When Warren and I were in Olympia, Greece, we had the following conversation:
“Do you think we should do a marathon?”
“No, too far. We haven’t got the time to train properly”
“True, but shouldn’t we do at least one, to at least be able to say we’ve done one?”
“Not really, I don’t feel I’m missing anything”
“Nor I. These halfs are hard enough, but we can still enjoy the post run festivities”.
We’d had the same conversation, with minor modifications, in Berlin, Lisbon, Marrakech and Copenhagen. So why on earth were we in yet another Ryanair flight heading to Bordeaux to run a marathon?
Wine. That’s the answer in a nutshell. For 33 years the good people of Bordeaux have organised a wine tasting event with a difference – to pass through all 21 wine tasting stops we’d have to run a marathon. And because no-one can drink on an empty stomach the organisers provide 21 food stops supplying hams, cheeses, pate, steak and oysters. Oh, and for good measure we had to run in fancy dress, based on a theme chosen by the organisers.
So, what could go wrong?
For this, the 33rd running of the event, they’d chosen Music in 33rpm (geddit?!). We quickly decided that a) we’d go as the Blues Brothers, and b) we’d spend the whole weekend in character. Matalan was perused, and for £45 each we bought two matching black suits in finest polyester. Matching ties and pork pie hats were also obtained. We already had the appropriate shades, white shirts and white socks.
We were ready!
Well, apart from the training of course. But we decided, bearing in mind our general reluctance to do a marathon, and that it would be rude to miss the wine-stops, that we would treat it as a series of short runs.
How hard could that be?
Friday morning we met up at Stanstead airport, looking the business. We strode confidently into the lounge for breakfast, to be greeted by screams of delight (I exaggerate for effect) from the hostesses, demanding photos be taken with “The Blues Brothers”. We were asked if we were off to a stag do, to which we indignantly replied, “No! We’re running a marathon!”.
Lunch over, we strolled back to the hotel. We had a coach to catch to Paullaic to pick up our race numbers, goody bag and the like. It was there, too, that we would have the evening pasta party. It quickly transpired that we were in the minority in being dressed up for the whole weekend. Still we didn’t mind as food and wine was thrust in our direction and quite a few people wanted pictures taken with us.
And then to the pasta party. It was inside a huge tent, holding around 1,000 people, in the grounds of another Chateau. Naturally there was plenty of wine as an aperitif. Naturally during the course of the dinner the bottles kept coming. Naturally there was a 12 piece band playing classic wedding staples, encouraging lots of dancing. Naturally it finished very late.
As W and I headed, walking very carefully in a straight line, back to the coach for the trip back to the hotel we just looked at each other and an unspoken thought passed between us – perfect pre-marathon preparation!
Saturday morning and breakfast at 5.30am. Another runner wandered over in normal kit, and we asked him what he was planning on wearing. “Nothing”, came the reply, “can’t be bothered this year”.
To say W and I were flabbergasted is an understatement. Not dressing up for this run seemed to us like going to a steak restaurant and ordering fish. Just wrong.
A coach ride later and we were on the start line. I’ll let a few pictures tell the story of the start line. However, the story would not be complete without mentioning the suspended band. Or the acrobats. As an atmosphere for the start it was nothing short of spectacular.
Soon we were off. W and I had decided to do a good stint to start with, so I think our first stop was after 18km where we first sampled the wines on offer. At this point we both felt very good, so set off to do another 7 or 8. At around the 25/26km mark we both commented that everything was going well, and perhaps this marathon malarkey wasn’t too bad.
Km 28 and it started to change. And not because of the extra wine stops. Oh no. We were now doing only 3 or 4 km stops.
I must mention Chateau Rothschild. All the vineyards look good, but when we saw Rothschild’s! Well, each vine seemed to have been grown in identical manners, and not a weed to be seen. And none of this drinking out of plastic cups – nope, for them it was
proper glassware.
On we ran. As we approached the oysters and chilled white wine stop at km 37 I knew I was in deep trouble. No wall had been hit as such, I just knew that everything hurt. Warren still looked relatively comfortable, and though he later said that he was hurting too, he was able to cajole out of me the last few km.
Crossing the line was bliss! Grabbing the obligatory banana, water, medal and celebratory bottle of wine, we slowly walked to the athlete’s tent for the post run nourishment. Where yes, we could further indulge ourselves with wine. And with no running to do, we took full advantage. I then made the mistake of sitting down. And my legs promptly seized up. Could I stand again? No – every time I moved them I cramped up. Took me around a quarter of an hour before I could stand again. Luckily Warren was kind enough to top up my wine during my discomfort as he wisely stayed on his feet.
A few hours later and we jumped (well, walked slowly over to, and pulled ourselves onto) the coach back to the hotel. While on the coach we got chatting to a lady in her 60’s who, with her husband, had flown from New Zealand specifically to take part in this race. We quickly decided to donate one of our bottles to her as we couldn’t fly back with them and we planned on only drinking one bottle as an aperitif before going out to dinner. Which we did. And clearly we got back into our full Blues Brothers suits and headed off to find a decent restaurant where our craving for carbs and (more) wine could be satisfied. Funnily enough Warren and I are pretty good at finding such places.
Sunday morning and back to the airport, still as the Blues Brothers. And there we made the day of some lady and her family in the queue. Her kids were sure we were from Men in Black. Mum got kudos for spotting the correct reference.
On reflection we were very happy about our decision re going as the Blues Brothers. It had provided much entertainment from the moment we’d set off to France, to the final return.
We achieved the run in a shade under 5 hours, and we had managed to enjoy the hospitality of the region appropriately. And now only 1 question remained:
Had we run a marathon?
