Race report: Barcelona Marathon 7 March 2010

Better late than never, I hope.

I never set out to run a marathon when I began running, but the idea grew on me, and I signed up for Barcelona because my running buddy moved home to his beloved Girona.

My prep for this marathon was imperfect, to say the least. New responsibilities at work combined with tight deadlines meant that I did not get all my running in - missing my longest planned run of 30km (achieved 25km as a maximum), plus several others in the last 3-4 weeks. I was stressed, didn't sleep well, and worried that my training wasn't good enough. I didn't eat well either while travelling for work. Due to all this, I lowered my initial goal of 3:45 to 4h, as I didn't think it was realistic to achieve 3:45 with this kind of preparation.

After 3 days on the road delivering training, I got home late. I hadn't packed, of course, so when I woke up I threw some things in my bag (I had laid out my running shoes, and a bit of kit), and hit the road. A little pep-talk with a friend, and off to Girona! D picked me up, and we ate and had a lovely couple of days staying in a house in the mountains outside Girona (there's a point in this seeming excess information, wait for it :.) ) D kept pushing me to run together with him - to a 3:30h pace, and to be honest it stressed me out a fair bit, although I decided to stay with my 4h goal. I did walk a bit too much the days before the marathon.. We flew through the expo (D ran last year and was slightly impatient with me, the first-timer). Another good friend moved to Barcelona recently, so we needed to catch up, and my parents flew down to cheer me on, so a bit of chatting and walking was due. Train back to Girona, car up to the house in the hills, and a last pasta meal before the race. We were both getting jittery now. I packed and checked and double-checked my bag before climbing to bed and falling asleep when my head hit the pillow.

The alarm went off at 5, and it took a bit of cajoling by my friend to even get me up. "This is not a good idea, is it? I don't really want to do it.. Ok, I guess I signed up for this - UP!" Off we go, rushing out and walking to meet his cousin, who is driving. The rushing stayed the rest of the morning until we started racing - D and his cousin knew what they wanted to do, and when, and I didn't really feel I had any choice but to follow. I won't do that next time. Didn't really settle in at the expo-building, and didn't manage to warm up properly. Darn it. Rush to the corrals, only to wait for 15 minutes in a t-shirt in the cold. Darn it. I have to pee. Darn it. We wish each other luck and as people throw their long sleeved clothing and bottles we start moving. We pass the start line after 45-55s and D warns me to be careful of the dropped stuff. I start my ipod - now what's this - why is it measuring in miles? - and as I look at the *stupid* ipod I step on a bottle, twisting my right ankle! DARN IT! It hurts and as I mention it to D he nods and slowly moves ahead. I'm on my own for this one.

The first 5km are slightly upwards, towards Camp Nou, FC Barcelona's stadium. I'm running slower than I normally do, confused, disappointed - will I have to stop because of my ankle?! I grab a gel and start the fuelling. I feel my left hip and glute as expected - sciatica, sciatica.. After about 7km my feet go numb as they do fairly often (apparently because of my sciatica probs) and after I nearly twist my ankle again because of the numbness I stop and stretch to lessen the tingling. It helps a bit, but I know that it will pass if I just keep going. Another gel. I have had to pee since the start, and get annoyed at seeing all the guys stopping to water the cars. I look around for portapotties at 10km, but there are none. In the end I run into a bar and relieve myself, sprinting out again to join the race. Ahh, I feel better!

My parents are meant to be at Passeig de Gracia, just before 15km, so after a couple of Gaudi buildings I look around for the blue and gold (nice sign, mom!) and spot them before they see me. Yay, a little boost! I'm feeling better after the toilet and the cheering, and the next 5kms are better - past Sagrada Familia, loving the sightseeing! - I catch up with the 3:45 balloon - wow, that's really good! I even see D on the stretch where we run opposite each other, and as I pass the half marathon mark I'm in good form, albeit a bit slower than expected, 1:51 I think. I need the toilet again - ah, there's the Calatrava bridge! I continue to calculate my pace in miles and kilometres, fractions of completed race, and spotting others that are at about my pace to keep my mind busy. My left hip is starting to bother me more, and at about 25km I begin to feel the right one too. They have fruit at the 25km station and a quarter of an orange proves extremely successful (unlike the not-quite-ripe banana). My running style is shifting to a weird canter to accommodate the pain in the hips, and I'm moving very, very slowly. I need a toilet and decide to crash a bar again. This time I apparently take longer than 2 minutes (I'll spare you the details!) because my ipod stops, which I only dicover after a while back on the road. Damn, now I don't even have the a total time to go by.

