La Grande Classique - Race To Versailles

My phone alarm went off at 6am (well, London time) and I was off to The Eiffel Tower.

The atmosphere was electric. There were 21k runners.

With the iconic tower in the background, I was beaming with excitement. Not only because it was a race but it was Paris!

Not sure on what to expect except the altitude map looked like this.

Groups of runners started every couple of minutes. I queued by the Eiffel Tower and moved slowly towards the starting line. Drink bottles, garbage bags (worn for warmth) and empty packets of energy bars strewn along the way. 

At the start I started my playlist, launched GPS on my iphone and checked my shoelaces. As I was bending down, a woman in front was stretching and her foot caught my earphone cable. With a swift kick, my phone flew out of my hand and crashed onto the ground. 

She gave it back to me apologising. I checked for vitals and sure enough the screen was dead. In essence it was bricked. And without further ado, the woman had run off because we had already started.

I stumbled over the starting line almost choking. What in hell do I do now? I need music to run and my phone was broken. Should I chase the woman down? I thought I was going to cry. But no. I was here to race and that what I had to do. I relied on endorphins to numb my shock.

By 2 kms, I was pounding the road with determination. By 6 kms, I got to the hill which looks exactly how it appears on the altitude chart. So steep I did'nt even bother about running. I just walked really quickly, promising myself to barrel downhill at the opportunity.

It was strenuous work and with my earphones in, I focused on the tempo of my breathing like a mantra.

The morning was gloriously sunny and clear. The silver lining to a defunct iphone was that I could hear the local brass bands playing along the route. Spectators cheering "Allez!" and kids wanting to high-five us. 

The villages and forests were quaint and at the replenishment stations, volunteers handed out water, orange quarters and sugar cubes. Simple and good. That's what I love about the French culture.

I was unstoppable even though the soles of my feet were on fire. With the hills and awkward start, there was no way of blitzing a record but I just had to finish. 16 kms is the longest I've ever run and no matter the pain, I could achieve any distance. I was'nt going to die, it only takes time. 

The final stretch of forest opened up to a tree lined boulevard towards Versailles Palace. 

Only one km to go.

Although it felt like it was moving further away, I kept running until I crossed the finish line.  And felt a huge wave of relief. That was some pretty low flying.

The queues for train tickets back to Paris was ridiculous. I walked back to the apartment from Gare D'Austerlitz and discovered the fascinating Rue Mouffetard.

I bought a slice of apricot flan from a patisserie and it was so delicious, it was like an orgy in my mouth. Another love for Paris, you buy your daily bread or pastries from an artisan and not a supermarket chain.

Later I walked to St Germain, sat by the pond in Jardin Des Tulleries to watch the sunset and then headed up the Champs Elysees Boulevard.

On the train home I fell ill and wrote off any chance of having one last meal in Paris. My body went into reject mode. I was exhausted and went straight to bed. My hostess kindly set up an alarm clock for me because I had to get up at 5.30 am (ok, London time) for the Eurostar.