The Florence Marathon

Finding a burst of speed for the final bend

I knew it was going to be a special day as soon as I arrived at the start area of the Florence Marathon. The place was buzzing. Effusive Italians were everywhere, hugging and kissing each other. It was cold but the sun was shining; another glorious day in the making. The excitable announcer was building up the excitement and counting down to the start in a range of languages. I had decided to attach myself to the official 5 hour time pacers, three lovely Italian ladies whose guarantee to finish under their allotted time would provide me with a real chance of setting a new personal best for the marathon. To enable runners to keep track of them during the race, they each had four helium filled purple balloons attached to their back.

My excitement increased further when a group of lively mature Japanese ladies in fancy dress also congregated around the purple balloons. Regular readers of this blog will know how fond I have become recently of the Japanese. This was going to be fun. Unfortunately, though, after greatly enlivening the pre-race atmosphere, they quickly slipped off the five hour pace, never to be seen again. I hope they made it around OK and enjoyed the experience.

The Japanese contingent prepare for action

An overseas marathon is measured in kilometers, and whilst there are more (42k as opposed to 26 miles) there is less distance between them, which seems to help as they pass by at a faster rate. The route headed out of the city and meandered around the lush Parco delle Cascine before heading back towards the historic centre as the half way stage approached. Apart from a few gently sloping underpasses, the terrain was completely flat and for the first 15k I kept up fairly comfortably with the pace makers. They were great, offering plenty of encouragement and maintaining metronomic progress. I was on schedule for my PB and feeling strong, but slightly concerned that the pace being set was just a little faster than advertised. If maintained it would see me comfortably achieve my best time, but could I keep it up? It was faster for longer than I had run at any time this year.

After the 18k marker, very very gradually I found myself losing touch with the purple balloons. By the halfway mark, they were still just about in sight but very distant. Try as I might, I just could not close the gap. Nevertheless, I had reached the half marathon point in 2:25:17, two minutes faster than my fastest time of the year at Bath. I had only covered this distance faster three times before ever, and in theory I was still on track for a Marathon PB. However, I could feel my muscles beginning to tighten and, realising deep down that the second 21k would take longer than the first, I refocused and set myself a new aim of beating my second best ever time of 5:08, achieved in the 2006 London Marathon. Even allowing for a slower second half, this was still very much on.

For a long time I remained on schedule to beat 5:08, even after the pain arrived, in most of my left leg and groin (strangely not the right one that had caused me such trouble a few weeks ago). After a while it became clear that the agony was there to stay, but I somehow kept going purely by the dual power of positive thinking and my magic support pants, which somehow held my flailing parts together.

Each one only slightly slower than the last, the km markers continued to be left behind as did the refreshment stations every 5k. These welcome oases were remarkably well stocked with water, isotonic drinks, cups of sweet tea, bananas and other fruit, a variety of energy bars and, bizarrely at 30k, rock hard lattice style jam tarts, the strangest thing I've been offered on a run since the gherkins that I politely refused in the sweltering heat of the Stockholm marathon.

By 37k we were back in the city centre again, and the final 5k involved an amazing sightseeing tour around all of Florence's major sights. The Ponte Vecchio, the Duomo, Piazza della Republica. You name it, we passed it, and all whilst running on cobblestones, which although quaint to look at, pull suffering muscles in every direction except the desired one. More pain, no gain.

Negotiating the cobble stones

Crossing the Ponte Vecchio, 2.5k from the finish

There were still decent crowds at this stage, cheering us runners on with generous Italian warmth and flamboyance. I felt I could barely stay upright and every stride brought new levels of pain, but I was somehow swept along by the magnificent surroundings and atmosphere.

Rounding the final bend into Piazza Santa Croce, the finishing line almost in sight

Crossing the finishing line

Eventually I rounded the final bend into to the Piazza Santa Croce passing in front of the magnificent Basilica. I picked out Juliet's face in  the crowd cheering me on and taking some action photographs. Magically the pain disappeared and I approached the finishing line feeling strong and lengthening my stride, but also struggling to see clearly as emotion overcame me and tears welled up in my eyes. 5:08 might have slipped away from me a little while back, but the Florence Marathon had nevertheless been the most exhilarating running experience of my life. A fantastic effort. Everything had come together. Running well, not so far off my best ever in fact, the magnificent surroundings, amazing atmosphere and just the great buzz that comes from being healthy and fit enough to complete a marathon at the age of 50. 

