The first thing that strikes you about the Paris marathon is the scale of the operation - nearly 40,000 people registered for the 2009 event and over 31,000 eventually turned up at the starting line, making it nearly three times the size of the Dublin marathon. Being even more parochial about it, this would be like the entire populations of Douglas and Carrigaline combined taking it into their heads to turn up for the Cork marathon and charge down Patrick Street. One of the many things Paris has in its favour is that, due to the thoughtful street widening carried out by Baron Haussmann back in the 19th century to stymie the Paris mobs, the city is now ideally suited for dealing with hordes of runners.
I flew out on the Friday still telling myself and anyone who would listen that I probably would not run. Once I had arrived in my hotel, I figured I might as well at least register for the race and then decide. The Paris marathon expo was held in an exhibition centre way out at Porte de Versailles. This was two long metro journeys for me. By the time, the metro was approaching the Port de Versailles stop, the crowded carriage I was in had thinned out to a collection of runners of various shapes, sizes and nationalities, all talking excitedly about the race. There was one exception - across from me sat a "clochard" who, I imagined, was wondering if we had all taken leave of our senses.
I registered, got my number, chip, T-shirt and goody bag, and then wandered into the expo itself. This was fatal to any lingering doubts I may have had about running. Before I knew it I was buying a "marathon pack" containing a can of powder to make carb drinks for the final carb loading days, another can to make a final meal on the day of the race, together with a complicated set of gels to be taken at various stages during the race itself. On my second tour of the expo, I met the "clochard" from the metro, laden with free samples from the stands. I caught his eye briefly and thought I saw the ghost of a smile crease his face.
Being now committed to the race, I dutifully spent the next two days drinking the carb drinks and loading up on carbs in general until I never wanted to see pasta ever again. It was with great relief late on the Saturday evening that I began to make final preparations. I attached the chip to my runner and then took out my race number. It was at this point I noticed the organizers had not thought it necessary to include safety pins and, of course, I had none with me. It was eleven PM at this stage but I still headed out on what I feared would be a doomed expedition to purchase some. I did find a late night pharmacy where I was reduced to an elaborate mime to explain what I wanted - my limited French vocab did not include the word for safety pin (epingle de sureté, who knew?). Once the staff finally divined what I wanted, they expressed amazement that I would think a pharmacy would stock such things. They did helpfully offer me some plasters and wished me all the best for the race.
Arriving back at the hotel, on a whim I asked the hotel staff. After a brief discussion, they directed me to a dispensing machine in the lobby. As well as dispensing mints, mini-tooth brushes and condoms, it also dispensed sewing kits. I was saved. Back in my room, I opened the sewing kit to discover it contained one solitary safety pin and one sewing needle with various coloured sewing threads. One safety pin would never be enough so I decided to sew the number on (maybe my brain was addled from the carbs). It took a mere fifteen minutes to thread the needle and another 20 to sew it into place. It would not have passed muster with the seamstresses union but the number seemed well anchored. Exhausted I turned in for the night.
Up at six, I took out my can from the marathon pack to make my final meal. On closer inspection, it transpired it was a cake mix that you were meant to prepare and bake a few days in advance. Resolving to hunt down and force-feed its contents to the guy who sold me the pack, I ate a banana instead. Putting on my running top, it was obvious my stitching was not going to hold. I decided to head a bit earlier to the start and seek out some safety pins. Emerging from the metro at Charles De Gaulle Etoile, I walked down Avenue Foch towards the finish line where the baggage area was also located. At one of the tents, I spotted a small box of safety pins. I was sternly told to only take four - safety pins must be like gold dust in Paris.
On the way back to the starting area on the Champs Elysees, I came across several of the "fun" runners getting prepared. This included one man on stilts and another dressed as a banana. I had limited expectations of how I would do on the run but now had a motivational goal - stay ahead of these two for as long as possible. I found my designated starting area and started to get caught up in the atmosphere of the race. The Champs Elysses slopes pretty sharply all the way down to the Place de la Concorde so it makes a great launching pad for a marathon. Conditions were very good, a beautiful warm spring day. 8:45 and the gun went for the start. It took about a minute to get across the start line but after that things immediately freed up. It seemed to take no time before we were on to the Rue the Rivoli and running past the Louvre.
Not having much of a race plan beyond aiming to get at least half-way around (and out-pace the banana), I settled into a reasonable pace and focused on enjoying the journey. Light relief was provided by the occasional insane pedestrian who, peeved at not being able to cross the street because of the seemingly never ending stream of humanity, would decide to make a dash for it. This seemed to raise the blood lust in the runners who would accelerate and bear down on them, shouting in mock outrage at their progress being hampered. Parking your car anywhere near a water stop was ill-advised. The half-mile after each of these stops was punctuated by detonations as a poorly aimed bottle landed on a car bonnet or roof.
The eastern extent of the marathon route takes you into the Chateau de Vincennes which has the same feel as running around the Phoenix Park and was a nice contrast to the city streets. It was at this point that a new hazard was encountered: the food stop. The marathon was part sponsored by a banana company and segments of banana, still in their skins, were being handed out. What this resulted in was hundreds of discarded banana skins - not what you want to see ahead of you, unless you are a circus clown practicing pratfalls.
I was approaching the half-way point so it was time to take stock. Not feeling too bad, I decided on a new goal of getting as far as the Eiffel tower. The next stretch was back into the city and then along the Seine on the Voie Pompidou. This was enjoyable until a stretch of what felt like a mile which was underground. With the heat and noise, it got quite claustrophobic and I speeded up just to get back out in the fresh air again.
The Eiffel tower came into view and it was time for one last internal debate before deciding to keep going. You enter a different zone over those last few miles as you get yourself home as much by an effort of will as anything else. The last stretch was through the Bois de Boulogne. With a couple of miles to go, feeling thirsty, I pulled over at one of the sponsored refreshment stops only to find they were bizarrely serving cups of cider - ils sont fous les Parisiens! What next, crepes with nutella and a nice Chablis?
Finishing was almost an anti-climax but a pleasant surprise all the same. I had completed the marathon against all expectations and won my personal duel with the banana. I also realised that, for the first time, I had not hit the "wall" in a marathon so maybe there was something to this carb loading after all.
and Registrar, Pat Murphy