Revolutionary run

When we were planning our trip to Paris, Jeff and I remembered how enjoyable it was to do some "running tourism" together when we visited Paris last year. We went on two runs together there and it was magical for two reasons: 1. Jeff managed to slow down enough to run with me, and 2. we saw the sights in a unique way--on foot but significantly faster than a walk. This year we planned an epic run, tracing the historic route of the October Days revolutionaries from the Bastille to the palace at Versailles. There is an official race from the Eiffel Tower to Versailles (16 km/10 miles) held at the end of September each year, and we were inspired.

I must admit that during this winter's unusual uptake in unhealthiness it was a tad stressful having a half marathon looming ahead in mid-February. We kept getting sick and our fitness suffered. Thankfully, Jeff and I were each able to complete a ten mile run within a couple of weeks of our trip, so we felt that the half marathon attempt was still possible. We just knew it would hurt more due to our under-preparedness.

A brief historical side note, since even the wife of a history buff and French teacher I am constantly mixing up the chronology and events of French history... In October 1789, thousands of starving angry Parisians (many of them had stormed the Bastille back in July) marched the 12ish mile distance from Paris to Versailles for a list of reasons: to demand an end to bread shortages, to express irritation at Marie Antoinette, and to tell the king to relocate to Paris away from his excesses. I'm so glad I didn't have to travel that distance on an empty stomach!

On Saturday, February 17th, Jeff and I woke up bright and early, ate some breakfast in our cute petite chambre d'hotel, geared up, and then hit the streets. Our hotel was just under two miles north of La Place de la Bastille, so we decided to treat that two miles as a warm up for our half marathon. Hah, I know, distance runners are slightly mental. But it was an easy gentle downhill jog with a turn down a lovely broad tree-lined boulevard leading up to the Bastille's original location. Weekends give the city a different vibe and everything felt relaxed, contributing to our vow to "take it easy" on this run. We each wore running belts to store the necessities. Jeff carried our mini camera in his pouch, and I carried my phone (with a GPS map of the area downloaded), a credit card, and a down vest rolled into its stuff sack (since I have a habit of FREEZING right after running during winter).

Time to insert a side note about the camera, because I didn't know pocket cameras superior to cell phones even existed until a few months ago. Extensive research and eBay-scouring led us to this nifty little Canon G9x mark II camera which is pocket sized but has a massive one-inch sensor, raising it head and shoulders above a mere cell phone camera. We found a smoking deal on eBay and never looked back. This hardy little camera takes beautiful pictures and was an amazing upgrade for our lightweight on-the-go style of travel.

The weather was cool and fresh, just enough for long sleeves, running tights, a hat, and gloves. We reached La Place de la Bastille in good spirits and stopped to take a picture. Of course the actual Bastille was stormed and dismantled centuries ago during the revolution, but there is a commemorative pillar in the middle of the large traffic circle, so we snapped a picture of that instead, then continued on our way. At two miles into our run, we arrived at the river Seine and followed its winding way through the heart of Paris for six miles. We made sure to cross several bridges back and forth just for the fun of it. Due to recent rains, the river had flooded the cozy cobbled quay down low by the water where we ran under the bridges last year, so we stuck to the higher ground up at the street level. We made sure to cross Le Pont de la Concorde, which my guidebook informed me was built using stones from the original Bastille. That tied it all together somehow, even though the storming of the Bastille and the march on Versailles were two separate events that occurred three months apart. We were linking events of the French Revolution into a scenic run. Who knows, maybe a few corners of the cobblestones we ran on were also stomped on by the revolutionaries during their march! I was not entirely sure that to be likely, but I chose to suspend my disbelief to enhance the experience.

The six miles we ran along the Seine were the best miles of the whole run. There is no other word for it: I frolicked. A couple of times per mile, at my request, we stopped to take pictures of various sights and scenes. It was all very pleasant. Just as I was starting to feel some tiredness in my legs at about eight miles into the run, Jeff called back to me "Guess what! We're finally half way there!" That's when the stark reality of the distance hit me. I knew that I was not ready to cover the distance gracefully, but I also knew that I was going to do it anyways. So I dug up some courage, tucked in behind Jeff, and followed him through the streets away from the Seine and towards Versailles.

After we left the river, although we stopped to consult our map a few times, we stopped pausing to take pictures so often, and that lessened rest combined with the mounting miles made me move along slowly. Once we crossed the Boulevard Periphique (the highway that circles around the outer border of Paris) at mile nine, the scenery got more common and less charming. And then at mile eleven, a gradual, steady uphill began and did not let up until we reached the golden gates of Versailles Palace five miles later. It was brutal. My legs were already sore from walking ten plus miles per day all week, and I kept dropping back and slowing down. While hills slow my running pace down significantly, Jeff naturally speeds up when confronted with an incline. So we yo-yo'd through the last five miles, Jeff pulling away ten, twenty feet, then noticing my absence and slowing back down again. He said it was very difficult for him to run that slow, but the comment did nothing to boost my mood. HAH. I told him he could go on ahead, but his loyalty won out over his fleet feet and he stayed by his worn out wife to the end.

