On day nine, it was almost time for the whole reason we took the trip in the first place, and like I always am the day before a marathon, I was full on in denial (and astoundingly
nervous) about it. This time, that feeling was further exacerbated by the fact that I ran the Erie Marathon two weeks before the race in Tours, and I knew that was bound to be a foolhardy feat to attempt. But when it comes to athletic endeavors, I can sometimes be a little overzealous and I always get it done in the end, and so we were there finally, after months of talking about it, and almost two years of trying to get a Europe marathon on the calendar.
It was almost time for continent number four.
But before we could think about such things, I had promised mom we would take a cooking class! (Because that's absolutely what you should do the day before a marathon). So Saturday morning, after having bagels for breakfast, we walked over to Tours a table for our class.
Despite how well traveled I am, I'm still cluelessly American, so I was shocked when I arrived to discover that the class was taught fully in French and that most of the attendees were locals who didn't speak English (you would think I would have figured it out after struggling to sign up for it on the website when the website was entirely in French).
At one point the chef looked at mom and me and asked if we understood. I shook my head. He knew English, but just told us (in French) that we should have signed up for the English speaking class (hmmm, didn't find anywhere on the website that said that existed) and that he would keep speaking French. In the end, mom was glad we did the French version. Since my French is so much worse than hers, the jury is still out on that one for me.
We made lamb, scallops, a salad, and a meringue for dessert. Mom got to practice her high school/college French and I stared blankly at the chef while he talked, but caught on to things that don't require words, like chopping onions and such. At the end of the class, we apportioned the food and shrink wrapped it, and everyone got sent home with it for lunch.
Since we were staying at a hotel (albeit a super cool hotel primarily targeted at business travels called the Oceania L'Univers), we had to figure out where to eat. Luckily, the front desk staff was happy to steal dishes and silverware from the hotel restaurant (which was closed) for us, and sent us to a sitting area where we could devour our creations (even though no recipes were provided so I highly doubt we could recreate such masterpieces ever again).
After we ate, I was tuckered out, so mom went window shopping and I relaxed for a while, before it was time to go to the race expo.
Finally, we went to the car and headed to the expo, held at a shopping center on the outside of town. When we got to the expo, we struggled to figure out where they were registering people for the marathon, since the marathon and the shorter races were being registered in different areas. Add the language barrier, and the fact that everyone thought I looked too young to be running 42 kilometers, and the struggle was real.
Eventually finding our way to the correct area, I produced my doctor's note and an English speaker had to be found to confirm that it said that I was fit to participate (what does it say that the French require proof of your fitness levels for such endeavors, but Americans never do?).
Then, I was given my race bag, complete with my number, a nifty windbreaker, and a bottle of wine (sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley itself). Have I mentioned yet that I LOVE France? I mean, for like 60 bucks, you get a cool jacket, a whole bottle of wine, a marathon through the grounds of a chateau, and paella (with more wine) to top it all off at the end?
What does 60 dollars get you in an American race (a free hot dog, water and half a marathon)? Or in Melbourne, Australia, I swear my $150 race entry didn't get me all that far. A medal and a dry fit tank (both normal requirements for the average race) but I don't recall any memorable snacks. I think in Tel Aviv, it got me a full marathon and some post-race snacks in a runner-only tent.
No offense to the U.S. or Australia at all (and Israel, you fall somewhere in between), but France takes the cake in race swag (and while we're at it, race costume contests as well).
Pretty satisfied with my swag, we ventured through the expo, took some pics at the Photobooth, and then I went to the grocery store to get fuel for the next day. The store was huge though (I got a bit lost in there) and I left with about half the things I went in for. We finished off our visit to the expo with some croissants (what do you want? We were in France), and then headed back to near where we were staying to have pasta for dinner.
I was slightly disappointed that what ended up being my last sit-down dinner in France was spaghetti with red sauce, but it was better than dying during the race because I had a huge exotic meal.
We hit the hot tub and pool before bed, and hit the hay thrilled the race wasn't until 8:45 the next morning (American races, please take note. The French know where it's at with their race start times).
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