Porto is the second largest city of Portugal. It lies at the mouth of the Douro river that pours into the Atlantic Ocean. It's famous for giving the world the alcoholic drink known as port, made from grapes grown in the Douro valley and fermented and aged in cellars at the river bank close to the coast.
For some reason I chose this city when I registered for my second Wings for Life run, many months ago. It may have been due to the fact that a flight to Porto was available from Brussels at a low cost. I'm not really sure why. I was just a bit concerned that, since Portugal lies quite close to the Mediterranean, a long distance race in May might turn out to be too hot for comfort.
I needn't have worried one bit about this. I should have known that, being at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, Portugal is the place where the humid oceanic air hits the European mainland, there to precipitate as rainfall. I should have worried, instead, of the possibility of rain on my big day in Porto.
The forecast said rain from 10 days ahead, and it wasn't wrong. We gathered in the Placa Galica after 11 in the morning wearing all sorts of plastic covers, waited to hand over our bag of clothes, and gathered behind the starting banner. As is my custom, I sat down on the ground amid a crowd of standing runners waiting for the start, hugging myself and trying to occupy as small a surface area as possible to avoid getting cold or wet.
Off we went! I forgot all about the rain the moment we began to run. My only concern was to hit the right pace: 4 minutes 52 seconds per kilometre, which I later realised was 3 seconds per kilometre too fast for my target. I kept very close to this pace, then we started the downhill section of the run. This is where the kilometre splits became quite fast as we approached the coast.
Then we hit the coast. And the Atlantic Ocean hit back. A strong south south westerly wind was blowing in from the sea, straight into our faces. The pace slowed down to 5 minutes per kilometre, and it never picked up after that.
Pity. It was a beautiful route. We set off close to the city centre, turned left, in front of "my" hotel, right and left again along a long road towards the coast. We entered the industrial district and then the coast road. Two days later I discovered this to be a spectacular route - during the run I was only concerned with maintaining the pace, also by sheltering behind other runners.
We followed the coast road back into the mouth of the river Douro, approaching the popular wharf (the Ribeira) close to the landmark Luis I bridge. This was at about 19 km, and by this stage I had given up on checking the time splits. They were consistently slower than my target pace and I thought, why stress myself? Looking at the watch was only causing discouragement, so I concentrated on catching up rivals and going as far as possible before being caught by the Catcher car.
We crossed the bridge towards the Gaia side of the river and kept going along the river bank, again approaching the Atlantic coast. The route profile on the event website had mentioned a sharp uphill at 21 km. I braced myself for this, but it never arrived! Finally, at about 24 km there was a hill of sorts, rather steep in fact, but it was over after a couple of minutes or so.
25 km.
Straight into a fierce wind from the Atlantic. We had already heard the cacophony of the Catcher car from the other side of the river. The rate of approach of this car relative to my pace was 4 kph, but the moment you hear it, even from afar, you think, I'm doomed. I was tired and the wind made it much worse.
26 km.
By this stage it was difficult even to keep on running. Last year in Ypres I was caught at 28.3 km, and the target this year was to beat that distance. Now, I didn't care and I just wanted to be caught and to stop.
27 km.
A final effort and I would actually beat my target! Then I heard the cacophony coming up from behind, and none too soon.
The worst part of this event, and something I hope will be improved in future, is getting back to base at the end of the effort. They have shuttle buses taking runners back from stations placed at intervals of 5 km: at 15 km, 20 km, 25 km and so on. It was bound to happen that I would be "caught" exactly in the middle between two stations. The walk straight into the storm towards the 30 km mark lasted for most of eternity. I barely managed to stop the last bus coming back from 30k. Inside the bus, a caring soul took pity on me and handed me an unused reflective sheet to cover myself during the trip back.
My official result was 27.45 km, quite high up in the general standings in actual fact, but worse than my first Wings for Life in Ypres.
For various reasons. Three weeks earlier I had run a full marathon, from which I had probably not recovered sufficiently. The wind did not help at all, and I probably started too fast. Looking back at my best running performances in the past, quite often they happen when I start at an easy pace. To make matters worse, I helped myself to too hearty a breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausage, the works.
Ah yes, I almost forgot. I'm yet another year older than I was in Ypres.
Having said all this, Porto was a great experience. I'm more than ever determined now to do all the other Wings for Life locations, including India, Peru, Melbourne, Taiwan, Florida and Niagara Falls. By the current situation, this project will take me up to the age of 86. By then I will be happy even if I don't achieve 28.3 km as I did in 2014 in Ypres...
