The longest race in the world

1982

Murdo McEwan

In 490 BC the Greek runner / messenger Pheidippides was despatched from Athens to Sparta to seek reinforcements against the invading Persian forces. From the historical writings of Herodotus, the runner set off early in the morning on the last Friday in September from the Acropolis in Athens, and arrived in Sparta “the following day”. Against all the odds, the Athenians defeated the Persians at the subsequent battle of Marathon – a defining moment in the history of the Ancient World. Following his run, Pheidippides fought in the battle, and then ran from Marathon to Athens to bring the good news. “Victory is ours”, he announced – then collapsed and died from his exertions. He is, of course, best remembered for this final run, from which – some 2,400 years later – the modern day marathon has evolved, and is now such a worldwide phenomenon. That is another story. I was interested in his less well known pre-battle journey, from Athens to Sparta.

In 1982 three British runners had set out to see if this run was feasible, and could have been done – as described by Herodotus. They set a target of 36 hours – leaving early on the Friday; to arrive before sunset on the Saturday. They succeeded; and, in 1983, the first Spartathlon race took place – as closely as possible recreating the route taken by Pheidippides. I was interested (or, more accurately, “hooked”) by the historical origins – it was certainly not going to be just another run-of-the-mill event.

The race has the distinction of being “the longest non-stop race in the world to be held on an annual basis”.

There are three main challenges.

First, the distance. It varies very slightly from year to year. This year it is measured @ 245.3 km. / 153 miles. Just short of six back-to-back marathons. (The West Highland Way race is said to be the nearest equivalent race in the UK.) The overall distance can be divided into three pretty equal parts. The first 50 miles being flattish and fairly built up / urban from Athens westwards to Corinth. Whilst there are watering points along this stretch, runners are not allowed to meet up with support teams until Corinth. Here the terrain changes to very rural and undulating, passing through small villages – and runners are allowed to meet up with the support teams at specified points every 8 miles or so. After c. 100 miles, and in darkness, we reach the mountains, starting with “the nightmarish 3,000 ft. hand-over-hand ascent of Mount Parthenio” over ground covered in boulders and brambles. This seems to be the crunch point of the whole race. There follows c. 30 miles of ups and downs – but not nearly so dramatic as the initial ascent – over the Peloponnese mountains, before the final c. 20 mile descent to Sparta.

Second, the temperature. During the daytime this could be 100 degrees F. for several hours during the middle of the day. At night it can drop to near freezing at altitude in the mountains.

Third, the time limits. As well as the overall limit of 36 hours, there are about six main stage points along the route which must be passed within strict time limits. They are more generous with the timings in the latter stages; but runners have to proceed at a fairly brisk pace over the first 50 mile stage in order not to be eliminated; but if you go too fast early on, you’ll probably not go the full distance. Many very experienced, top quality, runners have gone off too fast and not completed. Maintaining a suitable pace throughout is vital.

Generally, between a third and a half of those who start manage to finish the race.

It looked like it should be interesting and challenging.

Along with my support team, Jo, Colin & Ana (“Murdo’s Mob”), I arrived a day before registrations etc. This was a very good move. The others spent the day driving over much of the route – negotiating Athens’ traffic was the biggest problem - whilst I checked out the beach and immediate surroundings. Included in the entry fee was my accommodation for the duration of the event, in an hotel about 200 yards from the sea. Others started to arrive in dribs and drabs, and there were regular visits to the registration area – notices / changes of timetable etc tended to sprout there from time to time, without any other notification being given.

Official registration. My official race pass had me as being from “England”, though elsewhere I was “British”. No mention of Scotland. We were now told that all “extra costs”, e.g. support team accommodation, all had to be paid for in cash. Now. Not Visa. So a somewhat stressful unscheduled visit to the bank was required. Everything else seemed to be ok. 249 folk had entered the race; 205 registered. Of these, about 45 were from Japan, the same from France; the rest from as far afield as Finland, Brazil, USA and Australia. It was useful to speak with officials and marshals; also, to watch some video film of last year’s race.

The next day was fairly leisurely, with preparation of food / clothing to be left at any of the 75 drop points along the route. The pre-race briefing – first in Greek, then English, then Japanese - gave a few more answers to the unknown. I wondered how much of this was comprehended by those from Finland, Hungary and Poland. Race day beckoned. The Greek weather forecast was “good”. This, for me, meant “hot”.

