The Big Run.

Following the stimulus of sibling rivalry having heard Linz’s plans for the Brum half marathon, the adidas website informed me that I had 11 days and 8 hours of preparation if I was to run in the Buenos Aires half-marathon. I am in no position, then, to start my account of the endeavour with a ‘following months of preparation, highs and lows…’ introduction. Nevertheless, it has to be said that the rigours of Argentine bureaucracy cut with endless possibilities for loss in translation meant that having reached the point of donning my orange tee shirt left me feeling that half the battle had been won.
Despite being an athletic type, the buildings frowning down through the mist to the widest road on earth set me well out of my normal field of operations; there is something deeply cosmopolitan about the urban marathon: whilst being undoubtedly an elemental experience it very much feels the product of the metropolitan age. From the Plaza del Mayo reaching out along the Diag. Saenz Pena and away from the river, streets normally filled with the hubbub of shoppers rang with apprehension and a colossus of bouncing, stretching, jogging bodies. Soon currents of the lycra clad swung towards the start, to pool, leaping, climbing gantries and each other, vibrant with a Latin enthusiasm.
I found my feet, not as the flood gates burst from the beneath the starting gate, but as the density dropped around the plaza, allowing the establishment of a pace. Stuffing my head phones in I was caught simultaneously by Kraftwerk, the soundtrack of many sunny Somerset afternoon runs, and, as we swung round the corner past the Casa Rosada, the dancing vista of a thousand bodies pushing forward on the momentum of shared energy. It made me gasp for breath, even choke back tears. (Ed. Not really if Grandpa is reading). Needless to say, I had a swift check to make sure no one had seen me gurning like a wally, and headed on, grinning from ear to ear.

The ipod was a good idea. I had chosen a playlist in the week and it was very motivational to have a good mix of genres and tempos (all pretty upbeat) to accompany me. What was particularly good was that as it went from Grandmaster Flash, to Dire Straits and onto Echo and the Bunnymen, I had Willsy, Linz and Otto jogging along beside me!
My limited prep meant that I ran very much within my limits, preserving myself, and waiting for something to start complaining. However, the kilometre markers and drinks stations (and I regret to say a companionable pee in a hedge with lots of grinning fellow runners) jogged by in a most satisfactory manner! After commencing in the city, the middle of the route took us round the port and edge of the ecological reserve before heading back for a good slog up the Av. 9th de Julio with the Obelisk in view. For the last 3km I really got into the swing and removed my headphones as to appreciate the tango band playing on the corner of Independancia and San Martin and the crowds of people on the way towards achieving the grand finale after 1:54:17 minutes.
In Adidas’s rather smug pre-race booklet was a outline of the athletes recommended post-race warm-down. This included putting on a fresh tee, eating a banana and doing some stretches. However, instead, they cleverly organised it that all our bags, containing the aforementioned tee shirts and bananas, were in their tent along with about three useless goons attempting to calm the sweaty crowds. This started as a bit of a bore but rapidly escalated into an extremely entertaining chaos of shouting, singing and climbing over barriers. After getting over my truly English queue complex, I remembered I was the biggest person there and had a lovely time protesting in disgust at the proceedings. Whoever needs rock concerts?
My biggest feeling both during and after the race was the feeling of belonging the run afforded. Both the training runs and the ½ marathon afforded a distinct intimacy with the city that I feel thoroughly honoured to have been allowed to share in.