Surviving the great Marathon challenge

Veteran marathon runner Emad Almoayed's latest escapade almost turned into a Greek tragedy when he was caught up in an ugly football fracas just hours before the start of a historic race. The popular engineer and businessman and his Bahraini running mates took part in the Athens Classic Marathon honouring the 2,500th anniversary of the Battle of Marathon, during the first Persian invasion of Greece.

The defeat at Marathon marked the end of the first Persian invasion of Greece in 490 BC, and the Persian force retreated to Asia. It is, perhaps, now more famous as the inspiration for the Marathon race. Although historically inaccurate, the legend of a Greek messenger running to Athens with news of the victory became the inspiration for this athletic event, introduced at the 1896 Athens Olympics, and originally run between Marathon and Athens.

The 45-year-old father-of-four, from Riffa, explained: "I was in Athens in January, I went for a morning run and someone in the street asked if I was practicing for the 2,500th anniversary race? I said; no, when is that? He said October 31, and I said all right, I will see you then, or something like that.

"I came back and talked some friends into joining me. Unfortunately, the man walked away before telling me how difficult this marathon was, or that it was mainly in the hills. I always tell my children not to listen to strangers, and I go and do the very thing!"

Even his experience running the London Marathan in 1996 or the Paris Marathon in 2007 would not have prepared him for the Greek challenge ahead ... as he shares his account of the trip with GulfWeekly readers

So, it went like this ... up very early on Friday to catch the 9.30am flight to Athens.

We had all completed our training programmes and lied to each other about how much or how little we had trained.

At the duty-free we treated ourselves to all the chocolate we could lay our hands on and our teeth around. The excuse was 'carbo-loading', obviously.

This is the only time in the quasi-runner's calendar when he/she can have Mars bars and not feel guilty.

So, Mars, Crunchies and Maltesers were not only OK, but were in fact good for you. That alone must be worth all the gruesome training.

Anyway, we are off on our expedition to emulate Pheidippides (even my spell checker couldn't get this one), in all but his final act, exactly 2,500 years later.

It's a short flight which is just as well, since any longer and we would probably have looked like Michelin Men by the time we got to Athens from all that carbo-loading chocolate.

We land rather comfortably and take a leisurely walk to the immigration desk only to find that a group of emigration-seeking expats had got to the said desks before us.

The Greeks are wonderful people, as you all know, but they are not very rapid in executing their bureaucratic procedures. And, it takes us what seems like forever to get through.

We find our way to the hotel in central Athens, somewhat unsuccessfully, through a maze of Athens' beggars, junkies, tramps and thieves ... but all is well that ends nearly well, as Shakespeare should have said.

One of our members decides that he would really like to watch a football match while here. We spare him no thought, as we consider his wish an effect of jet lag.

Another member says that he has been reading a lot about European football lately, as he hasn't had much to do on the football watching world, being a Liverpool fan, and he knows that there is a big match on Saturday between Panathinaikos and Olympiacos, Greece's biggest clubs.

I said this was like Celtic v Rangers and Real Madrid v Barcelona put together, but that didn't deter him from insisting on going to watch it.

I said it was like Muharraq v Ahli multiplied by 27,000, but that didn't deter him, either.

So we pulled some strings, and we gave someone an offer he couldn't refuse and ended up with six tickets for the match; the biggest match on the Greek football calendar.

The tickets, of course, were all written in Greek, which you would expect them to be, but we could not find the kick-off time. We assumed, rather rashly that it was 3pm.

It wasn't. It was 7.30pm ... on the night before the most difficult marathon in the world. We were supposed to be in bed by 6.30pm, and we certainly weren't.

Some of us had never been to Athens so we had to do a tour of the city, on foot, to show them around. That was after spending a few hours at the Marathon Expo, and after going for an early morning warm-up run for a few kilometres.

We ate, walked, and took pictures like there was no tomorrow. Like there was no marathon tomorrow, anyway.

By 5pm on Saturday we were on our way on the metro station to get to the Olympic Stadium for the match. It was built for the 2004 Athens Olympics and boasts the most stunning architecture - a true joy to behold.

For the avoidance of any misapprehension on the side of the local Panathinaikos gentle fans, we clad ourselves in green scarves and other items of clothing, lest we get confused with Olympiacos's visiting fans.

Bravery was never one of our traits anyway.

We soon discovered that Panathinaikos's gentle fans were not very gentle after all, so we cheered as loudly as we could for our green team. We were green with fear, rather than envy, as they were not very good, sufficing to say that their best players are ex-Liverpudlians - there is Gibril Cisse and Luiz Garcia - Garcia of the goal in the Champions League 'when the ball did not cross the line'. We don't like him (we also don't like Iniesta of Barcelona and Eto'o of Inter Milan ... but that is another story).

After a lacklustre first half in which Olympiacos totally dominated and deservedly led, and during which the home 'not very gentle' fans show off their flair in flares, projectiles and bad language (which sounds the same in all languages) the home team wakes up in the second half and scores two good goals, gets an enemy player sent off, and ends up winning the match.

We had decided to leave before the final whistle to give ourselves a chance to get to the train before the hordes and travel back in comfort, so we could actually rest before the marathon.

No such luck.

We face riot police outside the stadium who give us a taste of the local tear gas, and who tell us rather less diplomatically than we had been accustomed to, to get the hell out of here.

We oblige, and practice our running for the marathon tomorrow. I know you are not supposed to sprint in your pre-marathon training, but we did.

