PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC, May 23, 1999—”Kevin, I can’t believe you’re now planning on doing one of these marathons in the middle of our vacation!” my wife Dawn had said on hearing my “suggestion” that I run the Prague Marathon during our extensive 1999 European trip.

“But, honey, it’s a complete coincidence; the way our plans stand now we’ll actually be in Prague two days after the marathon. I’m just suggesting we travel straight from Finland to Prague and then on to Hungary, instead of doing Finland, Hungary, Prague.” The logic seemed impeccable. At least to me.

“But I know you. You’ll be tired after the race and won’t want to do anything, and you’ll probably not be much fun beforehand, either, since you’ll be preparing for it.”

“Look. I promise the vacation will be exactly as we planned. I’m not going to do anything different. We’ll still check out the local bars and sightsee as we planned, then I’ll take a nice easy ‘jog’ during the marathon and have a good time afterwards. I promise.”

“Well, I can’t believe you’re doing this. When will it all stop? You’ve already done six long races in the last year, including that 50-miler, and all those triathlons and the mountaineering trips. When will it all end?”

I didn’t reply. I figured it best to let things calm down before I mentioned the subject again. But Dawn was right. I had done many events in the last couple of years, and I had dragged her to several. What made it worse was the fact that I travel for a living (software consulting) and so I am rarely at home as it is. The extra weekends away at the race events had started to put stress on us. This European trip was to be for “Us,” our last big excursion before trying to start a family. And here I was now planning on running a marathon in the middle of it. I did feel guilty.

The evening went downhill after that discussion.

I dropped the subject and decided to stick to my word and make sure we had a good time during the whole trip. I needed to train—train hard so that I could run the marathon, stay in shape during the week of no training before it, and keep up with our very aggressive schedule (9 cities in 15 days!) during the whole holiday.

THE WHOLE TRIP AND NOTHING BUT—

The itinerary was as follows: fly to Moscow via Montreal and Zurich, two nights in Moscow; fly to St. Petersburg, two nights in St. Petersburg; catch a train to Helsinki, one night in Helsinki; fly to Prague, two nights in Prague, run Prague International Marathon on second day; catch overnight train to Budapest, one night in Budapest; catch train to Vienna, afternoon in Vienna; catch overnight train to Venice, two nights in Venice; catch overnight train to Interlaken, one night in Interlaken; catch train to Zurich, one night in Zurich; finally, fly back to Atlanta.

I had done quite a bit of training early that year for my first 50-miler at the beginning of April [see the March/April 2001 issue of Marathon & Beyond] and had biked and swum a lot for triathlon season.

However, after April I had no intention of doing any more marathons or long runs for the rest of the year and had dropped my mileage to a few 10Ks each week. In fact, running no more marathons for a while was very appealing at that time, especially on the way home from the 50-mile trail race at Umstead, North Carolina.

So, on deciding to run the Prague International Marathon, I scheduled another hard 16-mile training run and several 25-mile bike rides before we left for Moscow on May 15. I just hoped my base fitness and last-minute long run would be enough to get me through the race in good shape.

But being in shape was only half the challenge since the most important factor of any trip my wife and I plan is that it must be fun! (Or what’s the point?) And I was determined the marathon would not negatively affect the fun dial.

The tone of our trip was set early as we hit the Delta Crown Room Club at Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport for a couple of beers: our last domestic beer for the next two weeks, we hoped. On to Canada and the Montreal International Airport lounge where we partook of our first true international beer of the trip: Molson. Quite good as well.

Next, it was Swiss Air to Zurich—beer on this segment: Heineken. We had an early morning layover in Zurich, which was hard; we were tired and there was nowhere to sleep. Then we were off to Moscow on an Aeroflot plane that must have been left over from the ’50s—a relic that probably should have been in a museum, not ferrying passengers.

An early morning beer on the flight was definitely needed to help smooth out the ride.

At the Moscow airport we were attacked with the obligatory $50 taxi fee rip-off. This was an incident that the U.S. Embassy official whom we sat next to on the plane told us was customary—and unavoidable. Welcome to the “new Russia.”

