After nine months of single-purpose training, pushing my limits of tolerance for volume, intensity and boredom, I was standing at the start line of the 2018 Spartathlon, full of excitement and raring to go.

26hours later, at the 202 km mark, with one last marathon to go, I handed in my race bib.
Reason: Physically incapable of continuing.

I know that for HuRTS fast guns, the thought of running a few kilometres over 5min/km sounds like a total punishment. So moving waaaaaaay slower for 200+ km, on the motorway shoulder during a freakish hurricane, may appear like sadistic torture! I get it and I can’t deny it was slightly insane. At the same time, it’s the type of adventure and rollercoaster of emotions you can rarely get from anything else. That’s why I love it.

This is an extract from my longer post , aimed to be read in the same amount of time it takes you to run a beer mile. Enjoy!
ps: what a man got to do nowadays for a HuRTS award nomination. Next time I’ll renovate my house and post the photos on the WhatApp group, way cheaper than the Physio bill.

WHAT IS THE SPARTATHLON?

In its 36th edition, the Spartathlon is a 246km race from Athens to Sparta tracing the steps of Pheidippides, the Athenian herald (day runner/courier) who in 500 BC ran from Athens to Sparta (and back, btw!) to seek support against the Persians’ invading Greece. History reports he covered the distance in about 36 hours, which is the race cutoff time.

If Pheidippides did it, without Hokas, gels, salt tablets and electrolytes drinks, anyone could do it, right? not quite so.
Spartathlon is the stuff of legends, and just taking part as one of the ~400 participants from all over the world, one of the five Aussie representatives this year, is by itself an achievement and a great honour.

SPARTATHLON RACE DAY

We start in the light rain, I wear only my t-shirt and feeling a bit cold running out of the busy Athens with the police stopping the cars at every intersection and people cheering you on.

At the marathon mark, I am right on time in 3:30 and happy to meet my trusted support crew, Lidia and Luca.
A quick exchange of water bottles, and nutrition and I am off. I will meet them again at 80km.

At about 50km, a sudden sharp pain under my left knee. I stop, try to stretch out, walk it out. I massage my quads, hamstring and calves with no much success.
Whatever it is, I will just have to run with it.
In the next 30km, my lower back also starts to hurt, I am overcompensating with the right leg and twisting.

The weather is still holding up ok, it is the perfect temperature for running but I am sweating profusely.
And it is cold sweat, I have the chills.

At 80km I am on perfect schedule but I feel a wreck.
One look and Lidia says “What’s happening? You are so pale”.
I hug her very emotional. “My knee or my ITB. My back. I’m sweating, I am really really confused, I’m not sure, sorry”.
Luca and Lidia are shocked to see me like that at 80km. They give me salt tablets, CurraNZ, Revvies, more food, Purecarb, electrolyte: a full load of energy.
I thank them and leave.

20 meters down the road, a little girl is waiting with a notepad for all the runners to sign. I stop, bend down and BLANK.
I can’t write my name.
I don’t know my name.
I look at her, make two scribbles.
I get up even more confused, run another 20 meters and I stop. “What the fuck is going on?”.

Luca rushes over to check on me and I yell back to go away as receiving assistance outside an assisted-checkpoint gets you disqualified.
I get my thoughts together and start running again.
I would see Luca and Lidia again at 100km and I can’t wait.

I get there in 9 hours, right on schedule and my morale is much better and I feel better. If it wasn’t for my bloody knee getting harder to bend.
I take some time to rest and put my arm sleeves on, it’s getting colder but no rain, yet.
From that point onwards, the assisted checkpoints are more frequent, anywhere between 10 and 20 km apart, and I know I’ll need my crew’s help to carry on.

As I get to the next manned checkpoint, It starts to rain and I wear my long sleeve and marathon shell.
As soon as I leave the checkpoint, it starts pouring down. The temperature plummets, the wind picks up.
I’m drenched and get cold. The pain under the knee comes back sharply and this time I stop running.
I start to walk, slowly, in the pouring rain, I crunch my shoulders, brace myself and march on, shivering.

