Due Maratone Italiane & A Five Marathon Year

I set out at the beginning of this year with a plan, a wind-down marathon plan. I'd done six of them already, most recently in Utah, and Rome before that, and both of them were excruciating. 

In Utah I found myself crossing the start line, after waking up at 2AM and driving eleven hours the day before, asking myself, why, why have I decided to do this with my life? Especially after the Rome experience, when I'd endured a physical pain I'd not felt since my high school binge-drinking days.

While I was in Rome, however, at the expo, I discovered two other marathons I wanted to run. We Run in Art was how they advertised the Florence Marathon, the city I'd been enchanted by since gr.9 art class. And another, a couple of booths down, I Bless You Life, the saying used by St.Francis which they'd made into the slogan for the San Francesco Marathon in Assisi. 

I'd had an affinity for St.Francis since childhood because he was the patron saint of animals, who famously said, "If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men."

I'd been to Assisi before and the setting was just as heavenly as the saint who hailed from it. A medieval walled village built atop a mountain, with steep cobblestone streets and flower lined balconies overlooking Umbria. 

I said I would be back later that year for an Italian fall marathon if work allowed for it. Unfortunately, it didn't, which is why I found myself driving to Utah one weekend to run a marathon.

I ran it in three hours and thirty-eight minutes, a second attempt at qualifying for Boston, and it was then that I started to worry I might be doing damage to my body, especially as a woman. I wanted to have kids, so I wanted to remain fertile, and I wanted to be healthy, which is why I started running in the first place.  

There were still the Italian marathons, of course. And I wanted to run the original marathon in Athens. My sister was a newly-inspired runner, so I was definitely not going to miss her first marathon in Toronto. 

I planned to continue my two a year pace, starting with the one in Toronto with my sister, and I would finish my marathon career with #10 in Athens the following fall. 

The thing is that after my sister and I signed up, I was advertised the Los Angeles Marathon, which was also in Spring. Instagram warned me that it was reaching sell out, and I had FOMO. I lived there after all, and I wanted to experience it after I'd cancelled the year before to go to Rome. 

I signed up for the LA marathon. It would be a training run in March for the marathon with my sister in May, fine. 

Problematically, before LA I had a bit of pain in my leg, and I didn't want to risk injuring myself before my special marathon with my sister.  Wouldn't you know though, I prayed, put some KT tape on it, and took the marathon slow, and it actually healed my leg. 

It was through that experience that I discovered the "slow marathon," and it was the best experience I'd had yet. I thought, to hell with my 10 marathon career! I was going to run them forever. A marathon's really only four 10km runs, after all.

In May I ran my second marathon of the year with my little sister and it was beautiful. We took it slow and I got to experience the whole thing beside her. There were moments when she definitely wanted to kill me, but we did it together. Then we finished it all off with a celebration at Eataly, and now our sister-in-laws want to join us for the next one.

And then, as God willed it, I got a job this year which ended just in time for Florence marathon. I decided to see what else I could do while I was there, and wouldn't you know it, the marathon in Assisi was the weekend right before. I could experience them both on the same trip. Was that insane? Maybe. But God had gotten me through some pretty difficult situations before. 

The job was in Nova Scotia, and shortly after I arrived, I did a nice long 30k training run to prepare for the Italian marathons. I talked about this at work, and a lovely Nova Scotian local told me that they had their own marathon coming up in two weeks, called Valley Harvest Marathon.

My hair partner, Dann, floated an interesting idea. Why don't we run it? He said. Somewhat jokingly, but he is just the kind of crazy fool to want to do that kind of thing, untrained, to prove a point (mainly to himself). He said it would be special, since I was the one who inspired him to start on his running journey. 

We signed up. And then there we were on our Thanksgiving weekend, which could have been an opportunity to finally take a rest, picking up our bibs to run a marathon. 

We took the early start time before the dawn to give him lots of extra time to run his first marathon. It was meant for the ultra runners, and we missed the disclaimer which said that we had to know the course and have our own headlamps. 

We didn't realize it into well into the fourth kilometer, after I told him "it's not usually like this" regarding the complete darkness and lack of any aid stations, race marshals, or indication of where to go. We followed some random pilons and wound up running two kilometers off course. 

Fine for the moment except that I knew that by the time we got to kilometer 42 we would really be feeling those extra kilometers. We got back on, I pulled up the race info on my phone and found the maps, and also the bit about needing to know the route and having headlamps. 

