How to Run a Marathon Part II, Roma Italia (week 38)

At the marathon start line, there was a sea of runners. I really had never seen so many people in Lycra before. The whole thing was very surreal because we were in Rome, it was quarter past 8 in the morning, the sky was pink and behind the sea of heads all you could see was the enormous shadow of the Colosseum and to the side, the pillars and stones of Palatine Hill.

I tried to make my way as close as I could to the actual start line, which was a lot more difficult than it seemed. There came a point where, lost in the sea of Lycra, I couldn't see anything but bib numbers in front of me. The atmosphere was intense. Maybe it was the fact that it was so early in the morning or maybe it was the sight of so many different people, from different countries with different builds, that made the atmosphere buzz. I noticed how male-dominated it was: only 2,777 women out of 13,881 runners. Not only did I feel small, I felt a bit underrepresented as a girl!

At quarter to nine, the horn went off for the "first wave" of athletes in group A, a.k.a the professional athletes aiming to run in 3 hours or less. We, the group D runners were in the "third wave". I started up a conversation with a runner next to me. He was also British and it was his first marathon too. There were definitely nerves in the air, even though he was acting quite breezy about the whole thing - I wasn't so good at hiding my fear!

The horn finally went off for the "third wavers" at 9:05, but as we were so far back from the actual start line, it was a while before anything happened. For three minutes, we were shuffling nervously down the Via dei Fori Imperali, already kicking aside empty bottles of energy drinks. As we got closer and closer, the knots in my stomach tightened more and more. The British runner beside me wished me luck and a good run and we were off!

The first few minutes of running were so different to the first few minutes of runs I had done while training. Firstly, I had no music, there was just the sound of clapping, cheering and feet pounding on the paved roads. Normally, I can't get through a run without listening to a really good beat. The other thing that was odd was the pace. It was much more difficult to actually run at my own pace at this point in the race because of all the people in front. In the half marathon last year, I had to do a lot of weaving in the first ten minutes to get to the people who were running at a speed that I usually run at. However, in the half marathon of Southampton, there were 6,000 runners only and there were over double the amount in Rome. The majority of us were in the third wave too. This is where being small has its advantages: weaving, darting and ducking under elbows!

The first 21 kilometres (half marathon) weren't too bad. I felt good physically but there weren't as many supporters as I'd expected on the sides. However, whenever we came to pockets of them, they cheered us on loudly in Italian - children, adults and grandparents alike all holding their hands out for a high five. The first 5 kilometres of this were difficult. I was feeling ill - the flu I'd caught the night before was kicking in and I hadn't drunk any coffee that morning, only Gatorade. I ran past families cheering me on and I felt a little teary-eyed because I imagined my mum, dad, siblings, brother-in-law and niece on the sidelines and how proudly they would be cheering too if they were there. It doesn't help your breathing to sniffle and sob while you run though!

Things improved. The sun came out. My body acclimatised to a good pace and the crowds of runners evened out somewhat. By kilometre 10, I was starting to enjoy the feeling of running down open streets, sunlight peeking through the leaves of tall trees on either side. There was a distinct "lazy Sunday morning" feel about Rome that morning; even though it was a massive sporting event, everyone on the sidelines looked as if they had wandered out their apartments for a baguette and an idle glance at the runners before heading off for breakfast.

We ran past St Peters Square and the Vatican City around kilometre 19 and then shortly after crossed the half marathon mark. It gave me an energy boost to know I was halfway there!

Then we started running out of the city. For some 10-15 kilometres after that, we were running through suburban nothingness. Things became much more mentally challenging from kilometre 21-27. It was very difficult to feel the same breeziness I'd felt whilst running past beautiful bridges, churches and monuments in the centre of Rome than it was running past apartment blocks and petrol stations! At kilometre 30ish I stopped properly for the first time, not just to fill my bottle but to eat some food. I was very aware of the nausea in my stomach from the flu but I also felt that if I didn't have some sugar and salt, the last 12k would be unbearable. Stopping felt odd. My legs felt like lead. I didn't stop for long, for fear that I wouldn't be able to start again. By this point, my whole body was beginning to ache, not just my legs but my back and my sides. I had been upright for over two hours and I was starting to feel it. As I headed off, water bottle in hand I ran past some truly exhausted looking athletes, one who was actually puking because of the exercise. I was determined not to give up! At this point I had not really run more than 30k ever. I felt like I was truly putting my body to the test.