Lidia and Luca drive pass and spring into action.

They reach the next checkpoint three km down the road and sweet talk the volunteers to leave a change of clothes and help me out.
When I eventually get there I’m beyond cold, I change all the layers, dry myself and put on my rain jacket.
I walk out in the pouring rain. The jacket doesn’t do much, in a matter of seconds I am as wet and cold as before, with the next checkpoint 3 km away.
I walk with bouts of jogging with no much hope.
I brace myself once again while tons of people overtake me. But I couldn’t care less.

Seeing the weather deteriorating as rapidly as my conditions, Luca and Lidia take things to the next level.
They locate a pharmacy and buy neurofen and deep heat cream.
They get to a hardware store and buy a black thick plastic jacket and long pants, those used by road workers.

Meanwhile, I am getting a full load of rain and wind. Because I am walking instead of running, I can’t keep warm. I am shivering and feeling hopeless.
I eventually make it to the next checkpoint and I am feeling desperate.
I collapse on the chair under the umbrella but the wind and rain are so hard it is like I’m still in the middle of the road.
The volunteers are busy keeping the checkpoint together so the race official points to a bus nearby, “you can get in there and get help from your support crew”.
I stand up and I hug her “Thank you Thank you Thank you,” I say.

Luca helps me up on the bus as I can’t bend my knee enough to make the step.
Lidia leaves no space for debate or for me to get comfortable in the warmth of the bus. She hands me some neurofen, dry clothes and the thick plastic jackets and pants.
It’s 2 sizes too big and we burst out laughing while we roll up the pants and try to tighten the jacket.

As I walk out the bus I tell Lidia: “Don’t make me walk like this to Sparta. This is not why I am here”.
Lidia’s response is simple and effective “Of course not, just get to the next checkpoint, ok?”

I get out the bus, looking like a zombie-gnome, wearing an oversized black plastic wrapper, in the pitch black stormy night.
I start to walk again. 3 km till the next checkpoint.
Which takes f****ing forever.

The next checkpoint is fully manned with plenty of food and cover.
I collapse in a chair exhausted and demoralised. Luca gets my long pants off and uses half a tube of Deep Heat cream on my quads, knees, calf and wrap my legs in a towel.
 “Now you stay here until it burns.” Luca says.
Lidia changes my top, gloves, hat and hands me hot chicken soup.
“I don’t want to walk to Sparta like this”, I keep saying.
“Of course not, we won’t let you to” Lidia replies “Just to the next checkpoint ok? We will be there ok?”
Several minutes later my legs are on fire.
“Well, let’s put the long pants on, ok? It will be hot and you will be sweating but hopefully, that works.” Luca says.
“Ok. But I don’t want to walk to Sparta. To the next checkpoint. Ok?” I keep saying.

I leave the checkpoint and start to shuffle. “This is an improvement.” I think.
“And I can bend my knee again. My legs are so f****ing burning!”
“I wonder if I can jog” and I start jogging. “Oh shit, this is working. It doesn’t hurt! And my legs are so f*****ing burning!”
“Let’s try to run”. And I start running.
“Holy cow.. this is working. My legs are so  f*****ing burning. That’s brilliant”.
And I start running faster and faster.

Lidia and Luca are at the next checkpoint, 4 km down the road, they are fully ready with food, water, change of gear, etc..
I see them from distance and with the biggest smile on my face, I start shouting “I’m RUNNING!!! I’M NOT STOPPING! I AM RUNNNNNNIIIIIINNGGG!!! WHOOOOHOOOO”

I am now moving well, really well. I am flying down the road, running over ankle deep puddles and laughing. I don’t care about wind or rain.
The next checkpoint materialises quickly and once again I shout to Luca & Lidia “I AM RUUNUUUNNNNNIIIINGGG”

I am essentially on a high of caffeine, neurofen and deep heat cream.
I feel a bit of a cheater for taking neurofen, but I am so glad I can run!

