An exciting day; today Russ and I became part of the Marvejols-Mende legend. We each had our own experience and mine was particularly positive as I hadn’t expected to take part in the race at all.
The alarm went off at 4.58am and we were up in the darkness. Getting in the car to drive to Marvejols soon after 5.30am I noticed rain on the boot and as we drove the 52km towards the start lightening forked across the sky. The day dawned with torrential showers – the conditions were certainly interesting.
As I was to join the organised walking event I had to be on the start at 6.50am. We saw shuttle buses disgorge other enthusiasts – some in waterproofs, some not. All looked reasonably fit and enthusiastic walkers. I was glad of my warm Paramo waterproof, which I wore until the 2km mark.
The ‘race’ started late, after a long introduction from the charismatic and moustachioed organiser – he clearly liked the sound of his own voice. I said goodbye to Russ, who had to wait another two hours for the real race to start, then set off in pursuit of the leaders - this wasn’t a race of course! I followed a guy in an orange vest, tanned to a leathery brown and with grey ringlets – he had clearly been a reasonable runner. After reaching the first group I settled into a positive stride, walking purposefully and thinking of Steve Allen. A couple of women jogged past slowly.
After about a kilometre I was joined by a positive and enthusiastic walker, Janine? who came from near Argeles-Gazost in the Pyrenees. She was striking – all elbows, bright red hair and glasses. She asked me how old I was and then challenged me to guess her age. I was terrified in case I got this wrong, so erred on the cautious side with “quarante cinq”. It turned out she was sixty and did look good on the walking. She told me she could walk 6km in forty minutes and told me she was disgusted that walkers were not to be “classé” in this event (though we still got the t-shirt, rose, medal and mineral water!)
After discussing the merits of walking and the evils of running we realised we had done about 3km. The race distance markers were organised in the opposite way to the UK – on a count down basis, where after every kilometre the kilometres left to walk/run were indicated. There was also a useful race profile indicating the gradients of terrain already covered and to come. The race was 22.4km. The first 3km rose gradually, then there was a long step incline to the summit of the Col du Goudard at about 10k into the race. This was described as ‘vertigineuse’ in the local paper, and the words ‘l’enfer commence ici’, were spray painted on the road. A steep descent followed, then another ascent. The last 4.5k consisted of a steady descent into the finish in Mende.
Janine and I were soon joined by a very fit looking local from Marvejols. At 72 he had run the race 8 times with a best time of 1.45, 25 years ago. He had knee problems – hence the decision to ‘walk’ this time. This was the first time the walking event had been staged. He had also visited (of all places!) Cockermouth in the north west of England as part of his wife’s watercolour tour. Cockermouth is twinned with Marvejols! The unlikely threesome made good progress – we discussed the respective populations of Marvejols and Mende (6,000 and 11,000) and the main source of employment in the region (apparently looking after the many handicapped people who are brought here from different parts of France).
Halfway up the first (and main) hill (an underestimation) there was a drinks station. French drink stations are something else – prunes, oranges, cakes and sweets are all on offer, as well as bottled water and, as my new friend stopped to chat to his local friends, Janine was flagging – I had to press on. He soon caught me, though she didn’t. I dropped him again then reached the top of the hill at Col du Goudard. Having walked so far I decided to let myself go in a gentle jog down the steep hairpins. There were three or four people in front but I couldn’t see them. I heard footsteps behind and expected to see the two female joggers from the start – but no – I couldn’t drop my new man. We stuck together until nearing the top of the second hill, where I broke away again. I was getting excited – the real runners were starting at nine o’clock and the course record was 1 hour 11 minutes. I could finish before then and be the first woman (albeit a walker setting off two hours earlier!)
But no – we were all stopped by officials at the village 5 kilometres before the end. We had to wait for about 40 minutes for the lead runners to come through. The first three men and the first two women were Africans and the eventual winner was Nicholas Kiprono, a 21 year old Ugandan who did 1.11.26 and according to the local newspaper Midi Libre “hides a ferocious appetite for success.” The winning woman was Lidia Cheromei from Kenya in 1.23.21. It was hilarious to see the more competitive ‘walkers’ indignation at being asked to stop – many had no empathy or appreciation of the runners’ efforts or achievements. One guy paced about with his walking poles poking out into the course – a real hazard for the elite runners!
