Olympia Half Marathon
For our spring run Warren and I decided to go to Olympia, the birthplace of the Olympics. We had a discussion on whether we should run the full marathon distance this time, in honour of the ancient Games. After all, if we're going to ever run one, what better place?
The discussion was short - no. We'd stick to our tried and tested formula of running a half. That is hard enough, but leaves enough energy for a celebratory evening in various bars. For a ridiculously small sum we were entered, bought flights, put up in a 4 star hotel, hired a car and given a t shirt.
Training was patchy. It was winter after all. I'd been playing football, was doing my weekly 6k runs so I thought it wouldn't be that hard. A few days before departure I ran 9km one evening and my legs felt good. I was sure that 21.2 km was very doable, though maybe not in a pb.
Landing in Athens Friday afternoon our first challenge was to find the hire car company. We could see Avis, Hertz etc, but not Goldcar, who had our booked Alfa Guiletta waiting for us. We should have known; since it was booked through Ryanair the car hire place was off-site and we had to get a shuttle coach. Ha! And when we arrived we had not an Alfa but a Fiat Tipo. The guy at the counter did say that the small print had said "or similar" when we booked. Still, it was brand new with 12km on a clock.
It was also the best car in the world as we paid a small supplement to upgrade the insurance to all risks/no excess. We'd be glad of that later. The 4 hour drive to Olympia was great, with the first two thirds motorway, and the last third through the mountains on a twisty windy road with fabulous views.
Arriving late at our hotel (which seemed deserted) we quickly dumped our bags, separated the pushed together single beds (it’s our ritual…..), and headed off to find a tavern for dinner. We discovered that Olympia is a 1 street town, and selected a restaurant that looked inviting despite it being empty. However, that couldn’t be a selection criteria since all the other ones we saw were empty too.
This meal was simple, but excellent. We kicked off with some ouzo, followed by a Greek salad, toasted garlic bread, a moussaka and grilled chicken. We asked for some wine, and were told “we have white, no red, but some pink wine”. We decided on some pink, and the waiter went to the fridge, pulled out a plastic water container that held the wine, and decanted some into a carafe. Wasn’t bad, especially the fourth one. Desert was honeyed apples, of which we’d see a lot over the weekend.
When the bill came it was 40 euros. Between us. So we did the decent thing and left a generous tip, before wandering back to the hotel.
Saturday morning and we drove to Pyrgos (a half marathon distance away, natch) to pick up our registration pack. On arrival we saw a military parade, as it was National Greece Day where they celebrate independence from Ottoman rule c400 years ago. Registration seemed very low key, so I asked how many runners had entered the race. “I think around 100, but could be slightly more” came the reply. This took Warren and I aback, as all the events we’d entered to date had had thousands of runners. Had we entered an elite race by mistake? I was concerned about finishing last.
We then decided to do the tourist thing, and visit the ancient ruins around Olympia. However, we were thwarted in our plans as all public sites were closed due to it being National Greece Day. So rather than just hang about in a bar all day we drove off to a local port, Katakolo, for lunch. What a find it was, and yes, the sardines were caught just offshore.
Following lunch we decided more exploration was needed, so we took the coast road south, looking for another tavern for dinner. Leaving town we saw a brown tourist sign saying “Wine Route”, so naturally we had to take it. Oddly we saw no further signs of vineyard activity, nothing to indicate “come here and see how we make wine, and by the way, buy some if you feel like it”. As I said, odd. A further oddity happened when Warren asked me if there was a road leading to a beach. Looking at the map I found one – dead straight and it stopped maybe 10 yards from the sea on a tiny beach. Shame we hadn’t brought our cozzies.
Driving on, we stopped briefly at what looked like a half-finished marina (Greek economic crash?), and received directions to a recommended place even further South. During the drive we saw a road sign with some magical words for guys of our generation – Navarone! Looking around we saw what looked like a fortification at the top of a cliff – we’d found the Guns of Navarone! It was getting too late to climb to and explore, so we continued along the rapidly deteriorating road towards our destination. The road became a track. It then became heavily rutted track, suited to a 4x4 if anything.
Still, nothing that an all risks/no excess hire car couldn’t handle.
We exited the track, re-joined the road, and found a gem of a place for dinner. ‘Nuff said.
Sunday morning came and we boarded the coach that would take us to the start line at Pyrgos. My fears about it being an elite race were quickly dissipated – only a few of our fellow runners looked elite. Warren and I were able to have last minute coffees just yards from the start line. The start was quite easy, but 15 minutes in we turned a corner and saw a climb. Which seemed to go for ever though in reality took 30 minutes.
Halfway up there was a drinks station, with some supporters waiting to cheer on their friends and family. One rather pretty lady shouted “Bravo!” and clapped as I passed, to which I responded with a grimace as the climb had been long. With only a few hundred yards to go to the top I just couldn’t keep with Warren and he opened a gap.
The race then became a long flat run along an A road, with cones placed at intervals to keep the cars away from us. Guys and girls on bikes would pedal past offering water and encouragement. I read later there were more volunteer marshals than runners.
Halfway along this flat run I pass again the pretty lady, and this time I could utter a simple “thanks!” as I ran past. Of course by now I was hurting. My training was clearly insufficient, and I was going to do well to break 2 hours. With a few km to go another hill presented itself. Ye Gods, it was much shorter than the last one, but it was steep. Looking behind me a saw a small group of runners catching. “Right, I’ll wait until they pass me, then I’ll walk a bit”, I decided. As they did, I looked ahead. And yes, there was the pretty lady yet again waiting to cheer on whoever. There was no way I was going to walk past her! Digging deep, I ran on. Once past her I decided that the top wasn’t ‘that’ far away, and ploughed on. And made it to the top without falter. Then it was downhill all the way to the finish, which was along the high street.
All the bars and restaurants were full, and everyone was cheering the runners for the last km to the finish line. I made it in 1hr 55. Warren around 5 minutes quicker.
And then we could finally go and see some ruins. Which, for those that have been to Rome, are not impressive. Basically lots of collapsed stones, and not easy to visualise what had once stood there. Still, we’d done the culture bit.
We wanted to freshen up before the evening festivities, so went back to the hotel. When they found out that Warren had podiumed they brought us some cake to celebrate! I tried to buy some bubbly to go with it, but sadly they had none.
For our final night we headed to a bar I’d noticed down a side alley, and sure enough when we entered we thought it would be a good base. I ordered two Negronis to the bemusement of the bar lady. We taught her the recipe which is very easy – equal parts Gin, Campari and Red Vermouth. She’d never had one, but approved when she made herself one. At 5 euros a glass we had to have more than one. We only left when she ran out of the vermouth.
For dinner she directed us to “easily the best restaurant in Olympia”, which was off the beaten path. She wasn’t wrong. Grilled sea bream. Stuffed octopus. Yet more carafes of good house wine. I should mention that every restaurant/bar we entered during the weekend, bar the Sunday lunch, were basically empty. Again, a reflection of the Greek economy?
Sunday morning was an uneventful drive back to the airport where we said farewell to the Fiat Tipo (great car), and waited for our flight back to the UK. Yet another hugely successful weekend trip was nearly over.
Browsing the internet to remind myself of the details of the Guns of Navarone, I made a terrible discovery. There were no such guns in World War II, and in any case were set in a fictitious island in the East of the Aegean Sea, nowhere near Olympia.
A little part of me dies inside.
