Fun and games at the Sydney Marathon.

t was, I had to admit, a long way to go for a run. BLACKMORES Coming fi , the oming Fromme, that | A SYDNEY RUNNING FESTIVAL

was a pretty big admission. Over the years, I had gone to Sinday Telegraph some remote places to try out new races, but this time I had outdone myself. I had just flown for almost 20 hours across North America and the Pacific, covering almost 10,000 miles, for a three-day stopover in Australia to run in the 10th Blackmores Sydney Marathon.

I checked my watch. It was set for the US East Coast, 16 hours behind the local time. I would have to fix that.

It was about 9 a.m. on a sunny and cool late-September morning in Sydney. I was making my way downtown to the packet pickup, pretty sure that I was heading the right way.

“Can you help me with directions?”

I turned toward the voice. A young blond woman, a bit frazzled, stood before me. She had that singsong accent that is so unmistakably Australian.

“T just got here myself. I probably can’t be much help,” I said. Then, “Wait! I’ve got a map

We unfurled the sheet, managed to orient ourselves on it, and found where

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she had to go. She thanked me, and as she walked away, she turned back and said, “I like your accent.”

Which was crazy, of course. I don’t have an accent.

I smiled back and tried to figure out which direction I needed to go. I should have felt dead on my feet but I felt fine. This sort of made sense since I had flown out at night and arrived early in the morning, though a day later. I had managed to get some sleep on those flights, so I was still more or less on my regular schedule. Iknew I would pay for it with massive jet lag on my return trip, but I would worry

about that later. Right then, I had a city to explore, and I had no time to waste. It was Friday morning, and I would be there only until Monday.

I had never been to Australia before, so I was hoping to do some sightseeing, but most of that would have to take place during my 26.2-mile running tour on Sunday. When I had told my friends my plan, they just shook their heads, but there was method to my madness. A friend with frequent-flyer miles to spare had offered to sponsor my flights, and some friends in Sydney offered to host my visit. What marathon junkie on a budget could say no to that? After arriving, I was met by Phil, half of the couple with whom I would be staying. He drove me to their row house on the edge of the city center. I was on vacation, but it was just another workday for them, so I would be on my own. After a quick breakfast and a refreshing shower, I was ready to hit the street.

Getting the lay of the land

Australia is famously known as having been established as a penal colony for castoff British convicts. This dates back to 1788, when 1,400 convicts, soldiers, administrators, and their families arrived at Sydney Cove. Free settlers arrived just five years later, but the waves of convicts continued landing for over 50 more years. In 1851, gold was discovered in the surrounding area. This did not go unnoticed by the outside world; the population soon ballooned and continued to rise into the next century, when Sydney reached the 1 million resident mark.

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A Unmistakeably Sydney: running within sight of the famous Opera House.

As I strolled toward downtown, I was struck by how the old Victorian architecture of Sydney’s early boom days peacefully coexisted with modern design. An elevated monorail spun past overhead, flanked by ornate brick-and-stone facades and high-end retail outlets. Sydney was both an outdoor museum and a bustling metropolis. The fact that everyone more or less spoke English made it all the more accessible.

I zigzagged my way to the race-festival expo, which was being held in several connected tents in Cook & Phillip Park, across from St. Mary’s Cathedral. The festival offered four races: a marathon, a half-marathon, the 9K Harbour Bridge Run, and a 3.8K family fun run. Altogether, organizers expected over 25,000 participants.

You wouldn’t have guessed that from the expo. It was very small and perfunctory, with no freebies and few vendors. On the bright side, that left me with less to carry as I continued my walking tour.

Imade my way a few blocks over to the Sydney Tower, which, after the Harbour Bridge and the iconic Opera House, was the third-most-identifiable landmark on the Sydney skyline. Stretching up 250 meters into the sky, it offers 360-degree views of the city. As I gazed down, I tried to trace the racecourse and imagined following the mass of runners on race day from here.

Next was a short walk to the waterfront. On my left was the old warehouse district known as The Rocks, which now features popular bars, restaurants, and shopping. Just beyond that is the Harbour Bridge, a giant, arching steel span known locally as the Coathanger. Daring and well-heeled adventurers sign up for the expensive guided climb to the top of the bridge. From where I stood, I could just barely make out the tiny dots ascending the arch. All of the Sydney Race festival events would begin on the far side of the bridge and pass this way.

In front of me and curving to my right was Circular Quay, a walkway that linked the ferry terminal and docks to the Opera House. This is where all the festival races would end. The Opera House was built between 1959 and 1973 and is said to represent sails filled with wind. To me, however, it looked like a confused jumble of clamshells. But there is something about the building that draws you to it, demanding that you touch it, as if to prove that it’s real. Up close, its light and airy design gives way to the heaviness of its concrete construction. Its skin is made up of glazed tiles, smooth and cool to the touch. Families and couples posed on its flanks, snapping photos to send back home, proof positive that they had actually made it clear across the world.

The long journey and sightseeing finally began to take their toll, and I found myself fading as sunset came. I returned to my friends’ row house, and we went across the lane to a local pub for an early dinner and a pint. Leigh was a news anchor, very well known in Australia, while her husband, Phil, worked as an animator. They had both spent time in the United States, where they cultivated a surprising interest in American football, which was available on Australian cable TV. Phil

was an Eagles fan, and as I listened to his assessment of the coming season, the world suddenly shrank just a bit, and my journey seemed a little less exotic.

After a dreamless sleep, I set out once again, but with the marathon just 24 hours away, I knew I should be doing less walking. A ferry to Manly would be just the thing. Not quite as famous as nearby Bondi Beach, Manly still offers a long expanse of sandy beach and good surfing. Historic photos showed that it had changed little over the past century, with a pedestrian mall called the Corso, lined with restaurants and beach-themed shops, leading across the narrow neck of land from the wharf to the beach. I rolled up my pants’ cuffs and stretched out on the sand. All this, just minutes away from the downtown offices. As I settled in for a nap, I wondered how anyone here got any work done.

Racing in Oz

Sunday brought more cool, sunny weather. It was just the kind of morning that makes runners want to reach for their racing shoes. I got myself together and took the train to Milsons Point, across the harbor and at the foot of the bridge.

It was about 6:30 a.m. I was early for the marathon, but thousands of people were already running past. These were the half-marathoners, who had just started their race. I felt like a greyhound in the slip as they streamed past, feeling a tug