As we were released to walk/jog the last 5km the lightening and thunder started again. A tremendous downpour began. As the heavens opened I decided it was time for the waterproof again. I walked/jogged the final 4km (mostly jogging) but by the last kilometre was inspired by the crowd and ran faster than I have for ages. It was a pitiful sight – a muscular English woman in a rucksack and raincoat finishing with some of the top runners, but the French loved it and spurred me on! I was one of the first few ‘walkers’ to finish, and waited for Russ, who came hurtling round the corner in his own private race. He had pushed it down the hill over the last 5km, overtaking lots of runners in pursuit of another guy who he eventually beat. He finished seconds outside two hours, very respectable over the terrain.
I never saw Janine again, but maybe next year…..
The first 4km of the race I felt very sluggish. My legs did not have any spring in them and it was very humid because of the previous rain. I found the first climb to the summit of Col du Goudard (10km) very hard. I tried to pace myself but I found that with 1km to go that I was being overtaken by people who were walking so I decided it was time for me to walk myself, drafting one of the guys who strode past me.
The initial descent from the summit was very steep and I found it difficult to keep in control, especially on the hairpin bends. As it levelled out though, I began to run better, overtaking people. I was running with one guy for a spell when he said something to me in French. Eventually I realised he was pointing to the warning sign for the speed cameras! So the French do have a sense of humour after all.
I latched on to this very tall guy together we cut through the field. At a water station he stopped while I ran on. As we approached the climb to Chabrits, I felt I was running well and was able to keep overtaking people. At the top of the climb, I was overtaken by a grey haired guy in a vest that bore the legend ‘Grenade 31’. I followed him and together we were overtaking people all the way into Mende. At one point, the Grenade almost dropped me but I managed to get back to him. As we got towards the town centre there was a bit of uphill and I managed to get in front of him, then I thought ‘Oh shit, what am I going to do now – he knows how far to the finish and I don’t!’ There was nothing for it but to keep going. Fortunately we went round the bend and the finish was there. I crossed the line in 2 hours and 4 seconds, to be greeted by a very excited Helen (see above).
After the race, we had a beer while sheltering from yet another deluge. then we caught the coach back to Marvejols. The enjoyment of the scenery was a little marred by the lady in the coach two seats ahead who was sick. We arrived and went in search of a restaurant for lunch. We found one, which had the slowest service in the world, so bad that even the French people there complained. The salads we had to eat were OK though.
We drove back to Laguiole and had our well-deserved showers. We went to the local brasserie in our matching Marvejol-Mende tee shirts, much admired by the proprietor. The choice on the menu was not great but who can argue with steak and frites for 11 Euros?
The alarm went off at 4.58am and we were up in the darkness. Getting in the car to drive to Marvejols soon after 5.30am I noticed rain on the boot and as we drove the 52km towards the start lightening forked across the sky. The day dawned with torrential showers – the conditions were certainly interesting.
As I was to join the organised walking event I had to be on the start at 6.50am. We saw shuttle buses disgorge other enthusiasts – some in waterproofs, some not. All looked reasonably fit and enthusiastic walkers. I was glad of my warm Paramo waterproof, which I wore until the 2km mark.
The ‘race’ started late, after a long introduction from the charismatic and moustachioed organiser – he clearly liked the sound of his own voice. I said goodbye to Russ, who had to wait another two hours for the real race to start, then set off in pursuit of the leaders - this wasn’t a race of course! I followed a guy in an orange vest, tanned to a leathery brown and with grey ringlets – he had clearly been a reasonable runner. After reaching the first group I settled into a positive stride, walking purposefully and thinking of Steve Allen. A couple of women jogged past slowly.
After about a kilometre I was joined by a positive and enthusiastic walker, Janine? who came from near Argeles-Gazost in the Pyrenees. She was striking – all elbows, bright red hair and glasses. She asked me how old I was and then challenged me to guess her age. I was terrified in case I got this wrong, so erred on the cautious side with “quarante cinq”. It turned out she was sixty and did look good on the walking. She told me she could walk 6km in forty minutes and told me she was disgusted that walkers were not to be “classé” in this event (though we still got the t-shirt, rose, medal and mineral water!)
After discussing the merits of walking and the evils of running we realised we had done about 3km. The race distance markers were organised in the opposite way to the UK – on a count down basis, where after every kilometre the kilometres left to walk/run were indicated. There was also a useful race profile indicating the gradients of terrain already covered and to come. The race was 22.4km. The first 3km rose gradually, then there was a long step incline to the summit of the Col du Goudard at about 10k into the race. This was described as ‘vertigineuse’ in the local paper, and the words ‘l’enfer commence ici’, were spray painted on the road. A steep descent followed, then another ascent. The last 4.5k consisted of a steady descent into the finish in Mende.