Tears of fear mixed with tears of tear-gas contributed to a very tearful evening.

We also got to the train with the crowds and ended up sardine-like for about one hour.

There was this guy who had a bit too much of something to drink and decided to smoke in the no-smoking train.

I would have said something but then decided against it when I saw his biceps and manners. I closed my eyes and satisfied myself with thoughts of what I would do to smokers if I ruled the world.

I smiled, and even chuckled, which must have looked weird to the passengers nearby.

We got to the hotel rather late - much later than planned, or recommended, and were told on arrival about the change to winter time after midnight, as if we didn't have enough to worry about, or to go wrong.

We don't know if we ended up with an extra hour or an hour less of sleep, but it didn't matter anyway, as we were already half dead and too knackered for anything to make a difference.

We were up again at 4am to make it to breakfast at 4.30am, to leave the hotel at 5.30am to catch the Marathon coach at 5.45am from Syntegma Square, where everything in Athens seems to be near to.

It was cold, about 6-7 degrees C, but was supposed to get warmer later in the day.

We took our different clothing options in our marathon sacks and managed to get on the coach before 6am, hoping to get some sleep on the hour-long coach ride to Marathon town, the starting point.

No such luck. We were kept awake by the sight of the downhill ride, so much so our ears popped, and the thought of having to run in the opposite direction ... uphill.

There was also this Ukrainian group that wanted to talk about Bahraini-Ukrainian relations and Karl Marx's Das Kapital ... but that too is another story.

We arrived at the starting area and noticed how poorly watered the olive fields seemed, and so we contributed to the local irrigation generously and repeatedly, as did almost everybody else.

Not almost, but as did 'everybody else'.

Some even contributed with fertilisers, and so the next time you see Greek olives that were grown in the fields of Marathon, don't touch them. Well, not without washing your hands well after touching them, and certainly don't eat them. I know I won't.

We met the rest of the Bahraini contingent, took a few more pictures, deposited our sacks with the organisers and we are ready.

Like hell. Anything but ready, but it's almost start time, with or without us.

We certainly were not short of excuses to do extremely badly. And, after a few organising rituals, we were off.

A glorious day; temperature in the low 20s, a bit too warm, nice crowds, a course well supplied in drinking water, energy gel, isotonic drinks, bananas and cramp spray and medical treatment. All services were used, and the medical/cramp treatments were used particularly extensively.

It goes flat to slightly downhill for the first 10km, then begins to climb for the next 22km. It climbs 800ft apparently. And, high as that might sound; it felt like much more than that.

We are kept going by the thought of the last 10km of downhill.

The spectators' chants of 'bravo' were much appreciated, and the little girls' hands stretched out for a touch most beautiful, until that too became too much of an 'ordeal'.

The sweating, the huffing, the puffing, the quickening heartbeats, the stitches, the creaking knees, the stiffening shoulders, all made it a really fun day.

To think that we had to pay to get this?

It is masochistic to the extreme to the uninitiated and I can't explain it. But then we get to the peak, and start to downhill roll, or what we were promised would be a downhill roll. That's when we discover that downhill was in fact more difficult than uphill, as your muscles are used to going one way, then go the other, or something like that, and I can't explain that either, so you will have to take my word for it.

Downhill is more difficult than uphill.

You hit the 'wall' and your muscles freeze up.

The crowds encourage you with 'you are nearly there', but you don't believe them, because they are all liars, the lot of them. You know you are nowhere near there. It only says 40km on the sign along the road, but you know what it means; it is 40km to go.

You know you can crawl faster than this, but you are too embarrassed to do that, and then suddenly, out of the blue, as in a movie, you turn left, or was it right, and you see it.

Could it be a mirage? Are you dreaming? Is this the afterlife? Or, is it really the stadium welcoming you with its open stands for the finish? The stadium that was built for the first Olympics in 1896.

They are shouting 'well done' and the like, and you are gliding on a cloud towards that ticking massive digital clock. Who says they can't be ticking if they are digital?

This really must be the after-life, from the sight of that Greek 'angel' waiting for you with your medal; an unbelievably beautiful medal too.

You think the pain is over, but realise that pain has only just begun. Your legs decide to seize and quit working.

Your stomach decides to give back what you have been stuffing it with during the run.

Your eyes decide that they have been focusing for too long, and start not to.

You ask yourself where you are, but your self doesn't answer as it doesn't know. You would start to hallucinate, if you could spell it.

They give you your finishers' pack, with aluminium foil for blanket, juices, water and the like, and you begin a lengthy recuperating process.

Never again. Not in this life.

Well, maybe half-marathons only. One more marathon at the most. There is one in Edinburgh in May, but then that's it.

See you in May.

It's good to be home.

Emad finished the run in 4 hours 51 minutes. "I do not know my position, but I did not win, and there were more thousands ahead of me than behind me," he said.

In his running party were - Men: Shaikh Saqer Al Khalifa, 30, BDF officer - 4hrs:12min:14sec; Mohd Idris, 42, sales manager - 3:23:56; Tariq Al Gossaibi, 30, banker - 3:58:58; A Mohsin Al Gossaibi, 28, banker - 4:36:33; Hamad Al Haddi, 51, BDF enlisted officer - 4:07:37; Shaikh Ibrahim Al Khalifa, 60, ran the 10km race.

Women: Dunya Elias, chiropodist - 4:09:44

Dr Aysha Muftah, clinical nutritionist - 4:18:13.