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!
