It was a Bordeaux. Not surprising, being in Paris. The fine red wine is as common as coffee in Seattle or a micro-brew in Portland. What was surprising is I was still running the Paris marathon when faced with the choice: to quaff or not to quaff.

Courtesy The Paris Marathon

While poking around for a 2009 marathon, I discovered the Paris marathon was on April 5. Decision made. Run through Paris on my birthday? Oui, mon frere, but of course! Yes, that meant training through the rain, snow and cold of January and February. Yes it meant missing out on the great ski days of March, busting out 20 mile runs in Forest Park while my friends are flying through fluffy snow on the mountain. But it was SO worth it.  I ran the Berlin marathon three years after the wall came down. I’ve done Crater Lake and Big Sur, Honolulu and Anchorage. But I knew this was going to be special among my marathon experiences.

The challenge, of course, is the beauty of Paris itself. Not so much while running the marathon but in the days before. How do you NOT see the sights of Paris? Whatever that means to you, whether it is hours touring the Louvre or just hitting the cafes and shops around the Sacre Coeur or the in the 5^th arrondisement, along the Left Bank. For Robyn and I, it was the latter. I’m not exactly a big city tourist, but I could easily spend days in Paris. Which can be a problem when those days precede a 26.2-mile run. How do you NOT spend a good part of those pre-marathon days on your feet? We became total subway rats, making use of the awesome underground train system to transport us to our various points of interest. I’m not complaining, it was just the reality of running a marathon in a place as magical and magnetic as Paris. No way was I going to stay holed up in our apartment with ice on my feet while there was this whole French fantasyland to explore.

Not a good idea before a marathon

The first steps of any journey can sometimes be the hardest. On this trip those steps were the five spiral flights of stairs that led up to our apartment near the Sacre Coeur. Of course I knew this was not going to be pretty for me after the marathon, and probably not good for my legs in the days right before the run. But it was so cool! Narrow stairways up several flights with no elevator are part of staying in most European cities if you opt to avoid big expensive hotels. I’m sure the strolls around town and the hike up the spiral took its toll on my legs before the marathon. C’est la vie.

We took the subway to the Arc de Triomph on marathon morning. Ironically, my greatest fear leading up to this trip was the weather. Paris in the spring is famed for its flowery glory and romantic air. But northern Europe in early spring can also mean an icy wind-driven 38-degree rain. I’d had enough of that training in the City of Roses and didn’t relish the thought of maelstrom marathon conditions in the City of Light. But the weather gods shone brightly that morning: sunshine and temperatures headed for the low 60s. Yay.

Imagine standing on the cobblestones of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées on a fine spring morning. On your birthday. Ready to begin one of your favorite sports. With 37,000 like-minded runners. And you have to pee. The French, in their unabashed approach to problem solving, staged star-shaped urinals with portals for six throughout the starting zones. Merci beaucoup! Not sure how that helped female runners, but for men it was a brilliant solution to the age-old marathon morning problem of proper hydration v. I gotta pee!

Waiting to run on the Champs-Elysees

As the run started and I glided down the Champs without even noticing the un-even cobblestones underfoot, I was all smiles. For miles. Past the Louvre,  the Hotel De Ville and the Place de Bastille. Through the neighborhoods and parks on the east side of Paris before making the turn back into the city along the Seine River. Crowds of people cheered nearly the whole way. Bands played. Wine flowed. I ran. And my mind kept running old newsreel footage of the Allied liberation of Paris in World War II. We’ve all seen those scenes in movies. And it felt real at the time. The Eiffel tower came in to view. Sunday strollers and friends of runners cruised the beautiful bridges that span the Seine. My smile widened every time a Parisian yelled “Allay Matt-two” (Allez Matthew, or “Go Matthew!” in English) and the newsreel scenes played in my mind. My chronically sore hamstring was holding up. Until about mile 23.  In a painful cramp the smile snapped off my face and my mind’s newsreel projector grinded to a gritty halt and vanished. I quickly came to the stretching realization that my time would not be what I’d hoped for. The Eiffel tower was now behind me, and my sights were set on seeing the Arc de Triomph, where the run ends. All thoughts on the finish zone. Hit the remaining water stops and grind it out. No other choice. And suddenly, there was a choice. Wine at the water stops? But of course! I was in pain but I was still in Paris. Do I really drink wine during a marathon? It went against all the tenets of training and hydrating, running a good race and managing a good run. But for me, there really was no choice at all. Running marathons for me is about the experience. About seeing a city or a landscape as you can only see it on foot. It’s like coursing through the veins of city and feeling it’s lifeblood with every step. Not drink wine at sanctioned water stops in the Paris marathon? Please. Bring on the Bordeaux.

Matt Zaffino