I managed to keep running along, even though my whole body was aching more and more with each kilometre. The sun was out full blast now, 25 degrees and no clouds, true Roman heat, which didn't help much for hydration. My lungs now felt like they were leaden too, the blocked nose and achey chest made worse by so much running. At kilometre 35 I slowed to a walk so that I could text Ben and Debs to start making their way to the finish line. Half an hour more, I told myself. Then you can lie down. Then I started to run again.

It didn't get easier. The next seven kilometres steadily got more and more difficult and I slowed down. My shoulders started to droop and I bet I looked very different to the bouncing, bubbly, excitable pre-21 kilometres Rachel that I had been in the first hour and a half. But it wasn't unbearable. I kept telling myself, not long now. Come on, keep going!

I finally got to kilometre 41 and I wanted to cry in frustration. No more running! No no no no no no. I could actually see the finish line, 500 metres away, although I couldn't speed up, like I'd done in the half marathon, because of exhaustion. My whole body was so tired, it felt like it had done an all-nighter and was just a few steps away from a bed!

I came up to the finish line, hardly believing as I crossed it, that I'd been there just that morning, with nerves in my stomach and so much anticipation. I could barely speak because my throat was so dry but I managed to say "woohoo!" to myself before turning to someone on the sides for water. My first priority was fresh, cold water. My next priority was my shiny, gold medal. My final priority was walking to a church 100m away where Debs and Ben were supposedly going to meet me.

With the medal around my neck, I hobbled to the church, going through some slightly illegal barriers on the way (security personnel were surprisingly lenient with me, I suppose it was because I'd just run a marathon and I was either delirious or in too much pain to walk in a straight line). At the church, I lay down on the steps, my back aching. The effects of 3-4 hours' sleep and no coffee kicked in. I think I must have dozed off for at least half an hour. The sun was beating down on me. When I woke, I tried to get up and look for Ben and Debs, who still hadn't answered my text. But when I got up, I felt completely faint. I also felt like I was going to vomit. I hobbled towards the barrier I had come from and the policeman stopped me. I told him that I needed to find my friends but he said it was cut off and I had to go a different way. Suddenly, black spots appeared in my eyes and my knees started giving way so both policemen grabbed me under the arms. I started crying, I think from exhaustion, illness and general pain. They put me in the shade and an Italian woman and her daughter nearby rushed over to see if I was ok.

They stayed with me until Ben and Debs arrived. The daughter spoke English and let me use her phone. They were waiting for her father to arrive who was also taking part in the race. I felt a bit bad that they had to see the worst of me; crying, sniffling, almost vomiting with nausea but they were very good about it! When Ben and Debs arrived I was a quivering mess but they hoisted me up, got me a milkshake and lead me to a shady indoor café where we celebrated with pasta. I was feeling too sick to eat anything so all I did was sip the milkshake in a daze.

When we left the café an hour later, there were still runners going past. That made me feel somewhat proud of myself. My time was 4 hours and 25 minutes in the end and I came 1160th out of 2777 female athletes. (I later worked out this was in the 41st percentile of women in the marathon). Out of 13,881 runners, I was the 8,840th to cross the line, which isn't world class athlete standards but it isn't bad either. Not for a first attempt.

Post two and a half hours, I finally felt like I was a human again. Of course, my legs were aching and I was only really manage to walk whilst wincing and limping but I got a victory ice-cream and a victory photo.

Debs and I (and THE MEDAL!)

In the end, it wasn't exactly what I had expected. I had envisaged a smooth recovery, less flu and sleep deprivation the night before and a victory steak at least an hour afterwards. I hadn't expected sunstroke, tears, borderline delirium and inability to consume anything solid afterwards. The one thing I remember very distinctly from the race was really pushing myself to the maximum. Throughout, especially as it got closer to the end, it was very difficult to keep running. It felt like it would never end and my body had never felt so knackered.