My finishing time was 5:13:32, my fastest for over 5 years. Sadly again not a PB, but I was still very very pleased with it. I had finished a long way from the back of the field. This was my seventh marathon; I've only ever run two faster. In order to achieve this I've trained hard, especially over the past two months; it's been gruelling at times and I'd kind of made a pact with myself that this would be my final marathon - that I'd stick shorter distances from now on. However, all of a sudden I wasn't so sure. I'd certainly wouldn't rule out having another go at this marathon. Never again had suddenly changed to never say never!

My exhilaration wasn't entirely down to the marathon, though. It had been a fantastic weekend in every respect, but now it was time to head for home. The hotel owners, Emanuel and Barbara, had kindly kept our room available to us until 3:00pm, even though there were new guests waiting to take our place. This allowed me to take a much needed shower and change into fresh clothes for the journey home. Because the city centre was still closed to traffic as the final runners finished and the tidying up operation got underway, I had to endure a slow and painful walk whilst dragging my suitcase over the cobbles to the edge of the city centre before we were able to hail a cab to the airport. At the time this was a real ordeal, but by keeping my muscles active it had the very positive effect of enabling me to move relatively freely the following day.

We were surprised to find ourselves sitting in the small business class section at the front of the aeroplane for our flight back to London City Airport, our every need attended to by a flight attendant who looked and moved like a young and slighter version of David Walliams. Being allocated these seats was purely down to good fortune; there were too many economy passengers for the available seats and we were the lucky ones to get an upgrade. The benefits of flying business class on a short haul flight don't really amount to much, although the extra leg room and unlimited supply of wine were especially welcome after the day's events. This small but unexpected bonus right at the end just added the final bit of lustre to what had been an amazing weekend.

A Room with a View

View along the Arno from Piazzale Michelangelo

E.M. Forster's novel, "A Room with a View" begins with young Lucy Honeychurch and her overbearing chaperone, Charlotte Bartlett, complaining that instead of the rooms with a view of the river Arno they had been promised, their rooms instead looked over a courtyard. Ummm, it's probably a good job they didn't have the view of the quiet, but extremely scruffy, backstreet visible behind the net curtains in our Florence hotel room. Can you imagine what Charlotte, played by Maggie Smith in the Merchant-Ivory film adaptation, would have had to say about that? Unlike Lucy and Charlotte, though, we weren't on a promise of any kind, and in fact we are very pleased with the reasonably priced and comfortable Hotel Privelege. It's right next to the river, no more than a 15 minutes walk from any of the main sights and, very helpfully, only a few hundred metres away from the start line of Sunday's Marathon.

A room with a view? Well, sort of!

It's Saturday evening and it's been an absolutely fantastic visit to Florence so far. Even the journey here was enjoyable. My first experience of the slick operation at London City was followed by a fleeting aerial glimpse of the Valley from my seat with a view, and a mere two and a half hours later we were being whisked by taxi across the four and a half kilometers that separate Florence city centre from its airport.

Charlton Athletic's Valley from the air.

Before starting to take in the sights, there was business to attend to, namely collection of my race number and timing chip from the Luigi Rudolfi Athletics Stadium, about a twenty minute walk from our hotel. After all the drama earlier in the week getting a doctor to sign the medical form, I'm not sure whether it was amusing or galling that the result of all my anguish and careering about merited barely a cursory glance. Nevertheless, it was exciting to see my name appear on the screen as I walked past clasping my hard earned requisites for entry.

I'm in - it's official!

There is so much to see and do in Florence, that even a week would be woefully too short to take it all in. In just over 24 hours so far, though, we don't think we've done too badly. We've certainly put ourselves about! The weather has been amazing. With not a single cloud in the sky, the City's treasures have been bathed in a startlingly clear light.

Our first adventure was to climb the 414 twisty turny stone steps to the top of the Campanile, Florence's 14th century bell tower. With 26 miles to run less than two days later, this was probably not the wisest of excursions. However, the view from the top was wonderful compensation - the adjacent Duomo, the world's fourth largest cathedral completed midway through the fifteenth century, all of central Florence and the autumnal shades of the surrounding Tuscan countryside. Breathtaking, in more ways than one!

The Duomo and adjacent Campanile

The colourful neo-gothic (so I'm told)  facade of the Basilica di Santa Croce looked particularly striking in the glorious late afternoon sunshine. We haven't found time to look inside yet, it houses the tomb of Michelangelo and Galileo Galilei, but hopefully I will be taking a much closer look at it's exterior mid-afternoon tomorrow, as the finishing line for the Marathon is immediately in front of it. 