Janine and I were soon joined by a very fit looking local from Marvejols. At 72 he had run the race 8 times with a best time of 1.45, 25 years ago. He had knee problems – hence the decision to ‘walk’ this time. This was the first time the walking event had been staged. He had also visited (of all places!) Cockermouth in the north west of England as part of his wife’s watercolour tour. Cockermouth is twinned with Marvejols! The unlikely threesome made good progress – we discussed the respective populations of Marvejols and Mende (6,000 and 11,000) and the main source of employment in the region (apparently looking after the many handicapped people who are brought here from different parts of France).
Halfway up the first (and main) hill (an underestimation) there was a drinks station. French drink stations are something else – prunes, oranges, cakes and sweets are all on offer, as well as bottled water and, as my new friend stopped to chat to his local friends, Janine was flagging – I had to press on. He soon caught me, though she didn’t. I dropped him again then reached the top of the hill at Col du Goudard. Having walked so far I decided to let myself go in a gentle jog down the steep hairpins. There were three or four people in front but I couldn’t see them. I heard footsteps behind and expected to see the two female joggers from the start – but no – I couldn’t drop my new man. We stuck together until nearing the top of the second hill, where I broke away again. I was getting excited – the real runners were starting at nine o’clock and the course record was 1 hour 11 minutes. I could finish before then and be the first woman (albeit a walker setting off two hours earlier!)
But no – we were all stopped by officials at the village 5 kilometres before the end. We had to wait for about 40 minutes for the lead runners to come through. The first three men and the first two women were Africans and the eventual winner was Nicholas Kiprono, a 21 year old Ugandan who did 1.11.26 and according to the local newspaper Midi Libre “hides a ferocious appetite for success.” The winning woman was Lidia Cheromei from Kenya in 1.23.21. It was hilarious to see the more competitive ‘walkers’ indignation at being asked to stop – many had no empathy or appreciation of the runners’ efforts or achievements. One guy paced about with his walking poles poking out into the course – a real hazard for the elite runners!
As we were released to walk/jog the last 5km the lightening and thunder started again. A tremendous downpour began. As the heavens opened I decided it was time for the waterproof again. I walked/jogged the final 4km (mostly jogging) but by the last kilometre was inspired by the crowd and ran faster than I have for ages. It was a pitiful sight – a muscular English woman in a rucksack and raincoat finishing with some of the top runners, but the French loved it and spurred me on! I was one of the first few ‘walkers’ to finish, and waited for Russ, who came hurtling round the corner in his own private race. He had pushed it down the hill over the last 5km, overtaking lots of runners in pursuit of another guy who he eventually beat. He finished seconds outside two hours, very respectable over the terrain.
I never saw Janine again, but maybe next year…..
The first 4km of the race I felt very sluggish. My legs did not have any spring in them and it was very humid because of the previous rain. I found the first climb to the summit of Col du Goudard (10km) very hard. I tried to pace myself but I found that with 1km to go that I was being overtaken by people who were walking so I decided it was time for me to walk myself, drafting one of the guys who strode past me.
The initial descent from the summit was very steep and I found it difficult to keep in control, especially on the hairpin bends. As it levelled out though, I began to run better, overtaking people. I was running with one guy for a spell when he said something to me in French. Eventually I realised he was pointing to the warning sign for the speed cameras! So the French do have a sense of humour after all.
I latched on to this very tall guy together we cut through the field. At a water station he stopped while I ran on. As we approached the climb to Chabrits, I felt I was running well and was able to keep overtaking people. At the top of the climb, I was overtaken by a grey haired guy in a vest that bore the legend ‘Grenade 31’. I followed him and together we were overtaking people all the way into Mende. At one point, the Grenade almost dropped me but I managed to get back to him. As we got towards the town centre there was a bit of uphill and I managed to get in front of him, then I thought ‘Oh shit, what am I going to do now – he knows how far to the finish and I don’t!’ There was nothing for it but to keep going. Fortunately we went round the bend and the finish was there. I crossed the line in 2 hours and 4 seconds, to be greeted by a very excited Helen (see above).
After the race, we had a beer while sheltering from yet another deluge. then we caught the coach back to Marvejols. The enjoyment of the scenery was a little marred by the lady in the coach two seats ahead who was sick. We arrived and went in search of a restaurant for lunch. We found one, which had the slowest service in the world, so bad that even the French people there complained. The salads we had to eat were OK though.
We drove back to Laguiole and had our well-deserved showers. We went to the local brasserie in our matching Marvejol-Mende tee shirts, much admired by the proprietor. The choice on the menu was not great but who can argue with steak and frites for 11 Euros?
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