I really am proud of myself for having done it. Sometimes I can't believe it. When I first told people I was considering a marathon a couple of years ago they were quite sceptical - "you know that forty-two kilometres is a long way, right?!" - but I knew I could get there if I worked hard. Would I ever do it again? Maybe. I still have a lot of life ahead of me and I'm definitely not going to stop running anytime soon. But it's a lot nicer to do 5k in the park for fun than it is to drag yourself through the scorching streets of cobblestoned Rome!

And that's my story of the Rome marathon 2016. One that I will tell my children, and my grandchildren, when they don't believe me I'll have the shiny medal to prove it! That little old Rachel was a determined little runner in the day!

If you would like to donate/support/find out more information about the charity that I raised awareness for (The Waterfall Trust, located in Southampton), here is the link to their website: http://thewaterfall.org.uk/

Here is a link to a page you can donate to: https://mydonate.bt.com/charities/thewaterfall

And if you like the look of their vision and you're also a keen runner, you can sign up to run the half-marathon for them in April 2017! 

How To Run a Marathon Part I: Roma, Italia (Week 35)

Another month has passed in Spain but my most recent destination landed me on the other side of the Mediterranean sea in...ROME.

For over 2 years, I have been thinking seriously about running a marathon. When I lived in France on my year abroad, I was there during the Paris marathon. It looked like one of the most incredible routes ever but at the time, I was struggling to do 5k without stopping. I chatted to a couple of people who had done it and was totally in awe. I added “Paris Marathon” to my mental bucket list.

In September 2014, back at university, I decided it was time to push myself. I was dithering over whether to sign up for the Paris marathon. I still wasn't 100% confident as 42 kilometres is an extremely long distance to walk, let alone run. I signed up for the Southampton Half Marathon with my keen flatmates instead and began training.

My flatmates and I went to Parkrun on Saturdays at 9am. It was only 5k but the first week was not fun. I dragged myself out of bed every weekend (well, sometimes WAS dragged out of bed) at 8am, cycled to the park in the cold, ran til I gave myself a stitch and then we'd all come home for a fry up!

As the weeks went by, I found myself improving. Bit by bit, the stitches disappeared, my muscles began strengthening and my PB (personal best) times got shorter. One week, I ran 5k in 25 minutes – six minutes shorter than my first Parkrun in October.

The months got warmer and in training for the half-marathon, I went on longer runs. At the time, I had never run more than 8k. When I first ran 15-17km with my flatmate (a month before the half marathon), I felt like I had achieved something impossible.

On the day of the half marathon, I pushed myself as hard as I could. It was beyond anything I had ever experienced before, sports-wise. There were moments, running up hills and on uneven pavements, where I felt like I was going to fizzle out because I was so tired. However, when I crossed the finish line at 1 hour 57 minutes, I was taken aback. I had written down on the sign up sheet that I was aiming to finish in 2 hours 30 minutes.

After the half marathon, even though my knees were stinging and my quads were aching, I knew that I was going to sign up for the full marathon. I realised that I could do it now. The distances which had once seemed impossible to me were achievable. Not only that, but I had beaten my personal goal by over half an hour. It told me that not only was I capable of running a half marathon but that I was capable of running one well.

So...after graduation and summer and moving to Spain for new experiences, I decided to make it official. I had been toying with the idea of the Paris marathon...until I realised that there was also one in Rome. When I looked at the Rome marathon online, the Eiffel Tower faded from my mind and was replaced by the Colosseum. Images of Italian streets, stone fountains, ancient bridges and enormous pizzas were dancing around in my head. Because I had never visited Italy and I had read so much about Rome, I decided that it would be the perfect place to be in for such a long run. It would be unforgettable; there would be so many things to see while running and I could fuel up on as much pasta as I needed before the race.

So six and a half months later, I got on a plane from Alicante, my stomach queasy with nerves. In spite of all the intense training I had put myself through (long runs over 3 hours at times), I was worried about the big day. I suddenly started to doubt whether I could handle it!