For the next 40km or so, in the deep of the night, with rain, wind, paddles and hills, I have the time of my life. I run hard, maybe too hard, but I feel like I found myself again.
The manned checkpoints are now fun, I get there and stuff my face with food while we get into a routine to
1) take off my longs pants, dry my legs, turn the pants inside out and dry them too
2) do the same with the jacket and long sleeve (both drenched)
3) top up the deep heat cream until it burns
4) change buff and gloves and anything else we can find dry
5) wrap me all up again.
The whole process takes a few minutes and I am sure it’s quite fun to watch.

I speed out of the checkpoint like a madman, or a man on a high 😃 !
I make up all the positions lost during the walking stretch.
At the incline before the mountain, most people are walking, I am running with full intent.
This is what I am here for!
I take the time to acknowledge Luca and Lidia’s help, and the people I’m running for. There are a few of them this year.

At the base of the mountain, I feel excited. The actual climb, which I feared for months, turns out to be just a steep hill.
At the top is very cold, strong winds, horizontal rain, and thick fog. The visibility is very limited, so no selfies this year!

On the way down the mountain (170 km mark), the knee misses a couple of beats and I am just hoping it lasts just that little longer.

When I make it to the following checkpoint, Luca is visibly concerned. He was expecting me way earlier.

The weather gets nastier. Rain and winds get heavier, things start to get really wild.
Somewhere around 190km mark, maybe 24 hours in the race, I pop half neurofen as my knee is playing up again.
I continue on jogging and walking very low on energy.

Despite the caffeine, I feel sleepy and close my eyes while running, swerving to the middle of the road.
I start hallucinating too. The depth of field is squashed and trees form weird shapes that, to me, appear like animals.
I never had hallucinations while running. It’s a weird feeling and I welcome the distraction in the torrential rain.

I decide to take a few minutes to walk it out till the next checkpoint which is only half kilometre away, where I plan to rest a little.
At the checkpoint, as I sit on the chair and close my eyes, there is a rumble in my guts. I just make it outside the tent to puke.

I need to get to my crew ASAP. I make a soft attempt to run but I resolve to a walk, slowly. I feel exhausted.
It’s now the worst of the storm too, we are probably in the eye of the hurricane and there is no repair, not even under all the plastic layers I am wearing.

The kilometres to the next checkpoint take forever and I am cold to the bone. I am certainly not the only one to suffer as only two people overtake me despite I limp through the section.
Lidia and Luca cannot hide their relief when they see me appear, but I don’t look good.
I climb on the massage table to try to release my knee and maybe have a micro nap with no success at either.
Despite Luca and Lidia advising me to hang around and rest up, I insist on leaving.
I feel if I stay any longer I will not leave again, I am too cold.

Probably the wrong decision.
I progress at snail pace, swerving badly towards the ditch on one side and the road on the other; it’s the wind, the pain in my leg and back and total physical and mental exhaustion.
By the time I get to the next checkpoint, at km 202, 26 hours into the race I am totally done.
Luca and Lidia can’t provide any physical support, we can only talk.
For the first time, I realise how tired and cold they are too, as they are happy to find repair in the car while I make the last attempt to sleep and warm up, wrapped in a space blanket laying on the bench under the checkpoint’s umbrella.

There is only one thought in my mind: “This is not running a race. At this pace, the next marathon will take me 8 to 10 hours. I can possibly finish. But what’s the point?”

Incapable of sleeping or warming up, I get up and call Luca and Lidia over. “That’s it, I am stopping here” I say
They are not surprised, possibly relieved.
With no much ceremony, I hand in my bib, my timer and sign my DNF document.
Reason: Physically incapable of continuing.