The
Marrakech Half Marathon
January
2013
As
our EasyJet flight took off from a wet and gloomy Gatwick towards
sunny North Africa I did wonder what I'd let myself in for. Months
earlier I'd challenged a running and cycling friend, Warren (though a
non-swimmer), to try a triathlon. He'd accepted, but the quid pro quo
was that I had to do a half marathon with him. I saw an ad for the
Marrakech Half Marathon to be held on January 27th
and thought that if I had to put myself though 21km of pain I might
as well do it somewhere good. Warren agreed.
Marrakech!
Of all the place names in the world that appeal, that has to be in
the top 10, along with others such as Casablanca, Timbuktu, Istanbul,
Buenos Aires and Reykjavik. Places that have lodged in the collective
consciousness since childhood as exotic, nay romantic, destinations
to visit, to see if they could match up to the images we have of
them.
Our
wives granted our respective visas, so early November our entries
were lodged via Running Inspired travel organisers, and the training
commenced. To start with all went well. I developed a target –
break 2 hours and be in the top half of the field. We ran several
times a week, though rarely together as he lives in Norwich. We
separately entered different 10k races, and completed them in times
just 6 seconds apart.
Christmas
came, and all was good. I was ready to step up to do some training
sessions of more than 10k. This was a key distance for me, as that is
the furthest I'd run since I did my one and only half marathon over
30 years ago. But then the snow came. And then work sent me to India
for a week. I did a couple of runs while out there, but only for 45
minutes. On my return came a head cold.
And
then came Jan 25th,
the date of departure, and no long training run had been achieved.
Still, how hard could it be to run twice the distance I can already
do?
Marrakech
immediately lived up to expectations. On arrival the bags were dumped
at the hotel and we went to a tented rooftop restaurant overlooking
the souks of the walled city. The spice smells, the tagines cooking,
the call to prayers, all meant that I immediately knew that whatever
happened during the race this would turn out to be a Good Trip.
Saturday
we spent far too long walking around the old city. Yes, we should
have been resting, preparing, but how could you not explore? We
bartered for goods, we ate delicious freshly cooked foods (on another
roof top restaurant with amazing views towards the Atlas mountains),
we soaked in the atmosphere of a buzzing city. Did I mention the blue
sky and the temperatures of around 23?
Sunday
morning, and our race started at 9. We jogged to the start, just 5
minutes away from the hotel. There were over 3600 entrants queuing,
with another 500 or so already out there doing the full marathon (two
laps of the course).
The
race started, and for the first few minutes it was a case of walking,
barely able to jog let alone run. Relatively quickly the runners
fanned out and the race proper started. I felt good, got into a nice
5mins/km pace, and settled into the rhythm. We left the city, and
started running though orange groves. And then Warren stated that he
needed 'a pit-stop'. He said he'd try to catch me, as I was not going
to stop and wait.
So
I ran on. And on. And on. As we returned to the city there were
crowds everywhere cheering us on. Aged and hooded Berbers with
expressions of incredulity. Hundreds of kids shouting. Ordinary Arab
families just smiling and waving. Soldiers at every junction holding
back the tide of motor bikes, motorised tricycles, donkey carts and
cars. We ran along the old city wall, and then I saw the 12.5k marker
and thought 'it's uncharted territory here, mate”. And my legs
started to complain, and the suffering commenced.
Still,
Warren was behind me somewhere, so that spurred me on. The course was
unbelievably flat. So flat that post race the single hill in the
entire race became a talking point. It consisted of an incline no
more than100m rising no more than3m!
Just
after this 'hill' came the 17.5km marker, and that gave me renewed
energy. Only 3.5km to go! I can do this! A runner started to pass me,
so I managed to up my pace and stay on her shoulder. A km or so later
there was another drinks station, and in the melee I lost contact
with her and couldn't get back the ground. The others around me were
either much faster or much slower. It is so much easier running with
someone, so again my pace fell.
The
last couple of km were so hard. The heat had really come on, the legs
were hurting. All that really kept me going was that Warren was
behind me. I just did not want to be overtaken. The end of the course
is twisty, and there were 100s of spectators that kept shouting
'Nearly there!”. After each bend I'd be hoping to see the finish,
but still it wouldn't come. I swear the last km marker was not
correctly positioned.
Then,
finally, the finish was in sight. I kicked on, determined not to be
overtaken by anyone around me. I stopped the clock at just shy of 1h
56. I had met my first target (though during training I was hoping
for 1h 50). To put that in perspective the winning time was 1.01.09.
And the marathon was won in 2.06.35.
In
conclusion – a fantastic weekend. Huge thanks have to go to our
wives for allowing us to go. It was the most enjoyable race I've ever
done. If Tri Sport Epping members or The Swimmer runners ever want to do a winter sun race I cannot
recommend this one highly enough. For what it's worth, next year is
the 25th
anniversary of their first one.
Oh,
and the second target, to be in the top half of the 3034 male
runners?
I
came 1510th!
