Médoc: The Wine Marathon
Part 3
The runners in the Médoc Marathon all cover the same 26.2-mile (42.195-kilometer) course through the vineyards and châteaux of Bordeaux, but they approach it in very different ways. For some, what matters most is athletic performance and a personal best; for others, it is the wine, the costumes, the gourmet stops, and the festive atmosphere itself.
So, for the purposes of our story, the runners in this unusual marathon can be loosely divided into four groups.
🏃 The Serious Athletes
• At the starting line:
Right by the starting line, a disco band was playing—a musical reminder of the 1980s, when disco rhythms, flamboyant outfits, and colorful lights were part of popular culture.
A disco band in the spirit of the 1980s: glittering stage costumes, bright lights, a mirror ball, synthesizers and an exuberant visual style were as much a part of the show as the music itself
At the front of the starting field stood the people who had actually come to run a marathon and achieve the best result they possibly could. Their watches were set, their pace and nutrition calculated in miles, minutes, and calories, and cyclist Fabian Cancellara, with his 32-mile ride to Pauillac, seemed almost like a kindred spirit.
They took the lead from the very beginning. They were easy to spot: focused, disciplined, determined. No Eiffel Towers on their heads, bunches of grapes on their backs, or cardboard wine bottles reaching down to their knees. If they wore costumes at all, they were costumes that did not interfere with running.
Everything unnecessary had been left behind at the starting line. Everything now served a single purpose: pace, heart rate, breathing, water, the clock, and the signals coming from their own bodies.
The châteaux along the route were merely architectural landmarks to them—historically significant, perhaps, but still flashing past somewhere at the edge of their peripheral vision.
— What pace are we running today?
— Three-thirty per kilometer. And definitely no faster for the first five.
— Wine?
— Absolutely not.
— Cheese near the end?
— No.
— Steak?
— Are you kidding me?
— Oysters at kilometer 37?
— If I even notice them out of the corner of my eye, it means I’m running too slowly and have lost sight of the whole point of the marathon. But after the finish—maybe. I am in France, after all!
Around kilometer 20:
— I can see a wine stop on the right. And I can smell it.
— Don’t look at those gastronomic temptations. They’re not for you today. Hold your pace.
— I’m not looking. And I’m not smelling anything.
— But you turned your head!
— I was checking whether there was a distance marker over there. The music’s pretty good, though.
— Don’t listen to it.
— Why not?
— It’ll throw off your rhythm.
— Then why are you tapping your foot to the beat?
— I’m checking my cadence.
• Kilometer 37:
— Oysters. Lots of them. Big ones. Already shucked.
— I see them.
— We’re still not stopping?
— Only five kilometers to go. Hang in there. This isn’t what we came here for.
— And afterward?
— Afterward, there’ll be oysters.
— At a restaurant?
— Yes.
— But they’re giving them away right here!
— Restaurants serve them too.
— For money.
— Yes, but you get to sit down. And there’s no stopwatch.
At which point some Bordeaux winemaker might sadly remark:
— Poor fellows. They ran so many kilometers through Bordeaux so fast that they never understood a thing!
The result comes first. Oysters and wine can wait: pace, breathing and the stopwatch matter more than any of the Médoc’s gastronomic temptations
• At the finish line:
Over the final few hundred meters, they picked up the pace again. By now there were no châteaux, no music, no wine, no oysters—only the finish arch and the numbers on their watches.
They crossed the line almost simultaneously. For several seconds, they stared at their watches and caught their breath.
— Well?
— Not bad.
— Happy with it?
— I’ll check everyone else’s results later.
— And right now?
He finally raised his head and looked back toward the Médoc.
— Right now, where’s the nearest restaurant with oysters and wine? We’re not racing anymore.
Twenty-six miles of strict discipline and abstinence ended precisely at the white finish line
🏃 The Conscientious Marathoners
This group came to conquer the marathon distance, but they weren’t quite fanatical enough to pretend that all around them was just an ordinary stretch of the French countryside.
• At the starting line:
Someone gives the contents of his running belt one last check:
— Water?
— Check.
— Gel?
— Check.
— Corkscrew?
— Why do you need a corkscrew?
