Barcelona became a “Means to an End” after Seville. With the goal of making the Madrid Marathon my 150th marathon race, coinciding with the 25th anniversary of my debut in the distance of Pheidippides, I had to adjust my schedule.
After an empty month of February where work commitments limited me to only competing in Sevilla—skipping Murcia and Castellón—Barcelona in March seemed like the easiest option, especially after completing Rome the previous year with mixed feelings. Plus, I had managed to get extremely cheap train tickets, which would drop Gorriti and me in Barcelona late on Saturday. Once again, an express trip—though, as I’ll explain later, it ended up being much longer than originally planned.
As soon as we arrive, we walk to the runner’s expo, with the sole intention of browsing the stands since Jesús Devesa have already picked up our bibs. Coinciding with a burger festival packed with crowds, we eventually give up and go to collect our bibs at a nearby bar terrace. From there, we head to the hotel, taking a short walk around the area, and finding a pizzeria for an early dinner.
Race day dawns with perfect running weather. The course have changed since the last time I ran it, now starting at Plaça de Catalunya and finishing near the Arc de Triomf.
I start relatively strong, hitting the 10K mark at 52:30 and the half-marathon at 1:51:23—a pace that fuels hopes of a good finish. The route is enjoyable, passing through Barcelona’s main landmarks, and flat, despite not being one of the most popular marathons in that regard.
I cross the 30K at 2:38:44 and finish the marathon with an official time of 3:48:45 (net 3:48:00, placing 10,018th out of 21,706 finishers). My best time in countless months—a result I’d assumed was already beyond my reach.
Right after finishing, we rush to Sants Station by metro to catch our train home, scheduled to arrive in Valladolid by 7:00 PM. But things don’t go as planned: a breakdown strands us in the station’s waiting room for over four hours before a replacement train arrives—one that keeps delaying further along the way. Having missed the Madrid-Valladolid connection, we reach the Spanish capital just in time, grabbing a taxi from Atocha, to catch the last bus from Méndez Álvaro to Valladolid, where we arrive close to 2:00 AM.
An exhausting return trip to cap off a well-organized marathon with a satisfying athletic result—though missing a more generous runner’s goodie bag.
Just six days later, I was set to run Valdebebas, a marathon whose proximity and community vibe have made it a must-do for many marathoners.