The neo-gothic facade of the Basilica di Sante Croce

As the daylight began to fade we made our way towards the famous Ponte Vecchio with its multi-storied shops. Until the late sixteenth century the shops were primarily butchers, but since a Medici edict in 1593 the only goods on offer have been gold and jewellery.

Ponte Vecchio

Prettily lit up, the bridge was crammed with sightseers like ourselves but retained an enchanting atmosphere. As dusk fell, the sunset along the Arno to the west was magnificent.

Sunset along the river Arno

An early start this morning enabled us to beat the crowds to the Galleria Dell' Accademia and enjoy a long and tranquil look at Michelangelo's astounding David. Seeing famous works of art close up and for real can sometimes disappoint. I was distinctly underwhelmed as I jostled to get a good look at the surprisingly small Mona Lisa in the Louvre a few years back, for example. My reaction to Michelangelo's masterpiece, however, could not have been more different. It is without doubt the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen. It's sheer size (516cm high) is striking, but the attention to detail carved out of hard marble is amazing. Not only is the beauty of the body awesome, but so too is the sense conveyed of David's quiet strength and serenity as he prepares to slay Goliath with one throw of his sling. The Galleria Dell' Accademia was built specifically to house this statue and its placement in an airy high domed space adds greatly to its impact. Photography is rightly forbidden, although an excellent replica erected outside the Palazzo Vecchio provides a compensatory photo opportunity.

Not quite the real thing.

As the day has proceeded we have taken in many more of Florence's famous sights and ventured into the stunning interiors of some of its enormous churches. The vast light-filled space and coloured marble inside the Basilica di san Lorenzo and and the amazing frescos on the ceiling of the Chiesa di Santa Maria del Carmine in particular stood out. We stopped for a coffee (for Juliet; I had tea) and a delicious cake at the ornately decorated Gilli. As is the Florentine way, we consumed this standing up at the bar. Next to us two smart young Italians each ordered an espresso, which they downed in one and then they were off. They were alongside us for no more than a couple of minutes.

As lunch time approached we took a taxi across the river and up the hill to the Piazzale Michelangelo. In normal circumstances we would have walked but by now I was starting to develop a mild sense of panic about the effect all of the walking we were doing might have on my legs tomorrow. In the Piazzale stands another copy of David, this one cast in bronze, overlooking panoramic views of the city and along the Arno. The whole area and the stunning cityscape reminded me very much of Montjuic in Barcelona. Previous Florence marathons have started up here, with the first couple of miles downhill, but this was adversely affecting the status of the race as the altitude gap between start and finish did not comply with international standards. Therefore the start this year has been moved to a less lofty location beside the river.

The Duomo and Campanile viewed from Piazzale Michelangelo

We meandered down from the bronze David and had a late lunch in a fantastic restaurant in the Oltrarno area. All of our meals since arriving in Florence have been great, but the fare in this cosy rustic osteria was the best of the lot. For just 10 Euros I enjoyed an absolutely delicious pesto lasagne followed by a traditional Tuscan dish of roast pork and potatoes. Accompanied by a smooth Chianti at a perfect temperature, it really was a superb dining experience at a very reasonable price.

We explored this side of the river for another hour or so before calling it a day and getting a taxi back to our hotel at around 4:00 pm. I could have quite happily continued for longer, but it was time to put my legs up and save them for the morning. It's been a fantastic couple of days. Hopefully I will be equally as glowing in my praise of Florence after pounding its streets for 26 miles tomorrow! Expect an update probably around Tuesday.

Medical Drama

I've taken part in three marathons and two half marathons overseas in the last few years, and the procedure has always been the same. You register online and pay the entry fee well in advance to secure a place and then set about making the necessary travel and accommodation arrangements. Later, a couple of weeks before the event, an email arrives with full instructions for the race and an official looking attachment which you present at the race headquarters a day or two before the race to collect your race number and timing chip.

Having followed the first part of this procedure for this Sunday's Florence Marathon, I grew increasingly anxious as last week wore on and I had still not received anything at all from the organisers. On Wednesday I sent an email, but by Friday evening it remained unanswered. I decided to search through the event website for any information about the whereabouts and timing of any joining instructions. What I discovered did not make good reading!

