"Never Go Back" Marrakech - Jan 2014

“Never go back”

A year earlier I’d gone to Marrakech with Warren, an old friend, to take part in their half marathon, set around the historic Medina, the orange groves and gardens. It proved to be such a superb weekend that we’d vowed to return. The return would also allow Warren a chance to gain revenge in terms of the race.

So once again on a miserable January Friday afternoon we took off from Gatwick for Morocco and the winter sun. We’d made some changes for this trip. Instead of a fairly standard international hotel we’d booked the Riad Charai, a traditional Moroccan guest house (www.riadcharai.com).

Words, especially my words, cannot do justice to the gem we found ourselves staying in. You knock on a nondescript wooden door in the wall in a random alley, and enter an oasis of calm, beauty and serenity. The transformation between the hustle of a Moroccan street market area and the Riad is remarkable. The short walk to the pool from reception is lined with orange trees. I will say no more. Interested readers can follow the link above.

What we didn’t change, however, was the first night’s restaurant. A beautiful location above a carpet ‘shop’, tented and heated overlooking the Medina. And the food is pretty good too.

The climate in Marrakech was as last year’s – daytime temperatures peak in the low to mid 20’s, but falls quickly at dusk to mid single digits. As such small heaters are needed to be comfortable eating outdoors. And eating outdoors is one of the experiences that make Marrakech such a great place to visit.

As last year, Saturday morning was spent wandering around the old souk. We also were given a tour of the tannery, complete with Moroccan gas marks - bunches of mint held to our noses. I felt like a character out of an E M Forster novel, but to be truthful, I didn't care - the smell was unbelievable.

The afternoon, however, was an improvement in that we spent it lounging on the Riad’s sun terraces ‘getting some rays’. In the distance we could see the snow capped Atlas mountain range. We were told that a ski resort is only an hour’s drive away.

Sunday morning – race day. Being honest, my training had not gone to plan. I hadn’t stuck to the schedule during November and December. In early January a family holiday and a business trip to India further interrupted training. Still, I wasn’t unfit, and I’d done it before. How much harder could it be?

From the Riad we took a short taxi ride to the starting area and at 9.15 we were off. Warren set the pace, and it was a comfortable one. As before there were thousands of runners, and it was a good kilometre before we had enough space around us to simply get in the groove. The route was basically a loop around the medina, passing through orange groves, various gardens, main roads, paths etc.

After a while I looked at my watch and saw that we’d been running for and hour and 10 minutes. I felt fine, frankly, and checked with Warren that my watch was, indeed, correct. It was, and he said that we’d covered over 13 km.

“Great”, I replied, “we’re well on the home straight”. I started to think about the finish, and should I say to Warren at the 1 km to go marker: “we’re racing each other from here, aren’t we?”

Hubris*

That’s the only, the perfect, word for it. For a couple of km later my stomach sent me a small signal to say that it was there. And my legs started to let me know that maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t enough gas in the tank.

The run then took on a yoyo type quality, with Warren starting to edge a few yards ahead, and I would do a short sprint to catch up. At the 17.5 km marker my stomach sent a much stronger signal that it was there, and my legs refused to close the gap to Warren.

When his lead stretched to 100 yards and my legs going I had to focus less on racing him, and much more on an impending Paula Radcliffe moment. I walked a bit. I jogged a bit. The cramps were really focussing my attention, and I stopped looking at runners, the crowds etc. I was only looking for one thing. I turned a corner, and bliss – a hotel!

A few minutes later I was back on course. The legs were still grumbling, and a walk/jog to the finish was all they would let me do. Last year’s time of 1h 54 was safe. This year I took just over 2 hours. Warren finished in 1h 53. As an aside, one of the fringe benefits of doing this race is the incredible post race nectarines and dates that are given to finishers. The nectarines are simply the juiciest, tastiest ones I’ve ever had.

Post race we walked slowly to the same restaurant as last year – a Lebanese place serving mixed meze and beer in a sun trap. We followed lunch with a few drinks on the sun terrace back at the Riad before heading out for the evening.

More Moroccan wine was drunk, and during the evening we realised that if we’d listened to the naysayers who trumpet “never go back” then this weekend, that had been even more spectacular than last year’s, would never have happened.

And we also realised that the race scores for the Marrakech event now stood at one apiece.

Isn’t there a man rule that says “Decider, 2015”?

*Hubris (/ˈhjuːbrɪs/, also hybris, from ancient Greek ὕβρις), means extreme pride or arrogance. Hubris often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence, accomplishments or capabilities