Back in the States we had learned our Moscow hotel, the Intourist Hotel, an ugly communist-era monstrosity but situated next to Red Square (Location! Location! Location!) had had its top two floors blown apart by a terrorist bomb two weeks before we were to arrive. Unfortunately, because of the way Russian visas are written, staying at another hotel would have been difficult. In any case, as the taxi pulled up outside the hotel, we were shocked to see a gaping hole in the top two floors, exposing several rooms to the outside world. After we checked in, we noticed half the bar area roped off because no one had yet bothered to clean up the glass that had fallen into the courtyard lounge area on the ground floor. Communist efficiency was still in effect here.

WONDERFUL TIMES IN MOSCOW

Nevertheless, our time in Moscow was enjoyable.

Highlights included a free rock concert in Red Square on our first night, a tour of the Kremlin, and experiencing the Moscow subway. The Russian beer was great. Most times we would drink with the locals outside on the street where we could buy a beer for 25 cents rather than the six dollars being charged in the hotel lounge 20 feet away. The street kiosks were also convenient because the hotel prostitutes didn’t pester me every time my wife turned her back.

“But I’m here with my wife; she just went to the bathroom.” To which they would reply: “It’s okay, I see you tonight, we keep secret.”

Two days later we made our way to St. Petersburg on Aeroflot. The plane we took on this trip made the last Russian plane we flew seem positively high-tech. But Russian domestic flights do have an advantage over American domestic flights: free alcohol in coach class.

Arriving in a cloudy St. Petersburg and after another taxi rip-off, we checked into the Moskva Hotel. We seemed to be on the same wavelength as the Russians since the bar areas of both Russian hotels were the main focus of activity.

Prostitution seemed to be sanctioned by hotel management and security at this hotel, as it had been at our hotel in Moscow, and we were a little taken aback at hearing open discussion of prices in the elevator by the women and their customers. From what I understand, they were very expensive, too—not that I know much about these things, mind you.

Highlights on our St. Petersburg stop were some great restaurants and the Kirov Ballet. We managed to get second-row seats, and we were very easy to spot; we were the only ones wearing jeans.

After four days in Russia, the train ride to Helsinki was a relief. Service on the Finnish train was excellent (that is, normal, but compared with Russia it was five star). We immediately continued our quest to taste all local beers by drinking the Finnish Lapin Kulta beer (brewed with water from Lapland). We spent only one day in Finland and wished we could have stayed longer. It was clean and friendly and had great food and fantastic weather. I continued with my antimarathon training program with more visits to local bars that night.

Next day it was off to the airport, where we flew Czech Airlines to Prague and proceeded to one of the local “pension” hotels—basically cheap hostels. On arriving at the Pension Brezina, I was taken aback at the dilapidated building, complete with drug addicts infesting the entrance. I couldn’t believe Dawn had reserved this place: “But, it looked so different on the Internet.”

We “checked in” after a miscue with our taxi driver resulted in our having to walk four miles with heavy backpacks to the hotel Dawn had reserved. I said we would stay only one night (instead of two), and that evening, before dinner, we walked over to the Doubletree Hotel, just a couple of blocks from the marathon start, and reserved a room for the next day.

THE DAY BECOMES BEER-ABLE

As in any situation like this, things began to look much better after a couple of beers (Radegast, very good), especially when sitting on a warm evening in Prague’s beautiful Wenceslas Square.

The next day, after more sightseeing, I continued my carboloading with more Czech beer at some of the local bars. Since the marathon was scheduled for 7:00 the next morning, we left the bar around 7:00 P.M.—my only concession to marathon preparation to date. But, when we got back to the hotel, we ran into some people we had met on the tour earlier in the day, and, needless to say, we had to go to the lounge with them for a nightcap.

When I woke in the morning, I was tired but very enthusiastic about running in my first international marathon. On the short walk to the start, I began to worry a little since during the numerous events I had done in the past, I had always been very prudent regarding my final week’s preparations. Usually, I would hydrate heavily, eat well, rest well, stay off the booze, and, of course, train. This time, not only did I not follow my usual routine, but I did the opposite: not much water (one could drink only bottled water in most of these countries anyway); heavy, greasy foods; lack of sleep; excessive alcohol; and no training.

But, I had made a commitment to Dawn not to interfere with the vacation. And I was glad I did. I was having a terrific time. But now I was worried. It was summer-like in Prague, the sun was up, and it was becoming hot. I had no water that morning and felt very groggy after another night of drinking. Could be a rough day, I thought to myself.