— We’re in the Médoc. I prefer to be prepared for any wine-related emergency.
— You think the local volunteers won’t pull the corks ahead of time?
— I’m not sure. It all depends on instructions from the local authorities and whatever circulars come out of Brussels. That’s why at home I prefer screw caps.
Our Caldwell couple is in this group as well.
— Wine?
— No. We agreed.
— I was only asking. The oysters are about five kilometers from the finish, aren’t they?
— No oysters either.
— What about the cheese? By then the finish line is practically within reach.
— Don’t turn this into a gourmet tour. It’s not as if you’ve never had cheese before. We have a completely different goal right now.
• Kilometer 20:
— Why are you suddenly staring so intently at that refreshment stop that you even took off your glasses?
— The road narrows there.
— It’s no narrower there than it is here!
— Then I suppose that beautiful vineyard caught my attention.
— The wine?
— No.
— But that’s the second time you’ve looked at that table full of bottles.
— I’m just watching where I’m going.
— But the road goes perfectly straight.
— I noticed.
— Then why do you keep looking?
— I’m curious what they’re pouring for everyone else.
The plan had been carefully prepared and followed almost perfectly. Then wine, oysters, and cheese appeared by the roadside. The Médoc made its own adjustments to the schedule
— That doesn’t sound like athletic interest anymore.
— It still is. For now.
— Then why are you slowing down?
— Kilometer 20. I need to conserve my energy.
— Right next to a table with wine and steaks?
— Pure coincidence. They simply put the table in the wrong place.
Beyond this point in the marathon, members of this group showed a noticeable decline in athletic enthusiasm and a corresponding rise in interest in the local châteaux.
Among this group was a local runner who was in no hurry at all. He had already been standing outside a château for forty minutes, drinking coffee, looking out over the vineyards, and genuinely wondering why everyone else was rushing somewhere.
— Why are you all in such a hurry? Bordeaux isn’t going anywhere. Moments like these are worth remembering!
• Kilometer 37:
— Oysters.
— I can see them perfectly well.
— So, are we stopping?
— We’re running a marathon.
— We’ve already covered thirty-seven kilometers. There are only about five left. When and where are we ever going to be offered oysters in the middle of a marathon again?
— You’re right. Probably never. Only here and now.
— Is that a good argument?
— It’s a perfectly valid reason!
— Wine?
— Just one sip of white wine, no more. But if the oysters leave that salty taste in my mouth—maybe one more. A big one. And slowly.
This group amended its sporting regulations mid-race to include a wine-and-food clause
A British runner was keeping pace beside them:
— Wine, cheese, oysters… Not bad. Very French.
— Are you happy with everything?
— Almost. But at kilometer 41, I’m still hoping to find tea with cream and some freshly baked pastries.
— Tea?
— Precisely. It explains why we fought so many wars with the French.
• At the finish line:
They did, after all, make it through the final five kilometers. Not quickly, and without the enthusiasm they had shown at the start, but with a sense of accomplishment and a lingering taste of oysters mixed with white wine — and, closer to the finish, some cheese as well.
— So, did we run a marathon?
— Looks like it.
— Even though we stopped along the way.
— You were the one who wanted to stop. I didn’t insist.
— But at least we tried the wine.
— Not much, though.
— And we had some cheese.
— We did.
— And the oysters?
— That was kilometer 37. Different laws and rules apply there.
He looked at his watch.
— Our time, though…
— Don’t look.
— Why not?
— What matters is that we finished.
They never abandoned their goal—they simply discovered that not every result can be measured by a clock
The schedule was left somewhere behind, along with a few pieces of their costumes. But the finish line has been reached, spirits are high, and the support team is already welcoming them under the flags of two countries
🏃 The Runners Who Understood the Rules from the Start
• At the starting line:
At the start, they looked perfectly calm. Their watches were running, their bibs were properly pinned to the front, their shoelaces were tightly tied—everything suggested serious intentions. But that was about where their resemblance to serious athletes ended.
They had taken the choice of costume far more seriously than the choice of pace. Costumes had been discussed in advance, tried on, altered, and tested for durability. The important question was not whether you could comfortably run twenty-six miles in one, but whether people would notice it—and whether they would want to take a picture.