The sun came up and we ran through the peaceful Nova Scotia apple orchards. Then the first male who started at the proper start time ran past us, and eventually the wave of the rest of the runners caught up with us. Dann had his first gel, which was made out of pure maple syrup, and said "this is awesome." "Yes," I said, "it is literally just sugar."

We got lost again and in the end we ran a 44km marathon in a time that my Granny could have run, but it was another marathon experience I got to share. And another training run for Italy. 

The show ended, I got on a plane from Nova Scotia, and found myself in Italy to run my last two marathons of the year. Was I going to be able to do it? I could try. It was the year of taking it slow and easy.  

The first was Assisi, and after a nightmare rental car situation in Rome, driving in the Zona a Traffico Limitato (ZTL), I made it to the race expo at Santa Maria Degli Angeli. I picked up the bib that said, I Bless You Life, a race shirt with the year of the Catholic Church's Jubilee, and checked into my storybook hotel room just as the church bells in the courtyard were ringing. 

It was a pain for me to find dinner that night, since only tourists eat dinner before 730 and it was off season. But I managed to find a pizza place open for tourists and ordered a pizza senza mozzarella (no cheese before marathon). Otherwise, Italy is the perfect place to get your pre-marathon nutrition. 

I woke before dawn and drove down the winding streets to the cathedral where the race would begin. There was a single cafe open in the piazza, which was filled with marathon runners. 

Ordering their cappucinos, of course, and their cornettos at the bar. That's your average Italian breakfast, which really gets me going. To see generally skinny people standing there eating their breakfast pastry would be unfathomable to me anywhere else, but somehow it works for them. 

I ordered in Italian, "questo uno con cioccolato, e un caffe latte de soia." And I delighted in eating that chocolate stuffed pastry. I could run more marathons in Italy. 

At the start line I wished the runners next to me "in bocca al lupo" which translates to, "in the wolf's mouth," but which actually means good luck. And then we were off, on the path that St.Francis took when he preached to the birds and to the nearby towns when he established the Franciscan order. 

My time range for marathons is great, between 3:28 at my fastest and 4:39 in LA, and I imagined that I would finish around 4:30 so as not to strain myself for the next one. But, I was feeling the early morning energy as we embarked in the crisp cool air and the sunshine.  

I fell into place somewhere ahead of the 4:15 pacers and kept that way for most of the course. I did not look at my watch or try to maintain a certain pace, but I did try to keep up with one random person named Giacomo. It's part of my marathon strategy, finding a random person and locking in, regardless of what their pace goals are or if they're hitting them. 

We ran through the laneways and courtyards of another medieval town called Spello as the church bells were calling everyone in. And around the last 5 kilometers was when the 4:15 pacers caught up with me. I turned up my effort to try maintain my lead, but then I heard a voice say not to push it, because I had to run Florence the next week. 

Just imagine, if I'd added in all of these extra marathons and blew it before the one that I really wanted to do. 

I kept going, and asked one of the volunteers at the aid stations with a confused look on my face if she was handing out beer, "birra?" To which she said, "té." It did make more sense than beer, which is what some people were handing out at the LA marathon. 

I made it back to the front of the cathedral, in a long, winding strip with blue carpet stretched out under the finish line, and passed at 4:17, in time to see Giacomo make it a couple of minutes after me. He embraced me at the end and asked to take a photo with him. 

On the way out there were little blue bags to take filled with refreshments for the runners, including a homemade panino wrapped in a napkin. I took the bag and headed back to Assisi to the sweetest cafe where I enjoyed a torta al testo vegetariana - a warm crusty sandwich with tomato, mozzarella, and spinach. 

And then I had the puffed pastry that I'd literally been dreaming about. I asked for it's name and the best that they could give me was, pasta sfoglia con panna, literally meaning puffed pastry with whipped cream. 

I stayed in Assisi for a couple more dark and dreary days and when I got to Florence the temperature continued to drop. I wished that I'd brought more winter coats than fall blazers. I was thinking very optimistically about the weather in Italy, which had been a little sunnier and nicer in Rome. 

Italy's one of the places that I sometimes pictured myself living, so it was good for me to be there in the winter. Nicer than Canada for sure, but definitely dark and cold. And November, as it turned out, was the rainiest month of the year. 

I wondered why they planned two races in such poor weather conditions. Even the manager at the AirBnb told me that the one thing I had to keep in mind about the Florence marathon, was to be prepared for the weather. 

He'd run it a couple of times himself, and when I told him that I'd just run the Assisi marathon before Florence, he said "that's impossible." 

