If you have ever been sitting around, eating and/or drinking, and talking about running, the thought goes through your head that you'd rather do the former than the latter. It works both ways, as when you are running, you'd rather be eating/drinking. Well, isn't it nice that there is a place where you can do both? Fly to lovely Bordeaux in France and take a stroll through wine country where you can - literally - drink your way to the finish line.
Kirsten and I got on the registration right away, and quickly after the 8,000 person cap was reached. We flew to Bordeaux and headed to the expo, which set the stage for what was to come. Rather than most booths being for supplements, gear, and other sales, nearly every vendor was for another race in the region, and it turned out they all had these maddening food festivals paired with alcohol. And to ensure you were not confused about what you were getting into, each booth had wine and food for the sampling. If that wasn't enough, there was a beer garden and a wine tent to keep you busy while waiting for the return bus. People partook in the festivities as music oscillated from hard-core metal to Bob Marley. There were people in costumes, drinking games, and other shenanigans that made it feel like Mardi Gras meets the Hong Kong 7s.
Race morning was no different. A mile walk to our bus and we were transported out to the start, a ride of about an hour, just like Boston. From there we meandered through the throngs of people, 99% of them dressed in what looked like a terrible Halloween parade. This year's theme was "Games" so most costumes (not all) revolved around this loose notion of a game. We had sports, cards, and everything in between, including super heroes and unrecognizable attire. The hour before the gun was met with music and an aerial show over the corrals, with sword fighting on ziplines to acrobats tumbling from silk cloths. It was easy to be boxed out when people wearing boats brushed by. We even saw a team of alpinists, complete with German lederhosen and tall socks, all connected with a rope. You are only as strong as your weakest runner..
The costumes cost more than they should and were not runner-friendly. |
We didn't have to wait long, and at the 2nd kilometer, we stuffed our faces with pastries. Having skipped breakfast, I was starving, although for the next hour, I would regret binging on croissants so early in a race. Just a kilometer later, we entered our first wine estate and the reason for running this event. Full tables of clear, plastic dixie cup-sized vessels awaited while a band of brass rooted intensely. Red wine is not my cup of tea, but when in Bordeaux...
Rolling on, we had another couple of wine stops among the gorgeous chateaus of the region. Fueled by wine or that fire that never ceases to smolder deep inside, Kirsten started upping the ante, and our pace dropped. Significantly undertrained for the distance, I was a bit skeptical of our pace (about 7:36/mi or 4:43/k, we clipped off miles efficiently, that is, until one of the 23 wine stops on the run. Early on, these were significantly spread out, but from halfway, they came frequently, sometimes as close as 400m apart. From the gun we said we would partake in every single station and we did. Being at the front of the race, we were the only ones doing so, as most other participants around us were focused on running for time. We absolutely were not, so when we spotted a table, we made a beeline for it, and usually the cheers were enormous. At some stations, I think we were the first runners to partake in the wine. We'd banter with the volunteers (at one table it was a girl of about 12 years old and her two younger siblings, the youngest about 3 years old; there wasn't an adult anywhere near), and graciously thank them for the service. Some stations had plastic cups but others had full stem glassware! With each helping of wine, we'd float down the road, the anesthetic coursing through our legs, heads a bit more foggy than before.
We were making a great impression on the locals. Sweating early on (and not taking in fluids other than fermented grape juice due to capacity and bloating issues), we had to ditch the uniforms. We tossed the robes and shorts in a recycle bin, but the foam gloves (which we had been using to mock punch small children along the way (which parents found endearing but the kids were startled by)) we gave to a girl and her sister standing outside their small house. Their squeals of delight echoed as we charged on, and looking back we could see them high-fiving other runners with the large, blue gloves.
Where we were not making a great impression was with the other runners. Each time we pulled into a stop for wine, they soldiered on, and then Kirsten and I would come charging past on the road, running far faster than them, but clearly not trying as hard. We'd pull ahead, hit the next wine stop, and chase people down again. As wine does, it loosened our tounges and we were telling stories and chatting most of the way. This, understandably, is obnoxious to the runner putting in their full effort, and to that I say, Find a different race! When 95% of the field is dressed like it's Halloween and they serve wine more than water, perhaps it's not the best environment to hit your Boston Qualifier...
If this weren't chaotic enough, the real fun came in the last 5 kilometers. On a long road leading back to town, we were treated to the delicacies of the region in food form. There is a reason that they do not serve heavy food early on in a marathon. Somewhere after 25k we happened about a winery that was serving not only wine, which we took (have to try every one), but also beer! That was a welcome change from all of the reds we had been consuming, and since red wine makes my mouth feel like I am eating a cotton ball, the beer was like sparkling water. Also at this particular stop was a french fry station, and where better to sample a fry than France? We probably could have eaten 10 servings of the fries, but with ample running left to do, we had to show some restraint. But as we got closer to the finish, more opportunities presented themselves. At 36km, we ate cured pork and took some fun pictures with a pig mannequin. When I tried to position its arm around me, it dislocated, and I sheepishly pushed it aside, hoping no one would notice.Accidentally pulled the arm out of the pig's socket. Sorry. |
Sauntering on to 38k, we pulled up for oysters, pre-shucked, and doused them in lemon juice before shooting them down. While raw oysters may not be everyone's cup of tea (Kirsten took a pass), they did have white wine at this stop, so we enjoyed the crisp taste before bolting down the road, just one more kilometer until another food stop. This one was steak. I cannot say I have ever thought of steak as the best in-race food, but it was tasty and we weren't going to pass it up. This stop, of course, had red wine, because we weren't about to have a faux pas in France by pairing red meat with anything but red wine.
Oysters and white wine and feeling fine! |
With less than a kilometer to go, we grabbed our final treat of the day (not wine): ice cream. Well, in American terms, this was really more like a fruit popsicle, but it worked well. As it dripped in the sun, we finished the final straightaway, crossing in a none-too-impressive 3:52. However, given the number of times we stopped for minutes at a time to feast on anything but ideal running food, plus the 20+ swigs of wine, we can count this as a fairly decent effort. Our finisher's tent provided an abundance of meats, cheese, wine, beer, and other snacks, and we sat in chairs in the sun, relishing in our journey. As full as you can ever possibly be after 42K, we left the tent to the street which was bustling with activity from food/drink stands to a full stage with music. Having just changed our clothes, the clouds crashed in and a downpour began. Sprinting (as best we could) we hid under table umbrellas with some locals, squished together awkwardly, and awaited better weather. When it stopped we enjoyed a few beers with the runners and spectators while watching television broadcasts on the big screen of aid stations on the course before starting the long walk back to the buses. With about an hour to kill, we sat and watched many people coming back from the race in various states of fatigue and inebriation, many of them still trapped in their costumes. It was a heavy-eyed ride back to the city for an evening out before a much-needed crash.
It may sound ridiculous, even painful, but Marathon du Medoc easily makes the list of must-do races for the marathon runner. This is due in whole to the absolute absurdity from beginning to (long after the) end and for no other reason. Tack on a decent, undulating course through a beautiful landscape, enthusiastic volunteers, and quality organization if you must, but we all know why you are really out there. It's the only race where the party is bigger on the course than after the finish!