The Main Event
RW’S John Carroll is thoroughly charmed on the island of Malta
The Malta Half Marathon
THE MALTA HALF MARATHON BEGINS in the island’s old capital, the walled city of Mdina, and it’s worth making the trip for the first few miles of the race alone. The city, which dates back to the eighth century BC, stands high and proud on a plateau in the middle of the island. It is a wondrous place of grand sandstone palazzos and narrow, shaded streets (it’s doubled as the city of King’s Landing in Game of Thrones). Mdina is known as the Silent City, as most cars are banned, but it is very far from silent on race day.
We begin in one of the city squares and there’s an almighty and enormously undignified scrum as we make our way along the streets before the route opens up and we skirt the fortress city. It’s one of the most absurdly beautiful sights I have ever enjoyed on a run or any time – the sandy city walls etched against a sky too blue to be true, and surrounded by fields of wild flowers and gnarled but still hopeful vines. And while the views are enough to make the soul applaud and whistle, we are also on a downhill stretch that doesn’t level out until around the 10K mark. And so, incredibly, I find myself moving at what I consider breakneck speed, passing runner after runner, hearing my feet slap loudly on the road. Then, after years of running and many, many races, it happens: I am forced to check my speed. That is not a sentence I write every day. Or year. Or ever.
Early on, I spot a pacer with a 1:55 balloon and decide to keep him in mind, sort of, in the same way you think you might marinate some lamb for dinner but wind up being perfectly content with a jam sandwich. It just
doesn’t seem that important. (Later, I see a small child playing with the balloon by the side of the road and have no idea what to make of that.)
As we pass through various towns and hamlets, there is a somewhat sparse show of support from the locals – although I shall not soon forget the ancient gent with the exuberant moustache who watches my approach as if I were a complex maths problem or a Rorschach card. From the far side of the road I dip my head in acknowledgment and I can see his giant moustache twitching in response. Or perhaps I just made the Maltese cross [*eye-roll emoji* – Ed].
We continue on the long, lovely downhill, entertained by bands every couple of kilometres. Oddly, most of these seem to be brass bands, or it may be the same crowd of industrious buskers moving at improbable speed from one unprofitable location to another. There are also acoustic duos and a bagpipe ensemble, although my favourite is a rock band belting out, with unwise gusto, their take on Ike and Tina Turner’s version of Proud Mary. As I pass them, I sing the Ike parts, very quietly. I consider attempting the Tina dance but have neither the legs, rhythm or nerve.
From here we move on to the flat part of the route and this middle section is not terribly inspiring, as it takes us through industrial estates and along main roads, with cars belching fumes from the other side. However, I’m not all that bothered because I’m enjoying the race, immensely: it’s not too hot yet (there are plenty of water, fuel and sponge stations), it’s not too busy (4,000 participants across three events – there’s also a full marathon and a walkathon) and we’ve yet to come to an incline. When we do, it’s fairly gentle, but, with the temperature on the rise, it’s enough to take some runners by surprise – I see at least three flat-out on the side of the road, being attended by volunteers from the Malta Red Cross.
The final kilometres take us into the tiny city of Valletta, Malta’s capital, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Yep, the entire place, and rightly so: it’s a late-renaissance city with grand buildings galore, and its blend of the magnificently old and the nonspecific modern has made it a magnet for filmmakers: among the big movies to be partly filmed here are World War Z, Captain Phillips and The Da Vinci Code. And those Game of Thrones people have been here, too. A lot.
We finish with a winding stretch along on the waterfront, and while there are plenty of spectators, there is little in the way of applause and cheering. Everything is decidedly low-key and respectful, which seems at odds with the euphoric, extravagant beauty of the city. Or perhaps that’s the reason for their restraint. In a city this stunning, they don’t need to make a fuss. The 2018 Malta Half Marathon takes place on 25 February. maltamarathon.com