Why I planned a ‘runcation’ to take part in the original marathon race through the ancient town where it all started

Dawn breaks over Marathon, the ancient town to the north-east of ­Athens – almost exactly the distance of a marathon race: 26.2 miles. It’s no coincidence.

When the first modern Olympics was held in Athens 1896, organisers named the classic distance race after the town in memory of the legend of Pheidippides, who is said to have run to Athens from there to announce victory of the Athenian army over the Persians in the Battle of Marathon in 490BC.

The story goes that after delivering the words ‘we were victorious’, he promptly ­collapsed and died.

I’m about to follow in his footsteps, along with 24,000 other runners (hoping not to end up like poor Pheidippides) – and the air is electric.

A frantic rendition of the ‘Zorba’s Dance’ pumps through speakers as I inch towards the start line of the Athens Authentic ­Marathon, which has been held each year in early November since its inception in 1972.

Despite being no stranger to marathon running – this is my eighth – I’m nervous.

But I’m well prepared, wearing high-spec Hoka trainers bought from the excellent chain Runners Need after having my gait analysed by its specialists – and stocked with vital energy gels. Meanwhile, the way ahead should be somewhat easier than in Pheidippides’s time.

With water stations and Tarmac roads, it ought to be a bit smoother underfoot, with more hydration at hand, than back in 490BC.

Jane Memmler takes part in the annual Athens Marathon, investigating a rise in ‘runcations’: where runners use their sport as a means to explore new cities and places

Before heading out to Greece, Jane had her gait analysed in Runners Need and purchases high-spec Hoka trainers

The Athens Authentic Marathon has been held each year in early November since its inception in 1972

And I’ve also made sure I’m fuelled up for the task at hand. I’m staying at the super-sleek, five-star NEW Hotel, close to the ­finishing line near Syntagma Square.

Filled with other visiting runners like myself, the hotel buzzes with pre-race nerves. We’re spoiled with pre-race pasta (so good I order seconds), dawn porridge and even pre-race snack packs.

The hotel itself is made up of 79 rooms and a further five suites, as well as an onsite suite that I eye up for my post-race care. 

My fellow runners hail from 126 ­countries, and I’m one of 790 Britons at the start line. It’s all part of a growing trend of ‘marathon tourism’ that has seen runners from across the globe head for the Big Six of Tokyo, ­Boston, ­London, New York, ­Berlin and Chicago.

These are all part of a series known as the Abbott World Marathon Majors. If you complete the lot, you earn the coveted ‘Six Star’ medal and can then – if you’re really keen – attempt to join the even more coveted Seven Star Hall of Fame, which includes Sydney Marathon on top of the others.

Athens is not part of these ‘majors’ (yet), but it’s undoubtedly a ‘biggie’ in its own right – and also one for the ­purist who wants to feel in touch with the roots of long-distance running.

Off we go, and five miles in I’m feeling surprisingly OK. The scenery is sparse; farmland, a few whitewashed houses (and a spectator or two). Around me, I’m amazed to notice two brave barefoot ­runners, while another is carrying a shield in honour of Pheidippides.

We pass Marathon Tomb, the resting place of 192 courageous Athenian ­soldiers, crossing terrain that leads to views of the sparkling Aegean Sea. Then it gets tougher.

Jane is staying at the super-sleek, five-star NEW Hotel, close to the marathon finishing line near Syntagma Square

Halfway, relentless hills begin with 1,089ft of ascent. I try not to look up, but when I do, they’re still there. It’s brutal, but I grind on.

Small villages offer welcome distractions, with Greek dancers, children ­offering high fives and live rock bands pelting out songs.

Shouts of ‘bravo’ keep me going. An elderly woman hands me an olive branch, which I treasure and tuck into my ponytail.

Volunteers fling water bottles and sponges at us.

Then, at mile 20, the sun appears, and the humidity is stifling (usually it’s cooler in November, which is why the race is held in that month).

All I can think about is an ice-cold Coke.

F or a while, I’ll admit, I briefly falter and even stop, considering ­quitting. But do I want a DNF (did not finish)? No chance.

I plough on into Athens, buoyed by more cheers from locals, many of whom are sipping espressos and sipping frappes in cafes – some puffing on cigarettes.

Following in the footsteps of the Greek messenger, Jane completes her eighth mararthon in Athens

Through the city streets we go, and I’m touched once again when a young Greek girl by the roadside suddenly grabs my hand, as I pause to catch my breath.

‘Is this your first Athens Marathon?’ she asks, in remark­ably good English. I nod that it is. ‘Just wait till you see the finish line. It makes it all worthwhile,’ she adds encouragingly.

Of course, she’s right. As I enter the ­magnificent white marble Panathenaic Stadium, site of the first modern Olympic Games in 1896, I fight back the tears.

I’ve done it. I’ve followed in the ­footsteps of the bravest Greek ­messenger. Bravo, indeed.