First time I ran the Thessaloniki Marathon was in 2011. To date It was one of the loneliest experiences of my life. Let me put this into some kind of perspective: Right now there are sailors who have been shipwrecked and washed up on a desolate desert island, that have more chance of finding other signs of life than if they ran the Thessaloniki Marathon! I’m pretty certain that the four horsemen of the apocalypse had been hired to promote this event. Some Marathons boast a spectator audience of 2.5 million! Thessaloniki? 5 people, 2 of which suffered from dementia and turned up purely by chance, having totally lost their way!
So why on earth would I want to run this Marathon again? I’ll try to illustrate my decision with an example. Has your partner ever accepted a dinner invitation from a couple who you find totally boring? You’re absolutely livid as you stand at their front door, bottle of Bulgarian Beaujolais in your hand waiting to be ushered in. Your host lights his old antique pipe packed with that special “imported” kind of tobacco, the one that smells like two week old roadkill. The conversation starts with the migrating habits of the Arabian fruit Pigeon and progresses to model remote control cars. Now you don’t want to be there right? But because your ”better half” graciously accepted the invitation without consulting you, necessity prevails so you just grin and bare it. As part of my Marathon training I needed to pick an event in April and the only two available were the Vienna and Thessaloniki. Looking at the abyss I choose to call my finances I soon realised that Vienna would have to wait. It therefore became a necessity to run Thessaloniki.
Collecting my bib number, goodies bag and t-shirt was a painless experience, quick and efficient. The Expo was advertised as a MEGA event on the official site (www.atgm.gr) In reality it was reminiscent of a North Korean democracy march. I estimate that it would take a walking frame assisted pensioner about 30 nanoseconds to see it all. The signs where not looking good. (I forgot to mention that I’d accidentally ordered my race t-shirt in Small, instead of medium and upon trying it on, came to the stark conclusion that I looked like a member of the Village People.Y-M-C-A)
Sunday morning, 5:00am, it’s still night and I’m making my way to the White Tower to take a coach to the start of the marathon. The bars and nightclubs are still open and I can hear music blaring out from every street. A few inebriated revelers singing in tones only a deaf person could appreciate and girls dancing in skirts so short that even a nudist would blush. Now look at the irony of all this. For the past 20 days I’ve not touched a drop of alcohol. I’d been extremely disciplined for 4 months, watching what I ate and sleeping at respectable hours. The previous night I’d even declined to go to a party at the thought that it might jeopardise my finishing time! And here I was, walking through party carnage!
The coach journey to the start of the race takes about 40 minutes, non-eventful and a good time to catch up on some sleep. Pella is the birthplace of Alexander the Great, a modest but picturesque village. The first thing I noticed was the huge statue of the Great Alexander towering over the starting blocks, sword in hand and ready to strike down his enemies. Within a stones throw the village philharmonic orchestra could be heard tuning up in readiness for our sendoff at 8:00am. The time went by quickly. A few well rehearsed words from the mayor of Pella, then the starting gun went off. As my body surged forward and I gained some momentum, I could hear the crowds clapping and shouting encouragement. The adventure had begun.
After the first few minutes I could see the ancient ruins on my righthand side. The impressive “Agora” (Market) with it’s main pillars still intact. Some citrus trees and agricultural fields blended into this ancient scene. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was. I was starting to get a little remorseful at my opinion of this race. How many runners could boast that they had run on the very same soil that Alexander had walked on? I felt ashamed.
Most of the route was run on a main road, there were very view villages and shade was virtually non-existent. The lack of shelter exposed us to the sun as it menacingly grew stronger. It was to play a major part in most runner’s delayed finishing times. Some even abandoned the race in favour of medical attention and an ice cool I.V. By 11:00am the temperature had reached about 26 Celsius. I could feel the asphalt roasting under my feet, it smelt like molten lava seeping out of a volcano.
To my astonishment throughout the route there were spectators in all the villages we ran through. (A sharp contrast to the abandonment I’d felt at the 2011 race.) There were bands playing local music which mostly consisted of a barrage of clarinet with some percussion instruments thrown in. I’ve never run while motivated by clarinets, a first for me and extremely good fun. Indeed it was a welcome change from the usual Rhianna and techno compilations. Water stations were plentiful and the volunteers with smiles on their faces made sure we were never short of a gel sachets or Bananas. It was good to see this significant improvement, I felt my trip had not been a waste.
No two marathons are ever the same. Every race has it’s funny moments, it’s difficult moments and it’s Characters, runners who stand out from the crowd. I’d like to mention a few. The two runners in wheelchairs who both finished. I saw the amount of effort they both put into completing, a task that most able-bodied people would find impossible. A special mention to a remarkable runner who passed me at the 22km mark. I’m going to start a new paragraph for this guy as I feel he totally justifies it.
Head down, eyes towards Thessaloniki, marathon pace, full speed ahead! I suddenly hear a voice and turn to see who was calling to me. It was a Priest in full robes, who shook my hand and congratulated me on my choice of charity. (Children with cancer, it was written on the back of my running vest) “ I know the wonderful work you do” he said, his face beaming with light. Humbled I thanked him and he sped off into the distance. I couldn’t keep up with him, he was extremely fast. (Later I looked up his finishing time, 3:17!) When god is your co-pilot I guess you can expect those kind of results. One thing was certain, that if I was hot dressed the way I was, the good priest was by now at gas mark 4, attired in his black winter robes.
The last few Kilometers were amazing, running along the seafront and onto the White Tower where the finish line awaited. The streets were lined with people cheering and they welcomed us as heroes, an acknowledgment of our achievement. I mustered all my strength and started to sprint. The adrenaline was carrying me to the end of yet another marathon adventure! As I passed those last few inches of asphalt and came to a stop, I felt the elation of completing another successful marathon. With crowds cheering and a medal around my neck, I stocked up on some fruit, juice and water. I spent the last few hours cheering on the rest of the marathon runners as they reached the finish, possibly trying to re-live the moment.
Roughly 1,700 runners participate in the 42km event at The Alexander the Great marathon. and 10,000 in the 5km and 10km races. I have to confess, I didn’t expect such a great race. Thessaloniki totally resurrected the event for me and it was nothing like my experience in 2011. Worthy of anyone’s time. For those who love the thrill of a major 44,000 runner event, this marathon may not be for you. But if you want a race with character and you want to run in the footsteps on the greatest Macedonian ever to have lived, then run Thessaloniki.
The Minoan Runner 