The Road to Sparta by Dean Karnazes

Author:Dean Karnazes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rodale
Published: 2016-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

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1 It must be noted that Maria Polyzou, the Greek women’s marathon record holder, also played an instrumental role in the development of the museum.

Award from Mayor of Marathon (top left), Crew from Navarino Challenge (top right), Talk at Public School of Palaio Faliro in Athens (bottom)

19

THE RACE IS ON

Three hundred and fifty warriors huddled in the predawn mist at the foot of the Acropolis anxiously awaiting the starting gun to splinter the morning stillness. Athletes had hailed here from 46 countries; some made crosses on their chests, others pranced and stretched, while others hugged loved ones in a final embrace of farewell. Each individual standing at the starting line held the same dream, that of touching the feet of King Leonidas before sunset the next day. Sparta was 153 miles, and untold perils, away. But every person wearing a race jersey was determined to make it there.

For me, the quest was deeply personal. I’d been waiting a lifetime to be standing in this place, and at that moment I saw this more clearly than ever. I would finally run alongside my ancient brother, Pheidippides, albeit 21⁄2 millennia in his wake. I felt better this morning than I had in the past week, as though my body had cleared itself of illness and risen to meet the challenge ahead. This was my hour to shine brightest, in full honor of the intrepid adventurer who had brought me to this place.

In the crowd there were some familiar faces, along with some new ones. There were acquaintances I’d met at various venues across the globe, and there were people I’d heard of but never met. We were all kindred spirits now, standing there together before the start. No matter how competitive we were, all held a mutual respect for our fellow athletes, for each of us was acutely aware of the sacrifice, commitment, dedication, and courage it took to be toeing the line that morning. Whether one’s intention was to win the race or simply to finish it, these same qualities were a shared prerequisite among us, a commonality that cut across borders, religions, ethnicities, and socioeconomic status and bonded us together in a sacrosanct union of blood, sweat, and honor.

That was the emotional context of the starting line experience. The practical consideration was that it had started to rain, making one’s gear choice during this initial stage critical. Due to the unusual rules of the race, the first opportunity we’d have to modify our outfits wouldn’t come until 26 miles after the start. The Spartathlon was somewhat unique in this regard. During many ultramarathons, especially ones taking place primarily on roadways (versus wilderness trails), there are designated points at which a runner can access his or her support crew for food and supplies, and to make gear changes. While there were many aid stations set up along the Spartathlon route—places where an athlete could obtain hydration and nutrition—there were strict rules as to when a runner could potentially interact with an outside crewmember or accept outside aid to change clothing or footwear.

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