You can train and train, fuel according to the duration race, research your hotel room, lay all your gear out the night before, but if you arrive at the starting line without safety pins for your race number, you’re going to panic a little. That was the situation my friend and I were in on the early hours of Sunday morning, pushing through a crowd of 20,000 people looking for safety pins. Needles in a haystack?
Thankfully, a steward offered us each a strip of gaffer tape that kept our race numbers pressed into place. It was a bit of a bodge job but it did the trick. (Which was good because after finishing, whilst downing a Gatorade that tasted better than any drink I could remember drinking – but not better than the Rioja two hours’ later – I witnessed a few altercations when stewards tore runners without race numbers off the course as they sprinted down the final straight.) Having been rushing around looking for safety pins, I was unable to stand in the 1:30 section at the beginning of the race. Therefore, I was far back in the Lycra mass as the countdown began. Because of the number of people, it was impossible to break into a decent pace for about three miles. My splits were well down on my training times. I knew that the chance of a PB had gone. Oh well, I could enjoy the sights and sounds.
El Medio Maratón de Madrid begins and finishes in Retiro Park. It has a lot of hills – not steep ones, but long, gradually ascending hills – and, strangely for a city with such a variety of awesome spectacles, few memorable sights. Because the race began at 9 o’clock, there were few spectators lining the streets until the final three miles. Then the encouraging calls of “¡Ánimo!” and “¡Venga!” began. A few brave kids held their hands out for high fives. Personalised signs were a break from the monotony of the concrete buildings. As did the sound of fire alarms pouring out from the fire station we passed, the lights and the alarms ringing and pulsing, eliciting cheers from the sweat-drenchedm, wind-whipped runners. Also, running alongside the groups of Spanish military units who completed the race in a box formation, singing, chanting and running in unison, gave me a sudden adrenaline burst and a very vivid memory from chaos of the race day.
It may not have been a PB, but it was a special way to combine two of my passions: running and travel. As a way to connect with the 19,999-ish other people, to feel like a local, a race must be one of the best ways. The shared highs and lows, collectively thinking “Another f****** hill” as the steepest climb of them all reared up after 12 mile mark, made for a very special Sunday morning, our exertions finished before many Spaniards had even woken up after their Saturday night revelry. That last hill wiped me out, the eleventh mile had been my fastest, an hour hovering around 6:45, but my time slipped back. My watch read 1:33 after 13.1 miles. Not bad, but not what I wanted. My friend Priya told me how she bolted up the hill and toward the finish line of her first half marathon. That’s tough! Priya and her friend Rana both completed their first half marathon. A great achievement considering it’s a tough route and, as I kept telling her, at an altitude of 700 metres above sea level.
How to recover after a race in Madrid? Simple. Do what comes most naturally in Spain’s capital: eat and drink! We had a large lunch at one my favorite restaurants, El Buscón. Two courses, a desert and, most importantly, a well-earned bottle of red. The perfect post-race refuel. For me, soon after dinner thoughts turned onto what was the next race. Wherever it may be, my race number will be pinned to my running top the night before!
arunnertravels 