Rome Marathon 2024

When in Rome, do as the Romans do…

That’s how the saying goes isn’t it?… 

Having just spent a week in the Italian capital, I can say it’s pretty sound advice. If you follow along, you’re certain to have an enjoyable experience…

Eat pasta as the Romans do. 

Cross the road as the Romans do. 

Drink cappuccino when the Romans do (particularly important this one.)

And run, like the Romans do… Unsurprisingly, it’s this final notion we’ll be focusing on today. 

I tried to run as the Romans do and ran my best marathon ever. 

Until I didn’t…

Sunday 17th March 

At precisely just after 6:50 I left the hotel. Perfectly on time. Having went through it nine times before, my marathon morning routine is now well established and, dare I say, formula 1-esque in its precision.

From my hotel, I had a 20 minute walk to the starting area. The weather was perfect. The deceptive hint of a cool breeze endeavouring to assure us that the early golden sunlight wouldn’t soon give way to searing, sweltering heat…

Whilst choosing where to stay relative to the starting area of a race is always a key concern when planning a trip like this… I’m always grateful for a little walk from the hotel to the starting area. It’s great for settling one’s nerves and primes you perfectly for the task ahead. It’s a chance to step out of your everyday self and into the version of you that can overcome any challenge, and move forward regardless of whatever obstacles may arise…

I left the hotel normal and nervous. I arrived at Piazza Venezia as a runner, ready to go.

A quick aside to say that the Rome marathon, as an event. was one of the best events I’ve ever ran in terms of its organisation…

With a fun run, relay and a marathon on offer, this was an event that gave every runner the chance to run the streets of the Eternal City. I even spotted a Dalmatian who was taking part in the fun run. I considered asking him for a photo but he looked to be deep within his pre race rituals and I didn’t want to intrude…

I had no running aspirations to speak of for this event, I never did actually…

Recently, I’ve found myself with no desire to chase personal bests. No drive to prove how fast I am or can be. I’ve shaken hands with the fact that it’s a pursuit that forms no part of why I lace up my shoes.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t be delighted to cross a finish line and discover that I’d surpassed my best effort at any distance, and I am forever being inspired by the relentless wave of improvements I see in my running club colleagues.

But, for the time being at least, my running motivations are found elsewhere. And I’m more intrigued by the process than the end result.

And so, as the crowd swelled and we stood staring down the Colosseum, like gladiators ready for battle. I resigned myself to a simple plan of giving it my best swing and to enjoy running through a city I’d wanted to visit for a long time.

After a spirited rendition of the Italian national anthem ( one of the world’s best anthems in my opinion,) we were off. Charging down the cobbles of Via dei fori Imperiali, we rounded the colosseum, which is an enhanced experience when listening to the Gladiator movie soundtrack at the same time. (The best movie ever made by the way.)

Resisting the inevitable race start surge and getting to know the cobbles underfoot, the first 5k was spent settling into the run and finding one’s “pace place” within the crowd. At 9 kilometres, everything clicked and I was off. I felt strong, bouncy and quickly fell into cruise control.

Roman sunshine had soaked us from we the moment we started, and so I was conscious to grab the cup with electrolyte mix as well as the water and sponge at every aid station (which were roughly every 2 to 3 kilometres for those interested.)

The marathon route is truly a landmark tour of the city. Think of the first 5 landmarks you call forth when considering the Italian capital and I guarantee you’ll run past most if not all of them. It was a unique sight to see so many runners stop to take photographs as they made their way around course, the more hardcore competitors trying to capture the sights without stopping.

Crossing the half marathon point, my watch read 1:47:ish. A good pace (for me.) One which, if maintained would have smashed my current best marathon, not that that matters.

For me personally, the hardest section of a marathon is the 10 kilometres before the final 10, 22 to 32km. There’s something about the moments just after crossing halfway that causes my mindset to stumble and doubt begins to fester. Spend enough time running long distances and you get to know yourself very well. You come to know the excuses your mind will offer as reasons why you won’t, can’t or shouldn’t. But finish enough races and you’ll also know that they are lies. And they, like the invincibility they impeded on, will pass. And so, greeting my inner doubts like old friends I expected would visit, I knew I just had to hold my resolve steady for the next 10K. Safe in the knowledge that I could will myself through the final quarter, even if fatigue hindered me more than anticipated.

I managed to hold true to the pace of the first  pretty much right up until kilometre 32. 

Then the wheels of this particular chariot began to wobble.

I’ve never had a race change so quickly and dramatically as this. Within a single kilometre, my body began to submit to the sunshine. Despite my additional salts intake throughout the race, the ever increasing Roman heat had left my entire body wanting, and desperately needing, more than it had.

A marathon that goes to plan is still a considerable physical and mental challenge, a marathon that takes a south-bound turn is another beast entirely. There is no time to lament all the good work you’d put in over the last few hours, or to know that that potential personal best time you’d been aiming for is now slipping through your fingers. 

One simply has to accept their new reality, dig deep and finish. 

My approach to the final 5k was plagued by muscle cramps. My calves writhing this way and that with every step. A few futile stops to try and release them were short lived and they would soon resume with more intensity.

At 40k things were as probably as tough as I’ve ever had them. 

By this stage, I’d had to resort to a strategy of walking the last 200 metres of each kilometre in an attempt to bring a little life back into my shattered legs. My heart rate had hit the red zone hours ago and stayed there despite my best efforts to manage it. By this point the effort and heat were making it difficult to breathe but I wasn’t about to yield so close to the finish line. I hadn’t come this far to only go this far.

Endurance running is all about little victories and I would get mine at the very conclusion of that morning’s endeavour. 

On the home stretch, I spotted an Italian gentlemen in a teal running club vest…

Now, to my knowledge, we (being my beloved Portadown Running Club) were the only club I’d ever heard of to run in teal. In all honesty, in my fatigue, I initially thought it was indeed one of my colleagues who simply hadn’t told me they were also running. 

So, not about to be the second fastest teal club on the continent, it took all I had left to overtake him with a few metres to spare, lending a sense of achievement to what had been a run I was glad to see the end of. 

I’m trying very hard to resist the disappointment I feel while reviewing the tatters of could have been a milestone performance for me (in many ways aside from the finish time) and insisting that I am proud of this effort. 

I’m proud of how strongly the majority of it was ran, and I’m proud of the resolve I had to find to see it through when it all fell apart. 

Do your best on your worst day… Thats a valuable victory and the sound bite I think I’ll bring this waffle to a conclusion with… 

That and to say I can’t recommend Rome and her marathon enough, even if you’re not an architecture nerd like me.

Now, I’m off to try and figure out why I signed up for two ultramarathons in the second half of this year…