The race was sponsored by a major Czech water vendor, Mattoni, so I was confident I could get to the start and find some water there. Big mistake. The Old Town Square was fenced off in a peculiar manner. I saw a large truck with the water vendor’s logo on it but was unable to figure out how to get there. The whole square was fenced in, and I couldn’t work my way around since the narrow streets were already filled with runners and I was walking against the tide. To this day, I still have no idea how runners were supposed to get water. I think the truck may have been supplying water for the finish, in which case there was no water for the start.

Anyway, start time was approaching, so I decided to forget about the water for now and make sure I got some at all the early stops. My wife could tell I was worried. Not wanting to walk to the back of the field, I jumped over the fence by the start line into a sea of runners.

UP FRONT AND AWED

My excitement level rose as I started to wake up—probably because of the noise the helicopters were making just overhead—and I realized this marathon was a Big Deal. I was standing up front behind some of the world’s top runners—most of them Kenyan—in the middle of a beautiful European city with TV cameras everywhere. By now over 2,000 runners were crammed into the small street. As the intensity level rose, everyone filled with anticipation. We were in the middle of a world-class event.

After the gun went off, I kept up with the Kenyans for nearly 10 seconds before falling back. The cobblestones were a little rough on my feet, and it occurred to me that I should have brought some real running shoes instead of using the same sneakers I had been wearing all week.

It was a glorious day: bright sunshine and clear skies. I immediately started to sweat and really wanted some water—now!

As we crossed the Charles Bridge and left the Old City, I was inspired by classical musicians hired by the marathon. It was truly great to be running on that bridge on a beautiful day and watching and listening to professional musicians.

Around mile 4, I was extremely relieved to see the first water station ahead. But, getting closer, I saw a fracas around the table. Runners were bunched up and pushing and shoving past each other; foreign words were shouted out—and they didn’t sound any too friendly. As I reached the table, I was shocked to see there was no water. Instead, two volunteers were hurriedly pouring water into cups. Already there must have been 20 guys waiting. I was thirsty as hell and needed water more than I had ever needed it in any race, and now this!

I was so mad I just continued running. My mouth was parched. The sun was getting higher and already we had lost all shade as we continued on a long stretch of road for the out-and-back portion of the race. We were completely exposed to the sun and would be for the next 15 or so miles.

I pushed harder in an effort to reach the next water station quicker, and finally one appeared at roughly mile 8. But, incredible as it may seem in a major international race, this table was also out of water!

Again, the volunteers were furiously pouring water into cups as dozens of runners jostled for position. I looked on in despair at the chaotic situation. Not thinking straight, I took off again, pushing harder. By now I was almost delirious, my mental state deteriorating rapidly as the sun beat down. After a while I just started laughing; it seemed incredible that race organizers could invite runners from around the world, bill it as a world-class marathon, have TV cameras capture the event, and then forget about the most important thing in a marathon: water.

MY KINGDOM FOR A DRINK

At around mile 11 another water station loomed. There were runners waiting there, too, but now fewer than a dozen. The number of racers was dwindling as the distance grew longer. They were probably dropping along the course from dehydration. Volunteers were busy filling cups. No water was waiting on the table as I arrived, but this time I stopped and waited for mine. In fact, I grabbed two cups, drank them, walked to the next table, got two more and poured them over my head. I felt much, much better. After this, most of the water stations were loaded with water.

I pushed on, and it was around this point that it occurred to me that Europeans run as they drive. That is, they tailgate. Strangely enough, my pace felt pretty good. I’m not a particularly fast runner (my PR is 3:38) because I don’t train specifically for marathons and am happy with anything under four hours. I was not expecting four hours in this one because of my lack of preparation. By the halfway point I was well within my target time of 1:45, so I started to slow down, remembering my promise to Dawn, and even walked through the aid stations.

Around mile 20, I suddenly became aware of a bad rubbing sensation around my shoulders and shorts. I’d forgotten to apply Vaseline! Another big mistake. Vacations make you forgetful. With my lack of foresight I had really messed up this important aspect of long-distance running preparation. Until this race, I had never run a marathon without applying Vaseline to the tender spots, but I put my pain on a back burner and pushed on as we crossed the Charles Bridge on the return to the Old City.

