Spartathlon Race Report 2014 - Highway to Hellas

The cheers surround me; envelope me; consume me. The drivers that cross my path show their support through blaring horns, enthusiastic shouts, and wild gesticulation. People from all sides shouting, cheering, willing me to finish. They know the journey I have made. They know the suffering. But all of that is a distant memory, washed aside in a torrent of elation at the journey's end. I look up to the sky, at the radiant sun that has shone its rays to both aid and hinder the crossing. As I squint in the dazzling glow all pain is seemingly washed away, leaving a a feeling of sheer elation. I come back to myself. Live in the moment. Soak in the atmosphere. Take in the experience. Make memories to last a lifetime. We turn the final corner, and there at the end of the road I see my goal. He stands aloft, in defiance of the world, daring me to approach. 

"Molon labe; come and get it". 

I will. 

I will...

Come and get it! Official Spartathlon photo.

The road is long

This time in a week I will be in Greece preparing to run one of the most iconic ultra races in the world - The Spartathlon. As we all know (hashtag sarcasm), the Greek messenger Pheidippides ran 26.2 miles, told everybody in Athens that the Greek's had won the battle of Marathon, then dropped down dead (hence how we know that 26.2 miles is the precise limit of human endurance). However, other historical accounts have him running a little further than this - about 500 Km from Athens to Sparta and back again. The Spartathlon aims to recreate this epic journey (well, half of it at least - only crazy people like Mimi Anderson would think of heading back again) by following the route as closely as possible. Runners therefore have to head from the Acropolis in Athens to the statue of King Leonidas (AKA Gerard Butler) in Sparta about 153 miles away.

After my run at the Grand Union Canal Race a few months ago, I was starting to get a little worried that I wouldn't even make the start line. I developed some issues with my foot that didn't seem to be responding to physio. My worry was that there could be something like a stress fracture underlying everything, but after 2 months of no improvement, a last minute post-work trip to Profeet proved to be very fruitful (except for the bit where my bike got nicked, but that's a story for another time). After a bit of jiggery-pokery, my fears were assuaged and they were pretty confident that with a bit more rehab I would be good to go. True to their word, after another week of strength exercises, I felt I could run again and have been steadily building back up over the past few weeks.