Back in London, the marathon came right past my kitchen window – we could lean out and cheer everyone going by; we could wander over the road to Hubbub/The Space and grab something from their barbecue; and when it was all over some council folks would come and make our street cleaner than it ever was normally. What could be better than that?
New York.
For starters, there’s 45,000 people rather than 32,000 – and that means a proportionally higher amount of people with mad outfits; unpronounceable names (which everyone still tried screaming anyway); high-fives and bouncing breasts. Fantastic.
That, plus the backdrop of Central Park, would already have been enough for a good day, but having just joined a running & drinking club, I naturally met up with those guys about halfway through. There must have been nearly a hundred hashers there who’d come from all over to race, or watch the race with a beer: or in one exceptional case, to run the whole race and then come back to watch the rest of it with a beer. Good man.
They were tracking every hasher in the race on an iPad, and whenever one came past they not only received wild cheers and shouts of ‘on-on’ (though directions weren’t really lacking in this trail), but also a cup of beer to down. After 23 miles, it was impressive how readily they were able to down it.
We had much less success in offering beer to other random runners – but I’m told our chances would have improved if it were the Prague Marathon, where beer stops are common, or perhaps the Bordeaux Marathon where, well:
The course for the Médoc Marathon in Bordeaux reads like a wine list. Château Beychevelle, Château Gruaud-Larose and Château Lafite Rothschild all ornament the route and provide libations.
Sign me up.
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