October 23, 2016 – The Venice Marathon (AKA The 300th)
Sr. CCC, Signore Sentanta. Signore 300. Whatever way I write it, it means I hit my “0.1 Bernie Mac” status today.
Six thousand athletes they said at the starting line. It’s an incredibly well organized marathon, inclusive with various languages going on to ensure people know what’s happening. Color coded corrals with strict marshals. And the start line was held at Villa Pisani in Stra, one of the nicest places I’ve ever hung out at before a race:
Despite all the impressive organization, there was one supremely odd thing to me: they offered 500ml water bottles at the water stops when all we needed were sips — seemed like an awful waste to see all those barely opened bottles tossed to the side of the road. I never took a photo of that, but here’s some shots from the early miles:
Somewhere around the quarter mark I ran with a Welsh fella named Ben. He was nursing a bad ankle but was seeing how the day went — he was crushing it while running with me but he eventually slowed around mile 11, and rightly so as it’s important to finish and be able to run again. He wasn’t camera shy and although I look like a bloated Macy’s Day Parade Balloon in this shot, I thought it worth posting to give a vibe.
The course itself started in Stra and then runs back to Venice. We go through some small town suburbs, a fair bit of industrial areas, and really only run about a mile or two in Venice proper.
But around the halfway point I passed my hotel which cracked me up. We went through the pedestrian tunnel and I was surprised to see the heroin den corner unoccupied. I wonder if they received a flyer or if just saw the proverbial writing on the wall and opted to skip their spot for the morning.
It was surreal to be running on the long stretches of highway that connects the mainland to the island of Venice.
At one stage a speeding locomotive passed me and all I could think was I was no Superman.
It’s only in the closing kilometers that one runs Venice, along the waterfront, and into San Marcos Square. But what a rush to do so. And thankfully they constructed ramps over the step bridges to make it a little easier on us — although as a Great Wall of China veteran, it seemed a bit of a cheat (but one that I welcomed!).
It was an overcast day and I wound up with an official clock time of 3:20, right on the tick. My chip time was a few seconds faster but I kinda like the notion of hitting exactly 3:20. It’s funny, I started with that pace group’s balloons bopping me in the face and passed them for a while. They caught up with me in the final six miles and it was a bit of a duel jockeying for leader and follower. I ultimately came in a few moments ahead of them which was a relief as I’m not sure I could have dealt with balloons hitting me in the face.
They never get any easier; they never get any shorter.
Three hundred down… with more to come.