I landed and travelled to the centre. I had arrived a couple of days before the race, so that I could see some of Rome beforehand (and eat and eat and eat). Deborah, my old housemate met me there, taking the role of travel companion and honourary Roman cheerleader. There was a surprise visitor – our friend Ben – who had decided at the last minute to come and cheer me on too! I was so happy that I had supporters because I had signed up without really thinking about who I would go with originally.

Before they arrived late on Friday night, I checked into the hostel (which was pricey and didn't really seem like a hostel), feeling somewhat disgruntled at the reception desk man who informed me of an unexpected 14 euro “city tax” charge. After arguing a little with him and admitting defeat, he then slammed a blue gift bag on the desk muttering “This is for you”.

I thought it must have been a complimentary gift bag that came with the price of the hostel (which was odd, since hostels don't ever do that) so I immediately felt guilty at having argued with him. There was a pretty, nice smelling flower in it as well which made me feel worse.

In my room, I opened the bag up and a range of emotions came over me. Delight – ferrero rocher. Confusion – a banana. “How on Earth did he know how appropriate this is?” - a bottle of energy drink. Mingled terror and intrigue – an ancient photograph of a Roman cave or church made entirely of human skulls with no writing on the back.

I didn't really understand what all of it meant but at that point I was pretty exhausted from travelling all day. And hungry. I found a pizzeria nearby and had my first pizza in Rome. When I finished, it was about 11:30 but I was much more awake so I decided to do some late night exploring. With my map, I set off to find the Trevi Fountain, which ended up being a 25 minute walk from the hostel. I couldn't stop staring at everything I saw on the way; so many monuments, ancient Roman architecture, signs in Italian (I could decipher a lot from my knowledge of French and Spanish).

When I reached the Trevi Fountain I was taken away for a few moments. Aside from there being hundreds of tourists taking selfies, even at midnight, it was worth the long walk and I sat by the fountain for another half an hour, taking it all in.

When I got back to the hostel, Debs rang me saying she would be arriving soon. I went out to meet her when she was downstairs at about 1AM (ironically I was doing the receptionist's job because she rang twice and no-one was actually on the desk).

Lo and behold, she'd brought Ben along! I hadn't been expecting two cheerleaders for my marathon! It was reminiscent of the half marathon the year before, as we'd both participated in that. It turned out that Ben had been the one to supply the gift bag at the hostel. Suddenly everything made sense. The gatorade, the banana, the morbid postcard..! All Ben's careful planning to ensure appropriate race preparation; not an uncannily appropriate gift from Discovery Hostels Roma. We all had a good old laugh about that for about ten minutes.

The next day we got up bright and early in order to get to the Marathon Village to complete my registration and pick up bib number and race pack. Being accustomed to long queues, bureaucratic complications in foreign languages and general drama, I ensured we got there as early as possible. As it turned out, there were no queues at 9:45 when we arrived and I managed to get everything sorted in 15 minutes! Ironically, it took me 20 minutes to get OUT of the Marathon Village because, similar to Ikea, it was set up so that you had to walk around and around and around passing various stalls with reps handing out leaflets for MORE marathons to sign up for (Ha, as if).

Once I got outside we all went across the road to a café for breakfast. Italian coffee...yummmmmyyy. Italian pastries...DOUBLE YUMMY.

We set off from the café around 11 and I had to gloat a little upon seeing the long queues beginning to form outside the Marathon Villages. Early bird catches the worm! I didn't do any gloating out loud just in case any of the bigger runners heard and I got trampled on at the start line the next day.

We had reservations for Vatican City at 2:30pm so we did some wandering, ending up at the Colosseum and Via del Fori Imperiali which is where the Start/Finish line was. We had lunch (pasta of course) in Piazza Venezia, where I would be running through twice the next day, once at the 500m mark and then again at the 41.5km mark...

After that we made our way to Vatican City. What an incredible moment that was, approaching St Peter's Square from a distance, seeing one of the most influential and well-known buildings in all of Europe.