A marathon like this comes around only once a year. You can run twenty-six miles any other day!
— What’s the plan?
— The main thing is not to start too fast.
— I understand.
— For the first ten kilometers, we need to hold ourselves back in every possible sense.
— I am holding myself back.
— But we’re still standing still.
— See? So far, everything is going perfectly.
— Pace?
— Sensible.
— Appetite?
— Within reasonable limits.
— Meaning?
— We don’t want to reach the next château before they start pouring the wine.
— And our finishing time?
— We’ll definitely finish today. No point putting it off until tomorrow—we still have plenty to do after the marathon.
— Ambitious.
The starting signal sounded. Hundreds of runners around them surged forward.
— Well, shall we run?
— Of course.
— Should we pick up the pace right from the start?
— Why? We have twenty-six miles ahead of us, along with plenty of wine and food. Besides, the costume has to make it to the finish with us.
— Good point. Why rush to the front? What about the oysters?
— They’re not until kilometer 37.
— All the more reason not to hurry. They’re on ice. They should be perfectly fine until this evening.
— Will there be enough for everyone?
— The organizers promised there would be!
And so they set off at an easy pace behind the others, without the slightest inner conflict.
This group had no intention of choosing between the marathon and the celebration. They had settled their priorities before the race even began.
For them, the marathon itself was the celebration
By then, most of the leaders had long since disappeared into the distance.
🏃
🦪 Oysters vs. Cheese
At kilometer 37, oysters lay on ice at the refreshment station. The volunteers were already prepared to sprinkle them with lemon juice.
— Once again, everyone is taking pictures of us today, — one oyster observed.
Four kilometers farther down the course, a cheese platter was being prepared.
— Those shellfish will be telling everyone again that they’re the stars of the show, — remarked a sheep’s-milk cheese with nutty notes in its flavor. — But first the runners still have to make it to us at kilometer 41.
— Exactly. They’re just an appetizer. We’re the reward for survival, — added a goat cheese from Poitou.
The oyster indignantly snapped its shell shut.
— For your information, our history goes back thousands of years.
The goat and sheep cheeses replied calmly in unison:
— So does ours. But at least we don’t need lemon to make an impression.
The culinary dispute failed to produce a winner… Especially since both sides were very quickly eaten.
🏃
Just then, a group of American runners came by:
— We want to experience the great winemaking history of Bordeaux. But where’s the nearest Wi-Fi? We need to download the new Bordeaux Marathon Pro Max Ultra app to our phones. It helps calculate the route, the order of tastings, calories consumed, recovery time between glasses of wine, hydration levels, and the potential Parker score of every château.
An elderly Frenchman peered at one of their phones.
— Couldn’t you just drink the wine without all that?
🏃
An American runner approaching one of the refreshment stations:
— Do you have Budweiser?
— No.
— Bourbon?
— No.
— Margarita?
For the first time, the French volunteer looked at him with concern.
— Monsieur, are you sure you’re feeling all right? We have a doctor nearby.
— Does he take American insurance?
• Kilometer 20:
By this point, the costumes no longer looked quite as flawless as they had at the start. A decorative piece had fallen off here, someone’s hat was barely hanging on, one bunch of grapes looked as though part of its harvest had already been picked, and someone’s cape had developed a suspiciously ragged edge.
The runners themselves, however, looked perfectly happy.
— Kilometer 20.
— Already?
— According to my watch.
— And if we measure the distance by wine stops?
— Then we’ve only gone about twelve kilometers.
Up ahead, another table came into view. There was the pop of corks, the clinking of glasses, the crunch of fresh baguettes, and animated discussions about French cheeses.
— Are we stopping?
— Isn’t that why we came here?
— Actually, we came here to run a marathon.
— And that’s exactly what we’re doing.
— For the last three kilometers, we’ve spent more time standing around, eating, drinking, looking at the scenery, and discussing the differences between Bordeaux’s Left and Right Banks. Maybe we should finally make a serious effort to start moving toward the finish line.
— Then we’ll have to run the next three kilometers a little faster.
— To make up for lost time?
— No. To get to the next table before the runners ahead of us clean it out.
They adjusted their costumes and once again broke into an easy jog.
