Being a Marathon Supporter Is a Thankless Job

Prologue: Where the Drama Begins

– No beer for me, I’ve got a marathon on Sunday.

– Again? Aren’t you getting sick of these races? I might come and watch you one day, just to make sure you’re actually running!

– I dare you! I’ll see you at the start, along the course and at the finish! You’ll see, the atmosphere will be incredible. You’re going to lo-o-ove it.

– Deal!

And there it is. The damage is done. Your friend, who isn’t remotely athletic, has been dragged into an ordeal he knows nothing about. And let’s just say he’s not going to be disappointed!

Chapter 1: The Painful Wake-Up Call

Because official races come with a lot of constraints. Sleeping in until 11 on a Sunday is out of the question. The alarm goes off brutally at 6 a.m. because you have to allow for travel time, the crowds, finding your way around the sprawling circus of a popular marathon, and the never-ending search for the runner you’re already starting to hate. Still, a promise is a promise, so he has to drag himself out of his warm bed, force down a triple espresso that turns his stomach inside out and make a beeline for the race venue.

Chapter 2: The Start

The two friends finally find each other after a stressful, aimless search among thousands of anxious runners and equally lost supporters. The marathoner is in full “champion” mode, soaking up this long-awaited day and the presence of his conveniently available friend. Once he’s finished warming up, he hands over his clothes (the bag drop is far too much hassle), stuffs an energy drink flask and three cola-flavoured gels into his friend’s hands, then tells him to meet him at the third aid station (the most important one, in his eyes).

That’s when the human cloakroom starts to wonder whether he’s stumbled into something completely beyond him.

To make matters worse, the runner suddenly leaves him standing there, explaining that he has to get to his starting corral.

The corral? What corral…?

Chapter 3: The Aid Station

With one less eardrum after watching the start, the supporter sets off in search of the famous third aid station. He asks anyone and everyone, increasingly frantic because he has no idea what time his friend will reach the designated spot. What kind of pace does a reasonably trained guy run, anyway?

He finally finds the aid station, where plenty of people are already gathered and seem to be having a great time. The rookie supporter, meanwhile, has had enough. He’s walked billions of miles to get there, waited around, had his eardrums blown out by the starting gun and now has to stand around some more.

All around him, people have made signs, are laughing and eagerly watching for their runner. As a one-day supporter (one day only, he swears), he has no idea what he’s supposed to do. So he just stands there. For an eternity.

It feels as though every runner in the universe has already gone past, that’s how slowly time is moving. His friend still isn’t there. Unless he missed him?

The supporter is hot, hungry and sore-footed from standing around. Maybe he should knock back the flask of energy drink and have a gel?

There’s no time to debate it. His friend finally arrives. He snatches the flask from the supporter’s hands, grumbles when he struggles to find his gels and is off again. Four seconds. The guy devoted four seconds to this vital aid station. And, above all, to his supporter, who remains there looking utterly stunned and deeply frustrated.

Chapter 4: The Finish-Line Photo

If his calculations are right (what a curse it is to be hopeless at maths!), he saw his friend go past halfway. Given how long he’s been waiting, he should have plenty of time to get to the finish for the photo, as requested. So he heads towards the line, slightly worried because he’s no longer sure exactly how far a marathon is or how much time he has. There’s also a kind of collective adrenaline around this damn marathon, and it’s completely contagious. In short, he’s stressed.

He walks another few kilometres (his feet are killing him; he really shouldn’t have worn his brand-new loafers) and finally reaches the finish area. It’s packed, of course. People press against the barriers, elbow their way through and squeeze into the front row. It smells a bit sweaty too.

The supporter fights his way through to the metal barrier, which immediately digs into his stomach.

He waits.

For another eternity.

He starts getting bored and counting finishers like sheep when, all of a sudden, his friend appears on the horizon. He doesn’t look great: a string of drool draws a white comma across his chin, his eyes are bulging, his shirt is black with sweat and his face is twisted in agony. He doesn’t see him, naturally.

Click. Got the shot!

The supporter glances at the giant clock above the finish line: 4:32. He knows nothing about marathon running, but he has the feeling there’s really no reason to celebrate.

Chapter 5: The Complete Lack of Gratitude

The supporter escapes the crowd and manages to rejoin his friend, this self-proclaimed champion who boasts at parties but isn’t quite so cocky after slowly falling apart over 42 kilometres. In three words: he’s wrecked.

– “So, how are you feeling? ”

The supporter doesn’t know there are certain deadly phrases that must be avoided at all costs. He’s standing there with the clean clothes and the surviving cola gel from the third aid station, which he’s been carrying around for hours, a forced smile on his face and a cheerful tone meant to please his friend. A murderous stare is the reply. He must have said something stupid, but he can’t work out what.
An awkward silence descends (or is it a demon?), then an innocent voice (really?) says:

– “Could you go and get me some water and pick up the car from the parking lot? ”

The lesson: just because you love running and have an amazing time at a race doesn’t mean your friends will be as enthusiastic as you are. Here’s a tip if you want to keep your friends: let them sleep in on Sundays and manage on your own, unless you’re capable of being grateful under every circumstance!