The only reason I managed a leave pass to France to do the High Route in the first place was because my good friend Jean-Christophe managed to convince my wife that he and I had to run the marathon de Paris together. The High Route was a mere side trip under the alibi of altitude training. There are a lot of mythologies about the latter and the short is that a week of exercising at altitude is unlikely to make a scratch of difference. Morry and I both agreed that we felt invincible from a cardio perspective, but that our legs were rogered earlier than habitude. I ran a 3:18 which was shorter than my expectations for LHR. The best bit of this fab trip as usual was getting back to my wife and wombats.
An early start for a long day. Paris from the hotel window.
Morry psyching himself up.
It was a chilly 5 degrees. Good running weather!
Jean-Christophe's dad walking him to the start line conveniently around the corner his place.
Jean-Christophe et Tristan
And they're off! Champs Elysees.
Towards Eiffel Tower
Feeling tired on the home straight.
Four sore boys all celebrating their first marathons in JC's dad's apartment.