Running THE Marathon - following in the footsteps of Pheidippides... kind of!

As I sit on a very turbulent plane back from a week in Athens, Springsteen’s Out in the Street ringing through my headphones, I reflect on the great experience of running the streets of THE marathon a couple of days ago.

As a kid, I was fascinated with mythology and ancient history — the Romans, Greeks and Egyptians in particular. I was lucky enough to visit Rome for a second time in 2016 for my 30th birthday to see Springsteen play in the historic Circus Maximus. Ten years later, just shy of turning 40, I was able to tick a second ancient civilisation off that shortlist.

The plan for the trip was based around two things: the history and the food. However, it coincided with the peak week of my training block for my first ultra race of the year. So I thought, what better way to get a long run in than to complete the original marathon?

For those of you interested, the history of the marathon is based on the story of Pheidippides and the Battle of Marathon. Around 490BC, the Persian Empire was a dominant force across the Near East. They decided to invade Athens via the sea near the town of Marathon and then head south towards the city.

Pheidippides was a courier who was sent from Athens to Sparta to ask the Spartans for help in defending the city (bonus fact — this route is now a 153‑mile ultramarathon called the Spartathlon). The Spartans agreed, but only after fulfilling their ongoing religious obligations. Pheidippides ran back to inform the Athenians that Spartan help wasn’t imminent. He then continued on to Marathon, where he joined a squad of Athenian soldiers sent to hold off the Persians.

Despite being outnumbered four to one, the Athenians defeated the Persians, losing “only” 192 men in the process. Pheidippides was charged with returning to Athens to inform them of the victory. He ran from Marathon to Athens — approximately 40km — and on arrival declared “νενικήκαμεν” (which translates to “my feet are fucking killing me”… OK, that bit isn’t true. It’s a bit more profound — roughly translating to “Rejoice, we conquer”) before collapsing and dying.

Fast forward to 1896 AD: the Greeks created the modern Olympic Games — a series of sporting events derived from ancient competitions previously held in Olympia in the west of Greece. In honour of Pheidippides, one of those events was a long‑distance run from Marathon to the newly built Panathenaic Stadium in Athens. (Bonus fact #2 — the marathon distance was initially around 40km but was increased to 42.2km for the London Olympics in 1908 so the race could start at Windsor Castle and finish at the Royal Box. So next time you’re in the pain cave at 40km, questioning the last 2.2km… blame London.)

Anyway — history lesson over. For the last two months, I’d planned to follow in Pheidippides’ footsteps and experience where the pinnacle feat of endurance running was born. And I was going to do it on Sunday the 12th of April.

On the afternoon of Thursday the 9th, I was shitting my pants and on the verge of bottling it.

I’d Google Street‑Viewed the entire route and realised that from 10km to around 22km there was very little paving, meaning large sections would need to be run on a dual carriageway or a massively overgrown grassy verge. This freaked the shit out of me, especially after seeing how the locals drive. By Friday, I was planning one‑mile loops around a local park instead.

The final decision was made after speaking to the guide on our food tour. When I asked how safe it would be, his response was: “Marathon is a safe place… oh — you are going to run it?! Are you OK?!” He then reassured me that, aside from actual race day, Greek Orthodox Easter Sunday would be the best of the 364 days to run it, as everyone would still be celebrating on Saturday night.

That was that — I was running it. After all, I was dressed in bright yellow, so if I was hit by a car, questions would at least be asked of the driver… as well as the idiot running in the road.

History makes the run sound like paradise for any long‑distance runner. In reality, the route is… well… shite.

The official Athens Marathon takes place each November and is run on closed roads. I was there in April. On Greek Orthodox Easter Sunday.

Instead, I was hopping between road, grass verge and pavement that looked like it had been laid using a Curly Wurly as a spirit level.

The official route follows a dual carriageway through small towns like Rafina, where proud Greek locals line the roads and cheer runners on. I ran at 7am to reduce the chance of getting twatted by a car, and my only encouragement came from three barking stray dogs.

See where I’m going here? Romanticism vs. reality.

The 5am alarm was cancelled before it went off — I was already awake, showered and ready by 5:45. Midnight fireworks had killed any chance of sleep. I tucked into a bag of crisps (expert fuelling) while waiting on a taxi to take me an hour up the road to Marathon. Marathon is… erm… not the most picturesque of places. The lake — on the opposite side of the mountain — is beautiful. Pheidippides made an absolute arse of his route. Based on experience, I can only assume he let Garmin Connect plot it and got done a dirty.

At the start, there’s a statue of Nike, the goddess of victory, wings splayed as she sends you on your way. You begin with 4km down the dual carriageway, dodging a barking stray Labrador. This section has a “nice” pavement — probably modelled on Durham cobbles.

At around 4km, you take a short out‑and‑back to the burial site and hill of the 192 soldiers from the battle, rejoining the dual carriageway around 6km. This is where you stay for the next 34km. To be fair, the route is well signposted, with permanent markers every kilometre and a blue line marking the optimal marathon route.

At 10km, the Indiana‑Jones‑temple‑floor pavement disappears and you’re left with a choice: road or grassy verge. Choose verge and it’ll randomly vanish, requiring a bush hurdle back to the road. Choose road and you’re best running with traffic, head on a swivel, taking more side‑steps than a Texas line dance.

At around 18km, I got a short reprieve thanks to a kilometre of road closure. From roughly 16km (10 miles) to 32km (20 miles), there’s a consistent gradual incline totalling around 1,000 feet. It’s never steep, but the constant grind really makes you question your life choices. During this stretch, you pass the only two things worth seeing: a statue of an Olympic runner and a statue of Pheidippides himself.

From 27–29km, you begin entering the outskirts of Athens. The closer you get, the more stop‑start it becomes with traffic joining from side roads. Once you pass 21 miles, you’re rewarded with a decent downhill. On closed roads, this would be brilliant. While dodging an knackered Skoda… less so.

By now it was pretty warm, so I made a water stop at a garage around mile 22 to refill my bottles.

The final two miles through central Athens were brilliant — wide paths, space to dodge crowds, running past Hadrian’s Gate and the Temple of Zeus, followed by a lovely 500m downhill into the Panathenaic Stadium.

I grabbed a quick photo and a can of Coke from the stadium kiosk and received the only acknowledgement of the achievement. The woman behind the counter looked me up and down and asked, “Is this what you drink after a marathon?” I replied, “Normally it’s chocolate milk, but you don’t have any.” This earned a smile and a half‑nod.

So there you have it. I’m not sure whether Pheidippides died from exhaustion, boredom, or a scooter collision, but unless you’re desperate to complete the “Marathon to Athens pilgrimage,” I honestly wouldn’t prioritise it. There are far better runs out there. Maybe I just built it up too much.

That said, I’d recommend Athens to anyone. And if you want a unique running experience, I’d suggest laps of the Panathenaic Stadium — or even hill reps at the foot of the Acropolis — over the marathon route. The stadium is open to runners from 7:30–9am for €12 and includes a small Olympic museum that’s well worth a look.

Athens was incredible — the people, the history, the stories and the food. While the marathon didn’t live up to the hype, I’ll always be able to say:

“I have run THE marathon.”