaping up to be a bit of a daunting day. The one fortunate thing in my corner (ok, there were two) was that the weather had dawned a beautiful blue-skied, sunny and most importantly, clear, cloudless and rain-free day, and the other was that I had Online Trainer faithfully by my side. Undeservedly so.
Since I had already broken Golden Race Rule #1 (Thou shalt train for big events), it wasn't much of a stretch to break Golden Race Rule #2 (Thou shalt not wear untested, brand-new gear on race day). However Online Trainer had kindly arranged a surprise (as if I hadn't had enough surprises) . To commemorate my inaugural marathon he had arranged for a beautiful pair of Nike ID LunarGlides for me to run in. And yes, the first time I slid my little feet snugly into them was on race day.
Despite what you think, I can read your mind. What fool decides to wear brand-new running shoes to run a marathon? In Paris? On race day?
Nike: pay attention - this is the bit where I give you free advertising. Because I am a bit of a Nike fan and am usually dressed from head to toe in Nike (I only deviate for Stella McCartney running shorts), I often look as though I am sponsored by them (except that, annoyingly, I have to pay for all my gear). So let's talk LunarGlides. LunarGlides 2 with the flywire, to be specific. Putting aside the fact they look so fashionably cutting-edge and gorgeous, much like a pair of Ugg Boots*** they are incredibly soft and comfortable and it's comforting to know a person can quite literally take a new pair out of a box and run a marathon in them. Even if it isn't usually recommended for race day. I am living proof. I ran 42km with a new pair of LunarGlides and by the end of the race I did not have one blister or soreness at all from the shoes. Remarkable for any shoe over that distance, let alone a brand new pair. They performed superbly. And you get to look good at the same time.
In essence I ran/plodded/shuffled/walked and whinged (roughly in that order) the marathon in Paris and was on track for a respectable 4-4:15 finish (even including my many toilet breaks). At 32km I thought I was doing well. I'd run the lion's share of this marathon and so far, it was all going ok. Sure, I was tired. Sure, the body was feeling sore, the limbs were taking a pounding, the muscles were starting to seize up, but all things considered, it was going reasonably well. Only 10 more kilometres to go and we were done. Surely I could do 10 more? After all, I'd just done 32, right?
Wrong. So, so, so wrong.
They say that anything can happen during a marathon. I'm told you can be as prepared as even the most elite of professional athletes and still, on the day, your life is in the hands of the Gods. Things can still go either way. Obviously being prepared will reduce the chance of this happening but it still won't eliminate it.
At 35km it all went horribly wrong. The wheels came off then the whole damn car fell apart and it ended up taking me a credibility-crushing 1hr and 10 mins (I think, if my traumatised brain can remember correctly) to finish the last 7km. How embarrassing. But the good news is, I have a medal to show for it. And it's gold too. You've got to hand it to the French. They'll paint anything gold, even if you're not a winner.
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| Pretending to be thrilled at 28km [Image courtesy of Apple 10.04.2011] |
Here's how it went: after only 5km I decided I needed to go. Whether through nerves or Online Trainer forcing water down my throat pre-race, my first toilet break ended up being at McDonald's. There was simply nowhere else to go.
Many years ago during my 37 day European Contiki tour, our guide (a Kiwi named Saxon) helpfully proffered maps, all of them showing where McDonald's were located in every major city in Europe. According to Saxon, while you had to pay to use public toilets in Europe (a concept so foreign to Antipodeans it was almost akin to not knowing how to swim - who doesn't know how to swim?), McDonald's toilets were always free. Keep the maps handy, was his sound advice.
It was unfortunate then that I managed to locate the only McDonald's in all of Europe with fee-paying toilets. I had no money; I was after all, in the middle of running a marathon. I'm not sure if it was the stricken expression on my face that did it but thankfully the McDonald's employee took pity on me and let me in. Looking back now, toilet stop #1 was six star luxury by comparison to any of the others that followed. One word: feral.
