Porto marathon

Porto was a lovely weekend, not just my usual whistle stop trip for a marathon but the chance to relax a bit more, see more of the city and have a very pleasant weekend with Mark. I had slightly conflicting thoughts about him coming along and not running, on the one hand, it was good that he didn't have another marathon as multiple marathoning is a choice you have to make yourself, not one to be influenced into, however unintentionally; on the other, I felt a bit prima donna-ish with my race being the dominant theme, especially as Mark was relegated to supporter, jumper carrier, water bearer and soigneur, roles that he fulfilled very proficiently. I don't think anyone's ever tried to pin my number on for me before. It was, however, excellent to have such good company, and even more excellent when he popped up at 15k and kept me company for the next almost 11.

Portuguese marathons appear to be like the smaller Spanish ones: they're very competitive with a fast field, you're going to feel quite lonely if you finish in much over 4 hours. There are also very few women, 93 of a 1,180 strong field, that's about 8%. It's not so much a social thing as it is in the UK, people are there to race, and I rather like that attitude, it makes you feel part of something a bit more momentous, it's more than a bunch of people getting together for a jolly old jaunt together, stopping off to eat cake and chat. But then I am getting quite purist.

On Saturday, we went, via winding lanes, crooked houses and epic flights of steps, to the expo at the not very Crystal Palace that gave out a cracking goody bag with a race number with my name on it, backpack, technical t-shirt, baseball cap, a few odds and sods like a keyring and samples and, most excitingly of all, a full size 750ml bottle of commemorative marathon port. I was hugely pleased with this, although it represented a further challenge of decimating it before the flight back (it was polished off sitting on the harbour in the sunshine post race). The free feed was pretty vast too, if of school dinner quality, but the included beer made it worthwhile. At the finish was yet more free stuff, ladies were given a rose and we all got a drawstring bag with another baseball cap and a cotton t-shirt, and there was a stall set up doling out more beer. It's one of the most alcoholic races I've done and one of the better value ones. Less said about the flight the better.

As for my performance, I wasn't best prepared for the race, having a minor port headache, chronic sleep deprivation which is short circuiting increasing parts of my brain, and a series of niggles exacerbated by walking up and down many hills and steps in Porto on Saturday afternoon in inappropriate shoes. The current list includes (but is not exclusive to): right ankle, achilles and anterior tibialis, right back of knee, outside of both knees (prob tight ITBs), inside the top of my left knee that tends to give out on sudden inclines, right hamstring and where the deltoids meet the spine. It's all adding to the general feeling of decrepitude and the requirement for a good 6 weeks resting in a sanitorium on the banks of Lake Garda.
 However, I was really looking forward to the run, and usually do for marathons like Porto where I get to see lots of a nice city. This is a charming town with a great route down to the coast, along the sea front, then up the Douro river with a few out and backs before heading back the way we came. The start is straight up a hill for 1/2 a k, then downhill for 7k to the coast to tempt you into a fast start, luckily we were spared the long climb all the way back as the finish was "only" 2k up, although this does deposit you a long way from town.
My pacing has gone a bit haywire lately so I've had to run to perceived effort and accept whatever pace that results. This time that seemed like 8'30s which was a rather nice turn up for the books, it's been more like 9'15s recently. When Mark joined me, about 2km before I expected him, it definitely helped keep the rhythm going. He left me just before the hardest bit mentally, from 26 to 30k when it was getting quite warm and I was getting a bit sleepy and lacking in concentration. A Dutch bloke came alongside with perfect cadence so I latched onto him for a bit. The increasing heat was lovely and eased out some of the aches, and after seeing Mark again at 31k, it was a matter of counting down the ks. The legs were very very tired in the last 3 or 4 miles and the pace drifted a bit, but a sub 4 was without doubt. What was very tight was a sub 3'50 but, given I hadn't done one of these since April and I couldn't remember when GFA times expire, I had to go for it. The last 1.5k uphill was pretty cruel..... Finished in 3'49'20, got my rose, bag #2 and beer, then was very lucky to find a cab avoiding a long old hike back to the hotel inevitably getting very lost. Just a shame there was no teleporter to get us back home.

Postscript: I have to name and shame Victor Hutchins from Queen's Park Harrier who we saw peeing on the 25k distance marker, it didn't help that Mark had seen very few other Brits so had given him a cheery wave and shout on at least 3 occasions, to be totally ignored each time. Victor, you are the victor of the most vile runner prize, narrowly beating the portly gentleman running in racing knickers.