At kilometer 20, they still had no doubts whatsoever about the wisdom of their chosen strategy. The only serious questions remaining were which would need repairs first—their legs or their costumes? And whether there would be enough room left in their stomachs for everything the organizers had promised along the rest of the course.
• Kilometer 37:
By this point, the costumes had completely lost their morning freshness, the legs were no longer what they had been, but everyone’s spirits were holding up considerably better than either.
They understood the local rules from the very beginning. At kilometre 37, oysters, wine, new acquaintances, and good company seemed every bit as important as the kilometres and minutes still left to the finish
Up ahead, at last, the oyster table appeared.
— Oysters!
— Finally.
— You knew they’d be here?
— Of course. I studied the event’s food program carefully. I’ve been preparing for this moment all day.
— How many are we having?
— We’re marathon runners. We have to maintain some athletic discipline.
— One each?
— Don’t be ridiculous.
They stopped at the table.
— Wine?
— Absolutely.
— Beer?
— Wouldn’t hurt the oysters at all. They’re not going to start fighting in our stomachs, are they?
— And the last five kilometers?
— They’re not going anywhere.
— Do we still have time?
He looked at his watch, then at the sun setting behind the vineyards.
— We do.
— How much?
— The sun’s still visible. That means we still have time for oysters.
A few minutes later, one of them finally glanced back toward the course.
— Maybe we should get going after all?
— We will. Right now. Just a couple more of these shellfish first.
— We have to finish this marathon one way or another.
— You said exactly the same thing two oysters ago.
— Back then I was considerably younger, hungrier, and a much less experienced runner.
• At the finish line:
They approached the finish without the slightest hurry, having slowed from an easy jog to an ordinary walking pace. Over the course of the day, they had managed to do everything they had traveled from different parts of the world to do: run through the vineyards, taste the wine, linger—sometimes considerably—at the refreshment tables, eat oysters and pâté, meet local people, and stop several times for selfies.
Their costumes reached the finish in a condition that would be better described not as damaged, but as well-earned.
They crossed the finish line in a tight group.
— Our time?
— We made it.
— Made what?
He looked at his watch.
— Better not to know.
— Then it’s a good result—just as we planned at the start.
They took a few more steps beyond the finish line and stopped.
— Next year, will we be faster?
— Absolutely.
— How much faster?
— Ten minutes.
— And how are we going to manage that?
He thought for a moment.
— Hard training throughout the year, I suppose. And we can probably save five minutes on the pâté and ice cream.
— What about the oysters? Are we going to save time there next year?
— Absolutely not. Some things are sacred!
They shook hands.
The plan for the next marathon was already in place. Future athletic progress seemed fully assured—without any need to run faster or give up the oysters
🏃 The Festive Guard
• At the starting line:
Even at the start, this group understood that, for them, the marathon was a 26-mile traveling carnival. Costumes, photographs, music, spectators, tastings, smiles in every direction—all of that was essential.
Reaching the finish line was certainly desirable, but getting there too quickly would be a wasteful use of their energy. Not reaching it at all would hardly be a disgrace—merely a minor misunderstanding, an unfortunate little mishap that could happen to anyone.
— Everyone keeps passing us.
— Let them. They’re not seeing anything around them.
— And we are?
— We’ve already spent two hours admiring the Médoc countryside and taking pictures of ourselves with it.
— We’ve only covered seven kilometers!
— That’s because there’s so much here worth seeing—and eating.
• Kilometer 20:
By this point, their average speed was determined not so much by physical fitness as by the length of the château owner’s story about the local terroir.
At kilometer 20, another row of tables appeared ahead.
— Halfway there!
— Not quite yet.
— Don’t quibble over a few hundred yards. After the next wine stop, we’ll definitely be halfway there.
— And if we stay there too long?
— Then the second half will simply be tastier than the first.
Someone looked at his watch.
— How’s our pace?
— Excellent.
— How fast are we going?
— Fast enough to have time to run, eat, drink, and enjoy life.
— So, basically ideal.
Nearby, a local official was patiently explaining something to a group of runners:
— According to the updated edition of Appendix Number Seven of the marathon regulations, a tasting at kilometer 20 is considered part of the sporting event, while a tasting at kilometer 22 is considered a cultural activity.