Race day. 04.00hrs, the alarm goes. Not very hungry at this hour, I reluctantly consume some of the muesli mix I had made up at home before coming. Good move; the breakfast provided was pretty chaotic. My uncovered parts are plastered with Factor 60 suncream; most of the covered parts are plastered with Vaseline – I’m pretty well oiled from top to toe. 06.00hrs, sharp, the bus departs for the Acropolis. I’m next to Francis Casterot from France, and Valmir Nunes, Brazil. Nervous chit chat. A previous winner of the event, Valmir is predicted to finish in the first three. He seems as cool as a cucumber about it all.

Off the bus; ascend the Acropolis. A military brass band bursts into sound. Supporters, photographers, press, organisers are all scuttling around; runners pace about nervously – some gazing upwards to the stonework above, hoping for divine inspiration. Dawn is just breaking. It is very emotional. Lots of shaking of hands with complete strangers also about to experience the experience. It’s not really about who will win, more about who will finish. Count down; the gun goes; 07.00hrs; we’re off.

Down through the old town the rush hour traffic is starting to build up. But at every junction / crossing point there are marshals and police giving us priority. Horns toot. Support and encouragement, or irritation at the delay? Mostly the former, we think. It’s daylight now, but the sun has not hit us. Yet. It is busy; very busy with stationary / slow moving traffic heading into town as we head out. Certainly not peaceful; plenty to look at. Suburbs now, and the first whiff of the industrial / petrochemical area we are about to pass through.

The temperature is rising; the traffic is rising; the fumes are rising. Dust everywhere. Imagine Grangemouth’s petrochemical area in rush hour, with the temperature at about the highest point reached in Scotland in 2003. A dead rat on the pavement. Not nice at all. But this inferno of Dante is behind us before too long, and we’re into a pedestrianised area in a small town where the schoolchildren have all been let out to shout and cheer us on. They do so with gusto. Better than being in class. Gradually the urban evolves into countryside. Its Hot (capital h), with the clear sea lapping the almost white crusty rock to our left, and the main Athens / Corinth motorway way up and almost out of sight inland to our right. But the eyes and throat are still stinging from the earlier industrialisation. Small villages now; fresh shellfish stalls; regular food / watering points; but it’s Hot. A dead dog in a lay-by; pretty fresh – its rigor-mortised legs pointing skywards; the occasional lorry thunders by closely, spewing clouds of dust. Hope I don’t go the way of the dog. Our route alternates between such sights and sounds, and more petrochem. conurbations, for several hours, leading to a long gradual ascent up to the crossing of the Corinth canal. This is very impressive. A stray dog runs alongside me. I’d heard that one year a dog had joined the race near the start, and had continued for nearly 40 miles – getting watered and fed at the feeding stations along the way. History does not record what happened to the dog thereafter.

Hellas Can. 80kms / 50 miles; the first major checkpoint. From here we are almost suddenly out of the urban phase one of the race, and into the rural phase two. Vineyards and orange groves intersperse with small remote, and getting more remote, villages with names like Zevgolatio, Soulinari, and Lyrkia. Other watering stops are at even less populated points – “small shrine on the right”; “Mrs. Screech’s villa”; “Big tree on the right”; “Dry watercourse. Sheep fold”. It is Hot. The route is undulating – up a bit; down a bit; but nothing dramatic until leaving Kapareli village (96 miles) and the start of a very long switchback ascent, similar (but much longer) to the old Devil’s Elbow road in Glen Shee. By now it is dark and clear, but just the thinnest sliver of a moon. The planet Mars, to the south, gives off more light. But below the constellations to the north west is a faintly winking glow of lanterns up the trail-less slopes of Mount Parthenio. The crux of the race, maybe. The checkpoint at the base of this is buzzing with activity. In the high distance a wobbling flashlight can be seen marking the checkpoint at the summit of the climb. The temperature is pleasant for running; a bit cool for standing around stationary. The descent on the far side is unlit, though it is on a rough track. One runner slips off this, and slides down 150 feet, breaking his torch, and bruising many parts of his body. Extremely disorientated and shaken, it takes him 4 hours to reach assistance. He should have had a whistle. His participation in the race is over.

