From Bob Hamilton…

Forrest pulled the trigger by running 2:49:18 in the Abingdon Marathon last October, nailing a qualification time for the Boston Marathon in 2026. I will be a V70 by then and it occurred to us both that it would be cool if I was able to qualify too. I’m not a great spectator at races (to be honest, it’s not exactly exciting, even when it’s your own offspring, is it?), so thought it would be a lot more fun if I could run the marathon myself. It was only a tentative thought at first but I found myself thinking about it more and more, looking for a suitable race early this year. I found that Rome had a marathon in March, which was reasonably flat, likely to have ideal weather, and obviously scenic. It fitted the bill perfectly. I forked out for an entry and was committed. Being able to tack on a holiday meant that even if it went tits up, I should still have a good time. And I genuinely did think it was likely to go badly wrong. I did my last marathon in 1984 and had a rough experience. Forty years is a long retirement.

I was going to need to run around 4.15 to qualify for Boston, which I thought was well within range. It was less a matter of pace and more a question of whether my aging joints could handle the training and the distance on the day. I’ve barely raced on the road a couple of times during the last thirty years. I stick to the trails and fells. How would the legs handle all that pounding on hard surfaces? The answer has been surprisingly well, almost certainly helped by modern shoe technology. The training went to plan, the boredom relieved by doing all my long runs on the canal, getting the train to various points up the Aire Valley and running into Leeds. Why has no one told me that running on the flat is so much easier than running up and down hills? What have I been doing killing myself all these years in the mountains?

By the beginning of March, the long runs had been navigated without injury, except for some tightness in the adductors after the final 20 miler. That never went away. Then a couple of days before race day I felt a sore throat and started sniffling. I was coming down with a cold. What with travelling from Bologna the day before, getting to the hotel and then trekking across the city and back to pick up my race number, the step count for the day had reached almost 20,000 by the time I’d got back from my evening meal. My whole body was feeling weary. And then I remembered that same feeling from the days when I ran ultras, the body trying every way to convince the mind that running these crazy distances really wasn’t a sensible thing to do. It never worked. The mind always won out.

I was a little worried by the warm sunshine as we waited at the start next to the Colosseum, but the moment I crossed the line the clouds came in and it stayed overcast for most of the race, remaining relatively cool and even providing a welcome shower at around 15 miles, just when it was most needed. The first few miles passed very comfortably at 8.30/mile pace. The theory was that I was going to be creaky towards the end whatever pace I ran, so I might as well get to that point as quickly as fitness allowed. I only slowed gradually as I got near to the 20 mile mark, the adductor tightness actually easing off by that point, at which I realised that unless I blew up badly I should easily get under 4 hours. The fuelling strategy seemed to be working well. The fact that I had time to spare gave the body some license to give in to the tiredness and run a bit more conservatively. The last few miles were hard work but it was in the bag. And then, with half a mile to go, I caught my foot on a bit of rough cobble and went flying. I landed it pretty well and was soon back up and walking, dripping blood from the elbow on which I landed, trying to get the legs moving again. I looked at the watch and it seemed like a few minutes had suddenly been lost. It felt inevitable that there had to be some jeopardy at the death. The fear of missing out on a sub four soon got me running quite quickly and I crossed the line in 3.58.51. I was over the moon with that.

It was an amazing way to see one of the great cities of the world. Rome has apparently now entered the top ten of most populous marathons in the world. I can certainly make a recommendation. Having recovered pretty well. I have some belief that there’s more to come, and having run my very first marathon in 1978, only a few minutes quicker than this one, I’ve set myself the challenge of trying to get under four hours again in 2028, fifty years on from the first occasion. I’ve put that out there now. There’s nothing like having a stated goal to keep one honest.