— And what if we drink wine somewhere between kilometers 20 and 22?
The official thought about it.
The discussion lasted another three hours.
• Kilometer 37:
The oyster table appeared ahead.
— Finally!
— What do you mean, finally?
— We’ve endured the previous thirty-six kilometers just to get here.
— How many are we having?
— We have to be reasonable. We’re still marathon runners, after all.
— So what would be a reasonable number?
— A dozen would probably be gluttony.
— Then eleven.
They stopped.
— We shouldn’t stay too long. We’ll ruin our result.
— After kilometer 37, a result isn’t ruined anymore. It’s eaten and washed down.
— What if there aren’t enough oysters for the runners behind us?
— Exactly. We mustn’t let perfectly good fresh seafood go to waste.
— We still have to reach the finish line.
— Preferably today.
The Festive Guard. By kilometre 37, the question “When will we finish?” had finally given way to another: “Why hurry?” The wine is poured, friends are nearby, the grass is soft, and spirits are high—the finish line isn’t going anywhere
🏃
Nearby, a Japanese runner was looking thoughtfully at an oyster.
— You eat them raw?
— Of course.
— Good. That preserves the flavor of the sea.
The French runner beside him looked surprised.
— You’re not surprised?
— I’m only surprised that we had to run this far to get them. They could have served them just after the start as a pleasant aperitif.
He looked around the table.
— Do you have chopsticks?
— Chopsticks? What for?
— To eat the oysters.
— But you eat oysters from the shell.
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other with the same expression—as though each had just discovered that the other had somehow missed one of the basic rules of civilization.
• At the finish line:
They reached the finish line closer to midnight.
By then, their costumes had changed beyond recognition. Some pieces had fallen off, others had torn, been glued back on, tied together or were now held in place by nothing more than optimism.
The official marathon had ended long ago. The results had been recorded, the winners announced, the awards presented, the judges had gone home, and the volunteers were already cleaning up.
For the organizers, the marathon was over.
For them, it wasn’t.
— Are we almost at the finish?
— I think so.
— How long have we been out here?
— Nobody knows.
One of them looked at his watch.
— Eight thousand steps. Three hundred and fifty calories.
— For the whole marathon?!
— I took the watch off because it didn’t go with my costume. Then I forgot to put it back on.
They thought for a moment.
— Did we cover all twenty-six miles?
— Yes.
— Drink the wine?
— Yes.
— Eat the oysters?
— Yes.
— Costumes?
He looked down at what remained of his costume.
— Almost.
— Then it was a success.
They finally crossed the finish line.
— What was our result?
There was a moment of confused silence.
— What result? We’re here and we’re alive. That’s the result.
For them, the finish line was never a place to stop the clock. It was simply the place where the celebration could officially be declared complete
🏃
👉 Of course, there were no clear boundaries between these four groups. Our classification was only a convenient way to observe the marathon.
At the starting line, the differences still seemed obvious. But with every kilometer, the Médoc shuffled people’s plans like a deck of cards.
A conscientious marathoner who had firmly decided not to stop anywhere might suddenly discover that a small sip of wine did no harm whatsoever to athletic performance.
A runner who had come primarily for the celebration might unexpectedly feel a burst of competitive spirit and spend several kilometers running seriously for a result. Though probably not for very long.
Someone struggling with an uncomfortable costume might turn out to be in much better shape than the runner beside him dressed from head to toe in professional running gear.
And quite often, the movement from one group to another went in only one direction.
After several hours on the course, a serious athlete might finally accept that a personal best was no longer possible—but that the oysters at kilometer 37 were still very much within reach.
The reverse transformation was considerably more difficult. After several tastings, members of the Festive Guard rarely migrated in the opposite direction—toward the race leaders.
By the final kilometers, the four imaginary columns had become thoroughly mixed. Someone accelerated. Someone slowed down. Someone stopped looking at the clock altogether. And someone, even after everything, was still chasing a personal best.
The Médoc never asked anyone to choose a single role for all twenty-six miles. It simply gave them enough time—and enough temptation—to change roles several times along the way
To be continued…
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