More ups and downs follow, though not so dramatic, with water points at such out of the way locations as “Small farmhouse and big tree (right)”; “Bare land on the left, 600m. app. past runied (sic) farmhouse”; “Monument of the executed on the left with steps”. Up here it is very exposed and arid – in cool darkness for the leaders, but heat-of-the-day temperature for the majority. Now begins the long long gradual descent to Sparta in the far distance; but most of those who have made it this far will complete. The last two miles into Sparta are flat until a small (enormous, for those still going) hill on the outskirts of the town. Then an escort for the final few hundred yards up the main street to the very imposing belligerent bronze statue of King Leonidas of Sparta, killed along with his entire army at the battle of Thermopylae, in 480 BC. Touch the feet of the King, drink from the symbolic water of the river Evrotas, and bow to accept a wreath of olive leaves placed upon the head. It is all over. The winner finished hours ago, just before dawn. Those just within the time limit arrive just as daylight is fading, 36 hours from the start.

90 minutes later the official celebrations begin in the main town square. Around the square every café and restaurant is packed with people. The whole square itself is covered in temporary seating, fully occupied. Standing room only at the back. But we are ushered through by the police to the v.i.p. seating by the stage. Speeches by the Mayor of Sparta, and by the Chairman of the Spartathlon committee; then another by someone from the Greek Ministry of Sport; then the names / times of all finishers are read out, followed by presentations to the first three men and ladies. Everything in Greek, then English, then Japanese. Dancing and singing by groups of youngsters to the strains of Olympic themed music. Many of the runners sleep through all of this. But then the fireworks start. They wake up! Then a live band strikes up. Not quite Dire Straits, but very good nonetheless. Saturday night in Sparta. Probably THE Saturday night of the year. 01.00hrs. we retire, the band plays on.

The next day is a bit of a rest and return to Athens, whilst on the following day we are left to our own devices. Many take the opportunity to go round the 2004 Olympic venues; others check out the Acropolis etc at leisure. We head out of town to the plain of Marathon, where all the action took place in 490BC, and visit the tumulus marking the burial site of the 1,920 Greeks killed at the battle. Not unlike Callanish standing stones, it is all open and just ‘sitting there’ with folk able to wander around at will. But, ominously, there were many wooden survey levelling posts in evidence, and men with theodolytes. I suspect that by 2004 it will be well and truly ‘ themed and heritaged’.

Back now for the formal presentation dinner. More speeches, this time from the Spartathlon President; and representatives from the Mayor of Athens, the French and the Japanese embassies. (Nothing at all from the British.) Again, all in Greek, then English, then Japanese, along with some French thrown in this time. Next year, we are told, it will be the same, but different. It certainly will be different. With Greece hosting the Olympic Games, the road network is undergoing an almost total rebuild. In the meantime, throw in the traffic chaos of Paris, Rome, and Tokyo; along with new hotels going up, a new tram system, Olympic venues under construction. Quiet and peaceful it certainly is not. But they say it will all be ready in time. Many do not share that confidence.

Meanwhile, of the 205 who started the race, 84 finished – exactly half of these were in 34 or 35 hours. I was amongst the 121 who did not complete, having had much of the stuffing knocked out of me by the petrochemical fumes. Everyone – finisher or not – had a story to tell; possibly the most emotional being the Swedish runner who finished the course for the first time in 11 attempts. 8 out of the 12 Austrians completed, but of those from Britain only one did so. I am informed that no one from Scotland has ever completed. Who would like to take up the challenge? It really is some challenge – have no doubt about it.

Leading results
1 Markus Thalmann Austria 23:28:24
2 Valmir Nunes Brazil 25:30:35
3 Jean-Jacques Moros France 26:26:16
4 Masayuk Ohtaki Japan 26:27:34
11 Akiko Sakamoto Japan 29:07:44 (1st Lady)
12 Sumie Inagaki Japan 29:38:54 (2nd Lady)
20 Barbara Szlachetka Poland 31:50:23 (3rd Lady)

For more information, see the Spartathlon website http://spartathlon.webvista.net (Note that there is no www in this – don’t ask me why.)

It looked like it would be an interesting week. It most certainly was!