Around mile 24 I realized I had a chance to finish under four hours. The race was marked in kilometers, and I wasn’t sure exactly how far the finish was, but I guessed if I pushed a little harder I could break 4:00.

I picked up the pace for a while, and as I turned the final corner toward the Old Town Square, I saw the glorious sight of several dozen people lining the finish route waving flags from around the world and shouting Czech words of encouragement (at least I think they were encouragement).

It was a terrific feeling to be greeted by the crowds and cameras, and then run through a swath of flags and over the finish line in 3:57.

At the finish, I found water almost immediately and slumped down and drank two bottles. Dawn caught up with me. “How was the race?” she gushed.

“Oh, it was a piece of cake, no problem at all. Very well organized,” I lied, not wanting to crimp our vacation with the truth.

I told her about the water problems after we got back home.

On our way back to the hotel, I kept getting strange looks and smiles from many of the people on the streets. After a while Dawn also noticed, and we were horrified to realize that my shirt was dripping with blood. Yes, the lack of Vaseline on my nipples had caused them to chafe to the point that they were bleeding. We just had to laugh—until I stepped into the shower, which was one of the most excruciating moments of my life.

Dehydration had taken a toll on me, but I acted as though everything were fine. During the afternoon we did a little sightseeing before heading back to the hotel in the evening to collect our belongings. Later, having an hour to kill before leaving for the station, we went to the bar and drank some more beer.

SHOCKING A HUNGARIAN

The excitement continued that night on the overnight train to Budapest as I woke from a deep sleep to loud banging on our compartment door. I crawled out of bed and, wearing only my shorts, opened the door. Standing there was a Hungarian immigration officer, who immediately looked down and just stared at my body. It seemed like he spent a minute just staring at my chest. I handed him our passports, and he took a cursory look at them before returning his eyes for a last glance at my chest. Perhaps he is cross-eyed? I thought to myself.

“Did you see the way that guy looked at me?” I asked Dawn.

“Yeah, of course he looked. How many times do you think he sees a half-naked Brit with large Band-Aids stuck on his nipples?” She broke into a serious laughing fit.

I had completely forgotten about the Band-Aids I had put on my chest after the shower.

“Can you imagine what he thinks those things were doing on your nipples?” Dawn asked, still laughing.

Geez. Some guys never get a break.

In Budapest the next day we continued our established routine: sightseeing in the morning and then drinking and partying in the afternoon and evening. Hungary was excellent in every way. The thermal baths we went to were the perfect way to recuperate from the race. After some excellent meals in Budapest, I was well on the way to recovering and feeling fine—even with all the walking we did while burdened with heavy backpacks.

We continued the trip with a train ride to Vienna, where we ate dinner, and then took an overnight train to Venice.

Venice was great, of course. From there we caught a flight to Switzerland, where we did our final two cities: Interlaken and Zurich. We were to catch the overnight train from Venice but were told, when we arrived at the station, that the operators were on strike, so we slept overnight at the airport before taking the early morning flight to Zurich. In the end, we arrived there quicker than the trains would have. This was our only real problem during the whole trip, and thankfully it was toward the end.

In any case, we finished the vacation and considered it a complete success. My goal of running the marathon while not interfering with our primary agenda of having fun worked out just fine. We tasted many fine European beers and ate at the best restaurants.

As for the Prague International Marathon, despite my problems, I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone. Just bring some bottles of water with you—and remember your Vaseline.

& What I Learned From It

Planning a trip overseas with so many cities involved, different modes of transportation, and different languages was a challenge. To run a marathon in the middle of that was especially a challenge because our prime directive was to have fun. But it can be done. My wife and I had a fantastic trip, and I did not alter any of our major plans. You only live once, so make the most of an overseas marathon. If you are in decent shape, the marathon will take care of itself.

Peak for a personal best at a race closer to home. When overseas, don’t just sit around the hotel lobby in your sweatpants holding a bottle of Evian and watching CNN. Get out, find some local hot spots, and have fun! It’s surprising how friendly folks can be when they sit down over a decent beer.

And when in Europe, sample the local brews; they’re much better than we’re used to in the States.