The afternoon was a bit overwhelming in terms of everything we saw. Impressive was certainly the word that came to mind again and again, particularly in St Peter's Basilica, which was one of the biggest and most ornate churches I've ever been in. The pieces in the museums, from Leonardo da Vinci to Michaelangelo's paintings in the Sistine Chapel, satisfied my art-loving soul. But I have to admit it was overwhelming, like being in the Louvre in Paris. There's just so much to see, too much to see all at once and so many people crowding you. One of my favourite parts of the Vatican museum was a hall of maps, commissioned by Pope Gregory XIII Boncompagni (absolutely no idea who that it) in 1581 and created and put together by a team of artists. 

There were also so many sculptures, so ornate and so incredible that photos don't do them justice. I think I'm going to have to go back to the Vatican one day and take in things I barely noticed this time around because of being herded through with the crowds.

After going around the museum, Sistine Chapel and Basilica, we spent some time in the actual square, basking in the last remaining rays of sunshine of the day. It was also lovely seeing the sunlight sparkling through the fountains on either side of the square.

We finished the day off in Trastevere, which is supposedly the “cheap” area to eat in. It wasn't necessarily cheap or expensive but it was beside the River Tiber and we took a stroll under the Garibaldi bridge before dinner.

After eating (more pizza and even a cheeky glass of red wine), we headed slowly back in the direction of the buses to the hostel. By this time, I was feeling a little achey and was sneezing a lot. There had been a bug in our flat in Spain that I had managed to dodge...until that moment. I guess it was just my luck that my immune system would start packing it in the day before a massive sporting event.

We were pretty exhausted and a little lost finding the buses back into the centre. So exhausted from walking that we all stopped at one point to read the map and simultaneously, without consulting one another, we all squatted down at the same time to read the map (I suppose standing was too strenuous for all of us) which made an Italian woman actually stop and turn in her tracks in bewilderment and ask us “Excuse me, may I help you?”. I don't know why, but it made me laugh hysterically and I was still fighting back laughter as she walked off after giving us directions to the station.

That night I slept badly. I tossed and turned, unable to drop off due to street noise and crazy Roman party animals and also because overnight, I had suddenly gotten a blocked nose and developed a cough. My alarm “woke me up” at 6:30AM and I felt wide awake, perhaps cause I was suddenly jittering with nerves and anticipation for the day ahead. I think in total I had barely slept more than 3 hours and my chest was starting to hurt a bit from coughing.

We took the Metro to the stop closest to the marathon start line. On the way, we saw hundreds of fellow runners in their T-shirts and bibs. We got off the Metro and this is where Debs took a pre-race photo with me, then took my bag and belongings, wished me luck and I made my way through the long walkway to the marathon start line!

Week 29...

This is a blog post which is very, very late. I realised about a month ago that it's been about six months since moving to Spain and in that time I have written two blog entries, in the space of the first month.

My excuse would be that things got busy but I think it's more truthful to admit that I also got lazy. In the 4-5 months that I have been absent from the blogosphere, there have been many developments in my life. First and foremost, my first ever niece was born in November. She is now now about 4 months old and lives in south Australia with her parents, living it up amidst kangaroos, koalas and big waves. I have already made provisional plans to visit this November; just need to find a cheap flight and maybe Australia will be my next big travel adventure!

In addition to that, my housemate and fellow cycling aficionado Katherine left Lorca in December. That was quite sad, but the bike trips will always be in my memory and the photos will always make me smile. We made the most of three months; travelled through the mountains and beaches, visited Seville, Granada and Cartagena, cities with some of the most beautiful Moorish-influenced architecture and culture that I've ever seen. Since then I've realised that travelling in the country you're in can be much more exciting than trying to get to as many places as you can in one year; with each new city, I can see “Spanish” in the culture, even if that “Spanish” has variations depending on the regions.

Since January, Claire my long-time friend from university has been living with me and the other girls in the apartment here in Lorca. Unfortunately, there have been some major issues relating to work. In a nutshell, the Spanish government has a bizarre and slightly ridiculous system for managing temporary employment in education. She's been here 2.5 months without being able to start work and don't ask me why. It's the kind of frustrating crap that you deal with when you work abroad and try to go through that country's system (spoken by someone who has done it a few times now). However, she has officially been given a start date now which means that I won't be alone here for the next 2 months (hopefully!). I don't know if I could handle Lorca on my own.