I run to the Torre Agbar, where my mom has positioned herself unannounced - she sees me, but I miss her. People along the course cheer us on with our names, they're printed on the race bib, so I think she's just some random person. At 30km I pick up another orange, water and some powerade - I'm feeling well fuelled, but aware that I need to keep eating, so I grab a gel too. I pass Forum at 30-31km and remember D's cousin saying at about 6.30 that morning that when you reach Forum you'll be very tired. And I am. But I can also see the end of this - just another 11km! I can do that! I cross a bridge to reach the beach - and there's D, walking?! I yell at him "Vinga, D, vinga!", but he shakes his head and walks on slowly. I can't stop running now, so I continue. I'm proud that I'm going on, but also feel sad for him.

We're running along the beach front now, and more and more people are stopping and walking. I affirm to myself that I will not walk, I will not. So I keep moving, only stopping once to stretch before moving out again like a cripled horse. At least I'm 'running'. My parents are waiting at the Arc del Triomph, just before 35km, so I hold tight and keep going. I turn onto the parade, and there they are! Yay! They smile and cheer me on - my mom chases me with the camera as I slow down to grab some more orange, nuts and powerade. Then I'm off again - through the arch. We turn left and enter the old city centre - there are so many people here now, cheering, music playing. I'm going very slowly now, and I have to dig deep to keep it up. I very, very nearly trip on a loose tile - there's an audible 'pheew' from people who see it, and I stagger on. I'm really tired now, but there's less than 5km to go, I can do that!

There are many Danish runners with red t-shirts with 'Denmark' on the back, and for some reason I decide to cheer this one of them on. I say "Come on!" in Danish, and she turns and looks - my god, we know each other.. Where from, where from, we're both thinking through our tired minds. She manages "Basketball..?" And I nod and give her a "Keep it up!" before moving past the girl I used to play against in the Danish league, at my slightly faster pace than hers. Colom, 40km - more food. I stop to stuff my face for a few seconds with more nuts and orange before forcing my tired legs to move out again. 41km takes a long time to reach, and 42km keeps hiding... At about 41.5 the Danish girl passes me - no, you've gotta be kidding! I pull the last reserves and shift from the weird traipse to what feels like a proper run (but doesn't look it in the videos, I must say!). I overtake her again and as I run through the 42km arch I see 3.59.55, 3.59.56... OH NO! Over the Placa Espanya from where we also started, turn into the last 195m - the arches are confusing me - where's the finish line?! What's with the time?! I sprint the last hundred meters (or so it seems, really it's a slow-mo movement, but it's enough to overtake 8-10 people) and cross the line with the time at 4.00.45 or so. I'm so disappointed, I didn't make it under 4h. Man... I grind to a pained walk, and move through chip-removal, I get a medal.. Ok, 4h isn't bad... Darn it! I wanted UNDER 4h! I even bang a table with refreshments with my fist! But then - didn't I cross the START line at about 0:00:55 or so?! It just might be! I grab some more orange, nuts, water, muesli bar, powerade, and wander up towards the expo building. What were they thinking when they planned this - stairs?!

I pick up my bag, call my parents to have them come meet me. Then I see everyone looking at some print outs on the wall..? I search, and I find - 3.59.41! Wohoooooo! I made it!!!! I go find D's cousin, and then I feel my ankle and go out to find a red cross ambulance with some ice. D's cousin ran 3.08 - amazing, and a total inspiration. My mom saves the day with a fantastic fruit/nut/chocolate mix, eaten as D's cousin drops D and me back to the house in the hills outside Girona. We grill a load of lamb and potatoes and veggies, and wash it down with wine. Poor D has to go back to Girona, he's got a sports therapy client in the morning. I settle in on the couch in front of the fire with a few more snacks before dozing off. I wake at 8 o'clock with snow outside. Snow?! I was hoping for sun on the terrace! Oh well. I cook myself some more hearty Spanish food and go back to sleep. At 11am D is on the phone - panicky - "Pack your stuff, you need to come down from the mountain!" Hm. Ok. I make myself another sandwich and start packing up. In the end D has a friend come bring him up in his 4WD, D's car couldn't make it through the worst snow for 20 years. We slowly descend in at least a foot of snow, avoiding the trees bent or broken over the road. What a couple of days! We make it down, and I feel so happy. Just so happy. My muscles have been remarkably quiet, although all of the joints in my legs are painful, and my left instep and the right ankle are hurting.

I'm already thinking of when to do the next one.