Under the Tuscan Sun: Chianti Marathon Trail by UTMB

There was a shirtless man in a Viking helmet and a kilt, furiously waving a skull and crossbones. I can’t explain exactly why, but I do know he could work a crowd. He started hammering a bass drum and demanding we clap to the ever hastening beat. Next thing you know there’s a tre, duo, uno and we’re flooding out of the town square of Radda and onto a frenzied downhill start.

I had no idea what to expect going into this race. Training has been disrupted repeatedly by sinus issues and taper involved a near miss turning my ankle bouldering. To top it off my heart rate had spent ten days going through the roof. 

On the other hand, this course is far more runnable than most trail marathons. Its 2,000m of vert are spread across near constant undulations rather than the long sustained climbs of the mountain races. It’s on straightforward terrain, lots of fire tracks and some rocky single track, but nothing exposed or difficult. 

On my day, I should be able to make a go of it. It was just hard to know which version of my body would turn up. Would it be a favourable course but an unfavourable body? 

I had the perfect plan, obviously, which was to full send the first four kilometres, all downhill, at 5k PB pace. Because downhills are free, right? Coach Doug, however, had an alternate plan; take the start easy and let other runners go past, knowing I’d be fresher to pass them later. “If you think you’re going too slow on the first section,” he said, “slow down a bit more and then you might be pacing it right”. 

And so as the tidal wave of runners swept onto the first descent, I kept a controlled pace. I was determined to stick to the plan, though my heart didn’t get the memo and decided to camp out in zone three. 

I slowed more and started to fret, trying to ignore the whispering voice that said I was cooked, that I’d never be able to control the lactate build up, let alone increase my effort.

We passed a sign that said per aspera ad astra, through difficulty to the stars. Well, they had the difficulty bit right.

But here’s the thing; anxious thoughts exacerbate everything, they take over. They undermine your focus, increase your cortisol and physically feed the problem. So instead of focusing on my pace or my heart rate I focussed on the intrinsic goals a friend had encouraged me to set; to find some flow and enjoy being in nature.

I focussed on the cypress trees, and how Van Gogh used to paint them. I listened to Vincent by Don McLean and thought about the swirling shapes and colours of his work. Every time I felt anxious about my pace I looked for a cypress and, thankfully, they were plentiful. I was filled with gratitude that I get to travel and see such beautiful places.

I rolled into the first aid station feeling slow, yet somehow exactly on the pace my coach had worked out based on my index. That was the spot I was allowed to start racing from. With my HR high I couldn’t risk a big speed up, so focussed on maintaining pace, fast hiking or jogging the hills and pushing on the descents. And I still marvelled at the vines and the olive trees and the cypresses.

Two things happened; I started passing people, and I found my smile. I discovered I could hold my effort steady and resist the trap of slowing down; and a surprising amount of people had gassed themselves on the first section.

There was a welcome boost when I passed a group of Italian spectators. ‘Forza, forza,’ they shouted, before seeing the union flag on my bib and adding, ‘you can do it, Peter’. I responded with my thanks in both languages and, in an instant, they became my squad. All the way up the next climb I could hear, ‘go on Peter, go on’.

The whole middle section, around 28km, seemed to pass quickly. I kept expecting to hit the wall but it never happened. I’d hidden my current pace on my watch to avoid getting fixated on it, but my average for the race was staying good. Bouyed by messages from friends, I kept passing people. At 32km my quads started to groan but kept doing the work regardless.

I rolled into the final aid station a little ahead of pace. Coke. An orange slice. And determination: I’d not bonked and figured at this stage I could risk the full send and rinse myself to the finish.

I put on an aggressive playlist and picked up the pace. If the first three sections were about remaining calm, this last was about wringing everything I had left out of my body. It was on. I pushed as hard as I could, keeping the momentum high but knowing there’s a steep climb to the finish line in Radda.

With twenty minutes left, Lose Yourself by Eminem came on and I decided I had my soundtrack. I hit repeat and sang along.

Snap back to reality, ope, there goes gravity
Ope, there goes Rabbit, he choked, he’s so mad 
But he won’t give up that easy, no, he won’t have it…

Last downhill. I somehow catch and pass a guy who was moving well, leaving him behind, and I’m just having fun. Not like a little fun — I’m fully in my element by this point. I’ve worked for it and it’s came together and I’m gonna enjoy every damn second of it.

There’s a kilometre left and it’s all climb. Hands on quads, pushing. It slows everyone. My UTMB predicted finish time was 5:48, and yet here I am pushing into that hilltop town in five and change. I cross the road. People are yelling. Through an old stone archway and hang a left. One last hill, lined with cheering spectators, the kilted pirate at the top waving his flag and urging me on.

Did I have one last hill sprint in me? Yes. Because when the trails were ankle deep mud at home, and it was subzero, I still went out and did the winter hill work. An arm reaches out, it’s Ollie with a high five, then the pirate too. I turn and see the finish arch. All cylinders. People are smiling and cheering. I hit the line with a jump and a yell.

Going into the race, I’d wondered if on a perfect day—if my body showed up at its best, my pacing and nutrition were bang on, I didn’t bonk, and everything went in my favour, five hours could be possible.

I passed under the arch on 5:05. I’d maintained my effort until the last breath, and after the first checkpoint had gained 144 places and only been passed once. It’s that rarest of races, one where I know that was the best I had in me on the day. No notes. No berating myself or asking for more. That’ll do nicely.

I followed the plan, it worked. And I smiled the whole way round. Choosing to smile and look for delight when things looked unfavourable at the start transformed my race. As someone who can be relentlessly self critical, being able to have a moment of satisfaction at my performance is huge for me. Somehow, Don McLean and Eminem conspired to regulate my nervous system; rabbit didn’t choke this time.

This is a great race and I’d definitely recommend it to people because it represents something a bit different to the norm. It’s fast, it’s mainly runnable, it starts with a descent and ends with a steep climb. And with its rolling hills and vineyards has a character all of its own.

Forza!