My muscles were already healing from Assisi, but they were still really tight from the cold. I kept an eye on the weather, and fortunately for me, the rain disappeared from the forecast on the marathon day as it got closer. 

I spent the next few days in Florence wandering around and watching the Christmas decorations going up. I spent some time in Uffizi, of course, viewing the art that first called me to Florence. I bought a Florentine journal at Scrivimi. I ate panini. 

And then my period came. But considering that this was about to be my eleventh marathon and I'd still never ran a race on my period before, it was bound to happen. 

If I had to run on my period I was at least happy that I wasn't going to be running in the rain. With all  those factors, my period, the cold, rain, running a marathon a week before, I think it would have actually just been a little too much for me to bare. 

The day before the race I went to the expo in an old train station and viewed some of the other Italian and European marathons. And in the evening I had a plate of pasta next to the Duomo and then attended a Runner's Mass there. 

The mass was in Italian, and based on the order of worship, it did not seem to have any specific message for the runners. There weren't many runners there either, from what I could tell. Just the regular congregants. I appreciated that there was a place for them to go to worship every night of the week. 

I practiced a tiny bit of Italian beforehand and had a small Catholic refresher course from my sister-in-law so that I knew how to act. I learned nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, meaning, 'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.' 

A woman came to sit next to me in the pew and asked, 'e libera?' meaning, 'it's free?' To which I said, 'si,' thrilled to have understood what she meant. 

For most of the mass, however, I had no idea what they were saying, so I sat and reflected on Jesus. I remembered that I would not run on my own strength.  That Jesus would go with me the entire way, and that all of the factors that worried me didn't mean anything to him. 

I went back to the Airbnb that night on the eve of the marathon with relief and new confidence that it was going to be just fine. My legs were not going to give out on me. I would get to finish. 

When I woke up and strolled out to the start line, runners were already jogging around the Duomo to warm up. I never did understand that. I always thought, you're about to run a marathon, you'll have plenty opportunity to warm up! I use the first ten or twenty or however many kilometers I need as my warmup, but then again, I'm not an elite runner. 

I grabbed a chocolate cornetto and a latte and found myself in place among 13,000 runners. And then we were off. 

Around the eight kilometer I started to get the sinking feeling that I would need to use the washroom and I started to keep my eyes peeled for the washroom situation. If there's anything worse than having to use the washroom (which I talk about every time I write about running a marathon) it's having to wait in a line, mid-race, to use the washroom. 

Up to that point, I hadn't seen any, except for some construction portapotties along the course that were  behind fences. Then I saw one out in the open. An English woman sensed that I'd narrowed in on it and as she ran past me she said, "it's locked!"

At least I didn't waste my time trying. I kept on another couple of kilometers before I really knew I had to go and started to make it the focus of all of my attention. And then, just before we got to Cascine park, I saw a lone portapotty with nothing around it, no line, no fence, and there was no lock on it, and it had a little green indicator on the door. 

I ran for it, and it was free! Thank you Jesus! I got out and rejoined feeling relieved and happy to set out on the next thirty kilometers. I put on my music as we entered the park and the song that played was, Firm Foundation by Cody Carnes. "He's faithful through generations, so why would he fail now?"

The songs in my playlist kept me feeling uplifted and strengthened for the rest of the race. 

Turn by Ben Fuller, "When I'm weak, you are strong. When I fall short, you go on and on." 

More than Able by Elevation Worship, "I put my trust in the one that still does miracles."

As we entered the park the elite runners passed us on their way out, including the primo uomo e prima donna. And once we made it out and went back toward the bridges of the River Arno, we were already nearly halfway.

We crossed to Oltrarno and then back again, through the historic center and out to who knows where. I find that every marathon has a section like that, the backwoods. Just a time killer, and a chance to see what Florence was actually like to live in, outside of the tourist boundaries.

A track was the turn around point when we reached 30 kilometers, and I welcomed the plush feeling under my feet. I hadn't really felt the cold at all since I started, and I hadn't felt any pain from my period. 

We got back to the Duomo sooner than we should have, I thought, with another 5 kilometers left to go. It's so hard when they make us do that, circle around the finish line. But we got to run through all of the famous parts of Florence that we'd so far avoided. Through the courtyard at the Uffizi gallery, across the Piazza Vecchio and down the narrow streets, flanked with onlookers. 

I carefully ran the last couple of kilometers on the uneven cobblestone, around the last bend, happily headed toward the finish line, knowing that the rest of my life was waiting for me on the other side.