As I enter the athletics track for the last 200 metres I’m vaguely aware of crowds seated around the stadium cheering us on but am too punch drunk to pay them any heed.  I stagger over the line and collapse in a heap.  A girl comes over and opens my lace to take off my racing chip.  She asks me something in Spanish but nothing registers.  My brain has shut down. Someone hands me a medal, someone else shoves a towel in my hand, another gives me a bag of food and a bottle of champagne type stuff.  I wrap myself in the towel and crawl under a tree, shivering and waiting for my brain to come back to life, cursing the marathon and all its evil works.

Four hours earlier I was in a far more positive frame of mind. The themes to Rocky and Chariots of Fire were just some of the tunes blaring out over the PA system at the start line. Who could fail be inspired with those classics ringing in their ears? And so Alan and I set out together, clipping along at a very nice pace. Our plan was to try and run 3:30 and although I had a feeling it was a bit too fast for my blood, I decided to shoot for the stars. After all, if I didn’t try I’d never know. We clocked 10km in 50 minutes which was pretty good going. There were small pockets of enthusiastic support at several points on the course but a 2k tailback of angry-looking, horn-honking drivers along one stretch served as evidence that not all Valencians were overly enthused by us shutting down their streets for the day. After about 12km Alan decided to push on a bit harder so I left him off. I kept clipping along on my own and reached halfway in 1:46. I was feeling strong but in the back of my mind I had a nagging feeling that I was going to pay dearly for this pace later on.

And so it transpired. By kilometre 28 I was feeling the strain. I stopped for a bit of a stretch and started up again. After another few kilometres I knew the game was up. The last 10 kms was an agonising sequence of run, stop, stretch, walk, run, stretch, hobble. With my legs screaming out for mercy and my brain melted with fatigue I eventually stumbled home in 3:59 – just barely under the 4 hour mark.

Alan spotted me under the tree shortly afterwards. He hobbled over. He had finished in 3:39. He had been going well and was nicely set up for 3:30 until the last 10km when it all began to fall apart. It seems our race strategies still need some fine tuning but at least we have another 10 chances to get it right. Roll on Rome!

Darren

Valencia Race Info

Marathon Type:  Road running through city.

Temperature: 17 degrees

Conditions: Overcast

No. of  Participants: 3500

Entry Fee: 42 euro