Paris Marathon: race day

I honestly had no idea when I stepped out onto France’s most famous street whether I would make it as far as the far end of the road. I hadn’t run for two full weeks and I had spent the whole of that time with my right calf and shin under compression and on ice. The pain had never been intense but I certainly could not run more than a few paces (even on carpet) during the last weeks of March.

The enormous and inelegant queue for the toilets on the Champs-Élysées kept my mind off my lower limbs as the seconds dripped away and before I knew it the multilingual announcers were counting down to the start. Now I began to worry and to paw the ground gingerly with the afflicted part. Was that splintering bone I felt or just a little stab of hypochondria?

Somehow I had ended up behind the 3:15 pacemaker and I think this spurred me on for the first few kilometres. The leg was sore (really quite sore) but there is always a chance of shaking it off. I kept up the stride rate but limited the stride length - which is my normal way of increasing speed. After Paris's dreadfully organised first feed stop (it was bad in '07 too) I was moving fluidly and i was inside 3:20 pace at 5km. But would the leg hold up? surely I couldn't hold on to the 3:15 pacemaker... could I?

By 10km the field was beginning to string out and I was being passed by quite a few pacey athletes but I was amazed to find that not only had I maintained the speed I'd actually improved it to 3:18 pace. The pain and fatigue were kicking in as we moved out along the line of the river into Paris's eastern suburbs. As we entered the parks I was starting to consciously defend my 'lead' and i was still up on my required average by half way. 21.1km was reached in 1hr 44mins (3:24 pace) and the possibility of a PB or even my 3:30 goal still remained.

By now we were heading back past the Ile de la cite and I had lost sight of the yellow 3:15 pacemaker. The 'engine' wasn't feeling too bad but the injured right leg was beginning to tighten up. I could feel the fluidity of my running ebbing away and as the course dipped under a black underpass and climbed towards the 30km mark at the Eiffel Tower I had to make a decision. It was either go 'balls out' for the time and risk pulling up or slow down and guarantee a finish.

The decision was made for me on km32 as the tendon connecting my middle toes started to tighten up and numb my foot. I backed right off the pace and shortly afterwards was passed by the 3:30 pacemakers. This was getting tough and I needed to dig deep in the 'suitcase of pain' just to keep going.

The last 10km is through the parkland to the west of the city centre and I decided I needed fuel. I finished the last of my drinks bottles and dived into a food stop; coming out with banana, raisins and water. Somehow this didn't seem enough so I grabbed some Powerade from another stand. It was blue (no food should be blue) but I chugged it down anyway. I was suddenly filled with a food mania and spotted the Beaujolais Marathon stand around the next bend. They were offering bread, soft cheese and small glasses of wine - I had all of it.

There was a few minutes of digesting and then whoomph! the afterburners kicked in. Having spent 39km going backwards in some level of pain suddenly it was like a video game. All the imperious muscular Frenchies were moving in slow motion as i flew past them into a blurred tunnel of speed. I must have picked up 300 places in the last 3km and by the time I entered the finish straight I was chanting "on, on, on" in a Tom Simpson style and darting from frogless gap to frogless gap.

I crossed the line in a respectable 3:55. I should have been disappointed as this was way outside my target time but I had actually really really enjoyed the race and even to complete it felt like a victory.