At last we reached a swooping curve in the road and the massive palace was visible in the distance down the long wide tree-lined boulevard. There were three problems though:

1. The building was not getting any closer.
2. My hips were stiffening rapidly.
3. The road was still an incline.

As a lifelong distance runner, I have made it a point not to run farther or harder than I am prepared to do. Twenty years of regular running has made it easy for me to know at a glance what my body is ready to handle. This was the first time I attempted a run I was not prepared for in at least a decade. I did not enjoy that tired hopeless feeling that settled in! But at long last we crossed the road and clambered onto the cobbles of the palace, hop-running from lumpy cobble to lumpy cobble kind of like we were crossing a river on stepping stones. 

Since it was Saturday, there was a hefty line of tourists wrapping around the courtyard in front of the gates all the way over to the entrance at the side. Our goal was straight through that line: the golden gates. We pardon'd our way through at a slow jog and at long last, 15.5 miles of running later, we stopped at the tall thick golden gates of the palace. We touched them and tried to rattle them for good measure, but Louis didn't put up with wimpy shaky gates, so we couldn't sound revolutionary or even a little bit rebellious. I didn't have much energy left anyways though, and I have to wonder how those starving people of the October Days made the march with enough energy to make demands of the government. I guess they didn't run to Versailles. But still. There we were! We were triumphant! It was time for a picture! I convinced Jeff to ask the nearest teenage tourist to take a victorious picture for us, which she did and then we hobbled away, the rough cobbles accentuating our soreness. 

After more cobble-hobbling than we wanted, we found a boulangerie and bought some pain-aux-chocolate to ease our post-run pains. We gently walked our stiff hips down the hill a kilometer or so to the train station, bought tickets, boarded the blissfully warm Transilien T train, and sank into the plush seats with our croissants to await its departure. I had the down vest I had packed in my running belt and carried over the 15 miles zipped up to my chin, but I was still freezing, even in the heated train. My entire body was convulsing with shivers. It did not help my already sore muscles!

90 minutes and three train changes later, we arrived back at our metro stop and walked the kilometer back to our hotel, picking up a nice massive kebab on the way. We split the kebab for a late lunch, then showered and collapsed for an hour or two of rest before venturing forth to find a restaurant for a hefty recovery dinner of French onion soup, frog legs, fondue, raclette, and thick crepes filled with at least half a jar of Nutella.

PICTURES: it was an overcast breezy day, so everything looked rather gray, but it was excellent running weather. I have to start with the scene from Princess Bride that comes to mind whenever I think about the hilarious disparity in speed when Jeff and I run together:

Jeff: "Hello there! Slow going?" 

Me: "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me." 

La Place de la Bastille! There was a big wall with advertisements plastered to it surrounding the column, so we stayed on the side of the busy traffic circle and contented ourselves with a speedy selfie before continuing on our way.

Le Boulevard Richard Lenoir with its wide central tree lined market area which we ran down, leading straight to La Place de la Bastille.

The flooded Seine.

The road we ran on last year by the river was barely visible under the water.

Bonjour, Notre Dame peeking up over the rooftops.

Pausing at La Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette was held prisoner before her beheading.

The Louvre, or part of it, because no camera has a wide enough lens to get the whole massive place in one shot from the ground.

Ile de la Cite and Pont Neuf from the next bridge over, Le Pont des Arts.

The Eiffel Tower was already on the horizon, miles and miles before we reached it.

Hanging out on Le Pont des Arts, for pietons only. (pedestrians only)

Pont du Carousel

As a general rule there is always a pigeon perched on the heads of outdoor statues.

On the Pont du Carousel with the Louvre behind me.

On the Pont de la Concorde, feeling the Bastille undertones.

Every now and then when we attempted a selfie with our camera, we accidentally hit the zoom and got a picture like this. For some reason these in-yo-face pictures of Jeff crack me up.

One more on the Pont de la Concorde.

The only reason I enjoy these massive intersections is because I have never had to drive through them. I like how they look.

Le Tour Eiffel from Le Pont d'Iena.

All of the boats moored on the swollen Seine.

Jeff, attempting to teach me how to aim the camera for a selfie. Our camera does not have a front facing screen so it's old school selfies: hit and miss. Jeff is amazing at getting what he wants in the background. I am not. I love this picture so much.

The Eiffel Tower with a miniature Statue of Liberty halfway across the green bridge in the foreground.

Our last picture along the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty in the background.

I lost the ability to smile happily after mile 8. This was taken around mile 12, when it seemed like we would be running up that infernal hill forever. It was a comfort to see the sign tell us that at least we were heading in the right direction!

I was relieved to spot this nifty tall brick building with quaint writing on the side at about mile 13 because it meant I could make Jeff stop for a few seconds so I could take a picture. My respite was fleeting.

Running 15 miles after a winter of sickness is like wizard apparition as described by Ron Weasley: all it takes is "desperation, deliberation, and determination."

[Can a picture be the caption of a picture? Because this one is the caption of the picture above it]

We took turns snapping a picture of each other running towards the palace (all of those buildings up ahead are the palace). I kindly took three pictures in rapid succession of Jeff running to avoid the awkward up-stride shot...

...Jeff took exactly one picture of me running and predictably captured my cute hunched-in-pain up-stride (the lowest part of the stride where the legs are about to push off for another step is traditionally the least photogenic running position). Bahahaha, they never said marching on Versailles would be pretty!

The golden gates at last!

We made it! We could barely muster a victorious pose, but we made it!

Heaven for a hungry runner: French pastries.

A screen shot of the Strava/GPS data from our run.

After my shower, I found a hotel robe in the closet and commenced the throbbing recovery with my liter of water close at hand.