From Pheidippides to Noguchi

I was lucky to catch the womens' marathon this morning on putatively the same course that was used in the ancient games and the drama that unfolded befit the history. For a good time the leaders including the favourite and current world-record holder Paula Radcliffe (her world record time was 2h15m25s at the London marathon) from United Kingdom, Paris marathon silver medallist Mizuki Noguchi, Elfenesh Alemu from Ethiopia and Catherine Nderebe from Kenya kept apace with each other and formed the marathon equivalent of the peloton. But slowly, the oppressive heat and uphill climb got to some of them and the distances began to widen. With all the hype that surrounded Radcliffe, not to mention the publicity clipping NBC itself relayed showing her world record finishes at Chicago and London, I was confident that even though she trailed Noguchi by over half a minute she would still make a final push and beat her and the overwhelming exhaustion and dehydration that hid behind her dark coolers were not apparent to me. As the commentators mentioned, the 26 mile race was always treated as two races -- the first twenty and the last six the latter was when the leads were whittled and gains made. But at around the 22.5 miles stage, Paula Radcliffe suddenly and inexplicably came to a halt with bitter tears rolling down her stretched cheeks. It must have been quite a dilemma for the onlookers present there by the sides not knowing if they should goad her on or console her and some of them blushed and simpered in the background as the cameras focused on Radcliffe teetering over to the side sobbing uncontrollably and clasping her hands onto her drenched head. She began to walk after a brief stop but seemed to accept that she would not make it. The Olympics are not just defined by great acts of valour and triumph but also tragic moments of defeat and surrender when all was given and so much hoped for but all there is left is a growing imminent knowledge that the body and spirit have flagged and there shall be no smile or cheer or jubilation nor national colours waved; there shall be infinite renditions of this moment played within plaguing forever oneself and questioning the past and implicating the future. Such must have been the moment when Paula Radcliffe gave out her last gasp of breath -- her legs leadened, veins jammed with phlegm and clotted blood and the lungs shrivelled and ready to be dipped in formaldehyde. Three and a half miles away, within the sparsely packed Panathinaiko the wretchedly accursed Union Jacks stuttered as the big screens relayed that agonising tragedy -- men and women in deeper shock than their icon felt and forcing brave smiles and accepting their lot.

But this race was not scripted for Radcliffe much as the British media including the BBC and the pan-American media would have us believe. Mizuki Noguchi heeded neither any precedent reputations nor the heat. She too was in huge black coolers that hid nothing from anybody except the grit and unemotive glance but the coolers came off as the sun set on a late and oppressively hot Athens day. She held off Catherine Nderebe even though there were signs of the latter edging closer and as she ran the lap around the stadium and let her sinewy belly be wrapped around the blue victory tape, her hands flailed acknowledging what little support ebbed her way. At 4'11" and 88lbs, she would on any other day be scoffed at as a paperweight but as the commentators conceded that as she and the rest raced for over two hours in those conditions those of us mere witnesses are made to look like cowards. Deena Kastor came in third staging an amazingly well-paced and controlled marathon. She confessed that she had not warmed up at all and was treating the first 10 kilometres as an acclimatisation period. Back as far as 18th, she steadily outran those that ran in front of her and those that fell by the side and even when she was 38 seconds behind Alemu it looked unlikely that she would make the medals but she did. Oh, what a memorable marathon! Incidentally, while on marathons one should also appreciate some other spectacular performers. Ranulph Fiennes and Michael Stroud have the distinction of running marathons in every single continent including Antarctica (and as an NBC commentator put it, Arctica) in seven consecutive days. But Sir Ranulph has been known for other exploits as well. Fauja Singh, a doughty sardar, completed the New York marathon in seven hours and thirty-five minutes. What embellishes that statistic is that Fauja Singh was 92 years old when he accomplished that feat. He incidentally also holds the world record for the fastest time to complete the marathon for nonagenarians -- 5h40m44s. That also of course means that there are other nonagenarian marathon runners. Heck, even P Diddy completed the New York marathon. I guess the marathon is to each one of us what the Everest is to a budding mountaineer.

Paula Radcliffe's agony

Radcliffe's fan parade minus Radcliffe

An apology for Paula Radcliffe

Mizuki Noguchi's profile

The results of the womens' marathon

Japanese media toasts to Noguchi

An interview with Sir Ranulph Fiennes

Around the world in seven days and seven marathons

And that, after a heart bypass

Fauja Singh and his exploits

The new face of Adidas

April 2004