We also travelled to Valencia together at the end of January, which was an interesting experience. The city itself is huge; we didn't make it to the beach but we did walk around the entire city and had one of the most delicious meals I've eaten in Spain yet. Valencia is THE place where paella is traditional, so although it might sound cliché, we enjoyed a paella there. And it did not disappoint.

January is never the most wonderful month in the year in my opinion. Neither is February. Even in Spain, it's a bit chilly and generally not as cheerful as spring and summer. Disappointingly, I experienced a break-up at the end of January, which threw me into an unsteady state emotionally for a while. Valentine's day weekend was spent at home in the UK, instead of spending quality time with the boyfriend. The end made me teary for a while; but no relationship is ever perfect and long distance ones can bring on strange emotions. Spending quality time and physically being present with your other half is so important and sometimes we underestimate, on a day to day basis how important it is. Skype is great but it never compares to being able to be with someone physically. That is something I thought about a lot, on Valentine's day weekend when I was holding my little niece, singing to stop her crying and reflecting on the fact that I wouldn't hold her again for almost a year. Sometimes it feels as though it physically hurts not to be able to hold or hug someone you love for a very long time. The only thing that makes that hardship better is that when you next see them; it is so much more special to be in their presence.

A couple of weeks after my mid-February trip home I went to Barcelona to see my long-time friend Dora, who I lived with in Paris. She was travelling there for a holiday and seeing her again was magical. It was another realisation that although Skype is a lifesaver, it doesn't do justice to seeing someone in person; snuggling under a duvet with them watching a film, dancing around in club or walking along a street laughing like crazy, which is what you can't recreate in an electronic world.

The week following Dora's visit to Barcelona, my other long-time friend from university, Husyan came to visit me. We spent the weekend in Alicante, eating gelato, watching sailboats in the marina, sunbathing on the beach and doing quite a few childish things like riding the merry-go-round and using the swings on the beach. It's okay though, being childish like that reminds me I'm still not an adult at heart, which is a relief. It was one of those weekends that left a warm glow with me and the train ride home to Lorca in the evening sunset wasn't as tiring as usual.

The week after Husyan came to visit, this week, was the last week of school before Easter. It also happened to be the weekend my sister Anna came to visit me. This week feels like it has been make or break time with Lorca. It seemed to reach a point this week where being here is too much. It feels as if the months from Christmas onwards have just been getting more and more difficult psychologically. This is a small, tight-knit community and if you don't have family or close groups of friends here, it's difficult to integrate. I always knew it would only be 8 months and I've done the 6. Since January, I've been feeling more and more disheartened being out of my comfort zone and by having to maintain relationships with people who are far away from me.

Over the past few months at work, I've allowed myself to fall into a trap of not being proactive. For me, working in a primary school is difficult. It's not like anything I've ever experienced and I'll openly admit that I am not that keen on being a primary school teacher. However, I have learnt a few things about myself in this job and one of them is that I enjoy being around small children and entertaining them in short bursts but full time is too much. However, it's no excuse for getting lazy, so I'm going to try and push myself a little harder at work after the break.

Anna and I stayed in a spa hotel in Alicante, which was the perfect getaway to celebrate the next stage of my stay here. First I have the Easter break and I have made travel plans (hopefully the next post will fill more in on that) and then I have the last two months which will conclude this journey through Spain. It has been one of the more difficult times I've spent abroad which I suppose is why I haven't written much in my blog this time round. However, I'm determined not to give up. The next two months are summer months and we'll have the best weather. But more importantly, I don't want to leave with bitterness about the difficult things I faced here. This time has been transient, challenging and at times when I think it is about to get better, it seems to have gotten worse. In spite of this, I'm determined not to give up and leave because there's part of me that thinks “If I left before I'd really given it 100%, given it everything and tried as hard as I possibly could have, would I one day look back and wonder what could have been?” I know that when things are bad, they don't stay that way forever. Carrying on through difficult moments becomes an essential part of success.

I've really waffled on quite a lot here. Before I embark on the last two months here, I've got my travelling week with me, myself and I, which I will update with soon!

Adios for now.