Races and stuff.

[Bierzo Baggie]

The plan is to get to 25k in about 2 hours and then see what happens. The 25k drink station is my opt-out clause as it’s a stone’s throw away from where I live. If the final 17 kms are too dreadful to contemplate I’ll use my “get out of jail free” card. If not, it’ll be a run-walk the rest of the way to Toral.

It turned out to be a bit like that. Reached the 25k drinks station in just over 2 hours. By then I’d had enough. Realistically I’d trained to run 25 kms, not 42 and I was more than willing to use my opt-out-cop-out clause for the second time in my running life. But then I got chatting to Manuel.

Manuel is a fellow who I’ve seen at all sorts of races over the last few years although I’d never actually spoken to him until now. He was running with his El Barco vest, El Barco (“the boat” being a slate mining town in neighbouring Galicia. The conversation started like this;

“¿Qué tal?... How’s it going?”
“Bahh, not bad. I’ve lost a bit of speed this year, but I shouldn’t complain I suppose. I’ll be 67 next month.”
“You what!!?”

Felt slightly uncomfortable about having even contemplated bottling out after discovering that the wiry chap bounding along at my side was 30 years older than me. I mean, I wasn’t injured. I’d got no real excuse for slinking off for a cuppa and an early bath other than the fact that I felt a bit tired, so onward, onward…
Manuel from El Barco, 66 going on 67, soon left me in his wake as I entered one of several walk phases.

The last 15 kms of the marathon of Toral de los Vados pass through a succession of elongated villages. The road is fringed by gently murmuring poplars, cherry trees bowing under the weight of their delicious fruit and tidy houses with neat gardens. People from the cities find it all quite attractive, paradise even. But I know this road off by heart and for me it is one hellish, interminable section of sweltering tarmac which has now defeated me on 4 of the 5 occasions I’ve tried to run it.

One by one the runners I’d overtaken in the first half of the race shuffled past me. I lost interest in what was around me and focussed on counting down the kilometre markers. Had hoped to get in around 3:30 but now I was struggling to avoid 4 hours. And it was hot. It always is. Even when it has been refreshingly cool for days on end and will be again for days afterwards, uncomfortable mid-morning heat is guaranteed on marathon day. This, along with the previously mentioned lack of spectator support and the endlessly flat road, makes the last 15 kms torturously…torturous.

What percentage of this suffering is just psychologically induced?
A fairly high percentage I’d suspect.

I was saved by “the wild bunch,” a group of guardian angels who appeared on their mountain bikes, totally unexpectedly and some 5 kms from the finish. Their banter and encouragement made all the difference. I began to feel much less sorry for myself and suddenly realized that I was knackered but not as knackered as I’d thought. I forgot about walking and even overtook a few people. Their presence eased me up the nasty little hill which takes us back into Toral de los Vados and the marathon finished, as always, with a lap of the decrepit athletics track and a final sprint down the home straight in front of a cheering grandstand. Crossed the finish line and carried on running straight to a pile of water melons…. Mmmm, this is why I run marathons.

For the record, I finished in 3:48 which was four minutes slower than last time around.
Raizor Blue from this parish was also present and finished in 3:19 but it’s up to him to give his side of the story..
And later, whilst checking out the race results, I came across “Manuel García, (DOB)1940, A.D. El Barco; 3:42:46”. Curiously the next finisher was born in 1986 and was the youngest runner in the whole race.

Some photos; Watermelons, the grandstand, the finishing line and the wild bunch. Thanks guys.