I will be running in the Athens Marathon. He had hardly finished when I asked. How many kilometres? The answer is intriguing. The authentic marathon is 42 kilometres long. The next thing I do is to sit in front of my computer to search for information. The 37th Authentic Marathon will be held in Athens on 10 November 2019. This year marks 123 years since its establishment as a sport of the modern Olympic Games, 57 since the assassination of Gregoris Lambrakis to whose memory it is dedicated, 73 years since the victory of Cypriot-born runner Stelios Kyriakides. A race inspired by the route followed by the ancient hoplite Pheidippides or Philippides who is said to have delivered to Athens the news of the victory of the battle of Marathon and immediately after, he fell dead. My media accreditation issued by the Hellenic Amateur Athletic Association (SEGAS) came a month later.
Athens is already in the mood for the race. The hotels are full of runners. What time is breakfast served on Sunday? At 5.30 in the morning. It is barely daybreak, and already buses are lining up and runners are waiting on the sidewalk, munching on this and that. We reach Marathon riding the double-decker bus reserved for journalists. The warm-up begins with the sounds of Zorba, to the rhythm of syrtaki. A huge festival of joy that even the rain could not ruin. Twenty thousand runners; every race in the world ready to start at 9.00. The first 32 kilometres are the most difficult ones, all uphill. If you manage to cross the bridge by the Greek Radio Television building, you are bound to finish the race. Still, it is a never-ending downhill!
People are out on the streets, bands are playing, the policeman is applauding, The Evzone of the Presidential Guard salutes and a placard “Run fast, go go go” is raised. Bright faces. Happy ones. And the proud runners keep the rhythm, reach out for a small bottle of water and look at the timer on their watches.
Entering the elegant marble Panathenaic Stadium marks the end of the race. The first to cross the finish line makes statements, the second, the third, and hundreds of others follow. Thousands of selfies are taken. With the olive wreath on the head. Eyes shedding tears out of joy. Feet crawling with happiness. People collapsing, crumbling to the ground. Groups finishing the race holding hands. Parents holding their children in their arms. Stunning moments. And then, it’s time for the medal. For champagne. For congratulations. Then you speak. You mumble, referring to the difficulties of the journey. To your determination to reach the finish line. Of how you surpassed your limits. For the race. The Athens Marathon. The Authentic. And, as a Cypriot mother, I thrust my arms around you gleaming with pride!