Prior to the marathon there had been many a discussion (degenerating into mild argument degenerating into mild fight) as to how this marathon would be run. I urged Online Trainer to go ahead and run his usual (infuriatingly, inhumanely fast) race. I was prepared (ok, not a good choice of word because let's face it, I was prepared for nothing) to plod along on my own and finish when I finish, if I finished at all.
Online Trainer would have none of it. He's a gallant soul, our Online Trainer. Annoyingly, he refused to run his own race so instead I put him to good use as my personal fuel-carrier. He carted around my gels for me, handed them to me at the requisite moments, I sent him into the fray at the water points to get my drinks for me, and made him carry the extra bottles I demanded he bring back. Serves him right. He should have just gone ahead and run a 3:06 like he usually does and then none of this would have happened. As it is I've ruined his marathon average time from here to eternity but men are fools and will not be told. Bless him though, he didn't get cross once, not even when I blamed him for making me run a marathon on no training.
It was a bit like I imagine child birth to be now that I think about it. I cursed and blamed him for all the pain I was going through and he very kindly said nothing but provided me with food, water and encouragement. At worst, he suggested I put the iPod on, no doubt to drown out my whining and complaining. Of course, I refused. Who is he fooling? Everyone knows there is no fun at all drowning in pain and sorrow and not being able to burden those within earshot.
It was a bit like I imagine child birth to be now that I think about it. I cursed and blamed him for all the pain I was going through and he very kindly said nothing but provided me with food, water and encouragement. At worst, he suggested I put the iPod on, no doubt to drown out my whining and complaining. Of course, I refused. Who is he fooling? Everyone knows there is no fun at all drowning in pain and sorrow and not being able to burden those within earshot.
Well, he won't be rushing to run a race with me again too quickly, will he.
I wasn't sure if I'd cry or not when I crossed the finish line at the Arc de Triomphe. Tears had threatened at times during those last 7km whether through frustration or weariness, pain or pathetic-ness, or just from being plain, flat-out delirious. If Online Trainer noticed, he compassionately never said a word. I know I silently swore (and I mean swore) I would never, ever, ever do another marathon as long as I lived because I passionately hated every step of those last few diabolically long kilometres. But ask me again now and I'm not so sure. I know I felt so disappointed when I did finally cross that finish line that I hadn't done a better job of it. Even though Online Trainer professed with what looked suspiciously like actual sincerity that he was proud I had done it, I know I wasn't proud. I was pleased I had done it and Lord knows I was over the moon the f**g thing was over with, and there were many, many things I was feeling at the time (relief, tiredness, dehydration, pain, an overwhelming desire to find a toilet as quickly as possible) but I genuinely know pride was not one of those things.
* 'Allez' means 'go' in French. Something I didn't work out until recently.
** Body Attack: sports inspired cardio workout that builds strength and stamina. Body Pump: weight training class that strengthens and tones your entire body. Great base training but not quite enough for preparing the body to run 42km. 42.2km, to be precise.
*** Ugg Boots: sheepskin boots made of sheepskin with fleece on the inside and with a tanned outer surface, usually with a synthetic sole. Made for wearing around the house in the dark of winter. For some reason, celebrities took to wearing these outside, were photographed doing so, and suddenly teenagers globally wear them as a fashion accessory. Even, ridiculously, in summer.
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| The Champs Elysee post-42km finish. The smiles are fake. [Image courtesy of Apple 10.04.2011] |
Apple was there at the finish line, faithfully waiting to take our post-race photo. Fatigado, on the other hand, had been exhausted by our marathon and had gone home to rest.
* 'Allez' means 'go' in French. Something I didn't work out until recently.
** Body Attack: sports inspired cardio workout that builds strength and stamina. Body Pump: weight training class that strengthens and tones your entire body. Great base training but not quite enough for preparing the body to run 42km. 42.2km, to be precise.
*** Ugg Boots: sheepskin boots made of sheepskin with fleece on the inside and with a tanned outer surface, usually with a synthetic sole. Made for wearing around the house in the dark of winter. For some reason, celebrities took to wearing these outside, were photographed doing so, and suddenly teenagers globally wear them as a fashion accessory. Even, ridiculously, in summer.
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