¡Vamos! ¡Animo! ¡Bravo! ¡Arriva, arriva! ¡Campeones!
These were some of the cries that accompanied many thousands of us for most of 3 and a half hours (in my case) as we were running the Madrid marathon last Sunday 22nd April. The supporters were enthusiastic, at times even too much so as they encroached on the course leaving barely enough space for the runners to pass. It was certainly uplifting, and the exact opposite of the grumpy, indifferent, sometimes bordering on hostile spirit shown by some waiters and hotel staff during my long weekend in Madrid, but that's another story.
Admittedly, the "Campeones" may have had something to do with the fact that just a few hours earlier Real Madrid had just beaten Barcelona in the latest El Clasico that fired up the nation's imagination the evening before, and thereby almost certainly taking the Spanish football championship away from their arch rivals. There was an air of elation in Madrid that morning (not shared, of course, by the waiters...) highlighted for example by the fact that just a few minutes into the marathon a group of runners burst out chanting, to much general hilarity, "Campeones, campeones, olè, olè, olè..."
Apart from some strange organisational quirks (more about this later) and a heart- and leg-sapping 5km uphill stretch almost at the very end, it was an enjoyable experience. In spite of being hemmed in by about 20,000 other participants, including those for a 10km race, we were able to start running at a normal pace almost at once. My target pace was 5 minutes per kilometre, and the plan was to go a bit slower in the first 6km (also uphill), gain a few seconds each km for the next 30km that were generally downhill, and hope for the best in the uphill stretch at the end.
The plan worked admirably well except for the hope-for-the-best bit. I remember actually looking forward to the point when my watch would show it was clearly impossible to reach the target time, so that I could then simply concentrate on covering the distance and forget the time splits. They were not an easy final 6km at all, but I never stopped running, which is not what can be said for many others who had slowed down to a walk.
It takes all sorts... Close to the finishing line I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw a man running the final few hundred metres of the marathon carrying his young son on his shoulders! How could he ever do that? I could barely carry my own weight at that point, although I did manage to finish in a respectable 3h34:31, at around 2600th place from close to 10,000 finishers.
Then we had to trudge for what seemed like eternity to get to our clothes bag, placed even further away from the nearest metro stop. We had had to deposit this bag containing our clothes and belongings there just before the start and then use public transport to get to the starting point of the marathon, a good 2 to 3km away, wearing just our running gear in the still chilly morning temperature. At the hotel, we had ever so kindly been offered a bus trip from the hotel to the start of the marathon, but not for our clothes bag that would presumably fly by itself towards the finishing line...
Such logistical irritations, that needed resolving through careful forward planning, and a pre-marathon pasta party that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, did not mar in any way what was a largely pleasant experience.
Ah, yes, the rock'n'roll theme. Never mind. I went to Madrid to run a marathon there, and run a marathon is what I did, but I did get myself a funky tee-shirt, a handy sports bag and a glittery, rock'n'rolly medal.
Adios, Espana. I will now look forward to my fourteenth marathon.
http://es.competitor.com/madrid/madrid-splash/?lang=en
These were some of the cries that accompanied many thousands of us for most of 3 and a half hours (in my case) as we were running the Madrid marathon last Sunday 22nd April. The supporters were enthusiastic, at times even too much so as they encroached on the course leaving barely enough space for the runners to pass. It was certainly uplifting, and the exact opposite of the grumpy, indifferent, sometimes bordering on hostile spirit shown by some waiters and hotel staff during my long weekend in Madrid, but that's another story.
Admittedly, the "Campeones" may have had something to do with the fact that just a few hours earlier Real Madrid had just beaten Barcelona in the latest El Clasico that fired up the nation's imagination the evening before, and thereby almost certainly taking the Spanish football championship away from their arch rivals. There was an air of elation in Madrid that morning (not shared, of course, by the waiters...) highlighted for example by the fact that just a few minutes into the marathon a group of runners burst out chanting, to much general hilarity, "Campeones, campeones, olè, olè, olè..."
Apart from some strange organisational quirks (more about this later) and a heart- and leg-sapping 5km uphill stretch almost at the very end, it was an enjoyable experience. In spite of being hemmed in by about 20,000 other participants, including those for a 10km race, we were able to start running at a normal pace almost at once. My target pace was 5 minutes per kilometre, and the plan was to go a bit slower in the first 6km (also uphill), gain a few seconds each km for the next 30km that were generally downhill, and hope for the best in the uphill stretch at the end.
The plan worked admirably well except for the hope-for-the-best bit. I remember actually looking forward to the point when my watch would show it was clearly impossible to reach the target time, so that I could then simply concentrate on covering the distance and forget the time splits. They were not an easy final 6km at all, but I never stopped running, which is not what can be said for many others who had slowed down to a walk.
It takes all sorts... Close to the finishing line I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw a man running the final few hundred metres of the marathon carrying his young son on his shoulders! How could he ever do that? I could barely carry my own weight at that point, although I did manage to finish in a respectable 3h34:31, at around 2600th place from close to 10,000 finishers.
Then we had to trudge for what seemed like eternity to get to our clothes bag, placed even further away from the nearest metro stop. We had had to deposit this bag containing our clothes and belongings there just before the start and then use public transport to get to the starting point of the marathon, a good 2 to 3km away, wearing just our running gear in the still chilly morning temperature. At the hotel, we had ever so kindly been offered a bus trip from the hotel to the start of the marathon, but not for our clothes bag that would presumably fly by itself towards the finishing line...
Such logistical irritations, that needed resolving through careful forward planning, and a pre-marathon pasta party that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, did not mar in any way what was a largely pleasant experience.
Ah, yes, the rock'n'roll theme. Never mind. I went to Madrid to run a marathon there, and run a marathon is what I did, but I did get myself a funky tee-shirt, a handy sports bag and a glittery, rock'n'rolly medal.
Adios, Espana. I will now look forward to my fourteenth marathon.
http://es.competitor.com/madrid/madrid-splash/?lang=en