Tucked away, a little obscurely I felt, was a statement to the effect that confirmation letters, necessary for collection of race numbers and entry to the start line, would only be issued upon receipt of a completed medical certificate. Oh no, I thought, there's not much time left to get that sorted. But the situation quickly got a lot worse. Scanning anxiously down the page, my eyes alighted on the deadline date for submission of the certificate, Wednesday 15th November. I glanced quickly at my watch to confirm the date, it was Friday18th. I was already too late.

What to do? First step, beg for clemency. I immediately fired off another email apologising for having only just realised that a medical certificate was necessary and stating confidently that would have one by the middle of the week. Having invested a lot of money in arranging my trip to Italy and many months of hard training, I continued, would they please, please, please forgive me for being a few days late and let me fax a copy of the certificate next week and bring the original with me.

It was at this point, however, that I printed off the medical form from the website and discovered that obtaining medical clearance was going to be far from easy. The wording on the form was Draconian. I was going to have to persuade a Doctor to declare him or herself "fully responsible and accept the consequences for falsely declaring" that I am "in good health and fit to compete in a 42,195 metre marathon according to current laws" based on a "sport physical exam" carried out by the Doctor. Eek, if I was a doctor I'm not sure I'd be prepared to put my name to that based on a five minute consultation with a patient, even if I did have access to their relatively robust looking health records. What if they keeled over on the finishing straight, I'd be thinking? What do they mean by consequences? I've seen those Godfather films. Would I be in danger of waking up one morning with a blood-stained horse's head on my pillow?

Still, I had to give it a try, and even though there was a 10 day wait for the next available appointment at my local surgery, the very nice receptionist managed to squeeze me into a recently cancelled appointment for Wednesday at the practice's sister surgery on the other side of town. A few hours later I received further good news - an email from the race organisers containing my entry confirmation, conditional on presentation of the medical certificate on my arrival in Florence. Things were looking up, but that wasn't the end of the drama. Oh no!

Earlier today I arrived at the surgery across town in good time. Sitting in the waiting room five minutes before my appointment was due, I casually pulled the form out of my pocket to have it ready to hand over to the Doctor. Except it wasn't the medical form! I had picked up the race entry confirmation letter by mistake. The medical form was still on my desk on the other side of St Albans, at least 10 minutes drive away even in the unlikely event of no traffic hold ups. I hurriedly explained what had happened to the Receptionist, and asked whether she could possibly jiggle the appointments around and let the next few people in early while I rushed home to get the right form.

"I can't guarantee anything, but as long as you're no more than 15 minutes, it might still be possible for the Doctor to see you", she remarked rather sternly.

15 minutes! I'll be lucky to get home in that time, let alone back here again I thought, but kept to myself.

"OK, I'll be quick. See you in 15 minutes." I replied over my shoulder as I ran to the car.

Twenty three minutes later, I was back facing the Receptionist.

"How can I help you?", she asked.

"It's me, Martin Crisp!" I gasped having covered the distance from my car to the surgery even faster than Usain Bolt would have managed. "Am I back in time to see the Doctor?"

"Ah yes, Mr Crisp, take a seat. The Doctor will see you next."

Phew!

The Doctor was young, female, gorgeous and sympathetic to my situation. Unfortunately, though, she was a locum, and said she would have to check with one of the permanent doctors whether it would be OK to sign the Italian form or issue something a little more general saying that I am generally in good health and that there seem to be no obvious medical reasons why I should not attempt to run a marathon. But first, I needed to undergo a couple of basic checks, pulse, chest and blood pressure. And yep, you've guessed it, as a result of my frantic certificate-chasing dash across town, my blood pressure came out a little on the high side.

"Just relax, take a few really deep breaths", reassured the Doctor, "you're bound to be a bit uptight after all that stress and rushing around."

So, after a short break she measured my blood pressure a second time. And guess what? It had gone up even more, and I was in danger of trying to chill out so hard that I was achieving exactly the opposite effect. It was third time lucky, though, as I finally relaxed sufficiently to produce an acceptable reading, and I was pronounced to be in good general health.

I left the form with the doctor; the surgery would call me when there was something ready to collect. I hoped it would be the official Italian form, but realistically a watered down declaration seemed more likely, meaning that uncertainty would remain until my arrival in Florence. So when I returned to the surgery later in the afternoon, I was delighted to discover that, undeterred by the possibility of waking up next to a horse's head, the lovely doctor had gone ahead and signed the official form. I would be making it to the start line on Sunday after all. Mind you, I had to pay £25 for the certificate, but after such a big pallaver to secure my entry, right now I consider it money well spent.