Last week we began the saga of two Californians who participated in this year’s Medoc Marathon. Click here for part 1.
Start Slowly . . . Then Taper Right Off

A typical marathon strategy is as follows: go out slowly, get warmed up, steadily increase your pace, maintain a speed that enables comfortable conversation during the long miles, and save enough energy for one last burst across the finish-line so you don’t look completely horrible.

Somehow, this approach did not translate well into French. The slow-beginning concept was perfect: For the first three miles or so, the throng mostly started and stopped as it wound its way through the streets of Pauillac, and various rowdies “performed” for the assemblage. By that point the athletes had arrived at their first “water” station (Chateau La Rose-Trintaudon), and any progress forward was quite boisterously stalled.

I was also “suffering” my own impediments in the race. Only 2000 of the competitors are female. So you do the math: all around me were huge throngs of men. French men. More specifically, French men who’d been drinking wine. For perhaps precisely that reason, the French maid costume seemed to be a hit. But as I quickly learned, this was not necessarily stellar planning on my part.

On various occasions throughout the day, I was whisked away by a gang of “prisoners,” imprisoned by a herd of “animals” who were running inside of an enormous cage (which they dropped over me, forcing me to keep pace with them), carried off by a renegade team of “surgeons,” and regularly surrounded by hooting bands of leering Francophiles. I haven’t had my rear end groped that much since my colonoscopy. Luckily, Doug isn’t really the jealous type.

Still, we did manage to click off a number of kilometers. Having the chance to stop, rehydrate, dance, and refresh at various chateaux was an ongoing blessing. So was the fact that our first names were emblazoned on our bib-numbers in enormous letters. Thus, the exuberant bystanders continuously yelled “Marianne! Bon courage!” “Doo-gloss! Allez! Allez!” When the heat and fatigue began to set in, such encouragement was invaluable.
Beef and Oysters, Anyone?

Doug and I had promised ourselves to be good kids, and stay away from the wine until near the end of the race. As it turned out, that was hardly a difficult promise to keep: Thanks to the relentless heat and humidity, both of us became pretty trashed and dehydrated in the latter half of the marathon. As a result, the idea of sniffing (let alone tasting) a glass of wine grew less and less attractive with each passing mile (people who know us even slightly still refuse to believe this, but it’s true).

At the halfway point, we were treated to a sight few American marathoners will probably ever enjoy: an entire side of “local boeuf” turning slowly on a spit by the side of the road, and samples thereof on the tasting tables. Closer to the end of the race (approximately mile 24) we also glimpsed the remnants of what had been billed as “the world’s longest oyster bar.”

Alas, by the time we made our way to that stop, said bar was merely a pile of shells and empty wine glasses (did I mention that most of the chateaux put out real, breakable glasses during the race? No plastique for the French!). Shellfish consumption was an intriguing idea, to be sure. But with stomachs churning, we pressed on.
Hitting Le Wall

Funny thing about a marathon: Like those enduring a life sentence, or a chronic illness (and probably childbirth, although I can’t speak from experience), there are points at which you start making bargains with God. “Lord, if you get me through this next mile, I will donate my life savings to Lithuanian refugees.” “God, please help me make it over the finish line without vomiting, and I will throw out that bag of Snickers in the freezer and live a clean life.” As the miles and hours tick down, such bargaining becomes constant.

So it was with my sweet husband and me. We had realized miles (and hours) earlier that we might not cross the finish line in the time allotted to receive our medallions and other goodies. But where disappointment first lived, hope miraculously took hold. If we could just keep one foot in front of the other that would be reward enough, we promised each other

Thus, we sang. We told jokes. We sweated. We prayed. We walked. And we walked. And we walked some more. And suddenly, miraculously, we passed the final kilometer marker. One kilometer left! Did we have the energy left to go for it? We did . . . and we did.
A Light-Bodied, Strong Finish

From somewhere only the god of bargains could see, both of us reached down and found the strength to ramp up our speed and kick it in. As we drew closer to the finish line, I was vaguely aware of crowds screaming, music blaring, and a continual chant of “Marianne! Doo-gloss! Allez! Allez!” Yet I could only focus on a single word – the “Arrivée” splashed across the gigantic archway that marked the end of our ordeal.

I squinted, put my head down, and felt the sizzling, sticky air torturing my lungs. And (like that woman in childbirth, perhaps) gave it one final, massive push.

Voila! We were there! What’s more . . . we were alive! And, hallelujah, what’s this? Through my now-torrential tears I discerned a handsome, glowing-faced hunk draping a heavy medallion around my neck. He carefully handed me a logo-inscribed backpack and fleece vest, and said something in French that I didn’t understand . . .  but yet I did, somehow.

His congratulatory smile (and the bottle of ’97 Chateau Fonbadet Pauillac in the commemorative wooden box) said it all: I was a winner. No matter how many hours and steps it had taken Doug and me to complete the Medoc Marathon, it mattered not. The journey was, indeed, the reward. Santé!


"Editor's note: France's Philippe Remond, who has either won the marathon or finished in a top-three slot for the past decade, was again the victor in the 2004 outing, posting a finishing time of 2:20:39. Nathalie Vasseur took top female honors, with a time of 2:54:26. Both earned the traditional prize of their weight in Grand Cru Classé . . . as did the very last person to make it
to the Arrivée point."

For information and reservations for the 2005 Médoc Marathon, slated for September 10, call Marathon Tours & Travel at (617) 242-7845, or visit www.marathontours.com.