Probably helped by the fact that it is a night marathon, starting only at 19h and ending well after midnight, the race is a social event in the Grand Dutchy, accompanied by a whole array of supporting program. There are different bands and dancing groups spread throughout the city to encourage the runners, food stands at every corner, face-painting stations and other child-friendly activities. Also, cheering equipment being distributed to the passers-by and a city vibrating with life, colour and sound all contribute to a great atmosphere.
Having had small children that needed their beauty sleep, in the previous years we tended to keep close to home, making it possible to be in bed in minutes should a temper tantrum due to tiredness arise.
Unluckily, though, only the full-marathon route passes by, with the half-marathon avoiding our neighbourhood. Therefore, in order to cheer for daddy, we had to get organised and join the city-centre party animals. So off we went, taking along dinner, a picnic blanket and a few other accessories.
Streets were being closed for traffic and cheering squads were gathering, with the course indications for the runners already traced as we proceeded to the agreed spot to jump and scream and shout, encouraging Marko on his endeavour.
As expected, the centre was buzzing with life and people, different music resonating through the streets and city parks, the sponsor-orange being omnipresent.
And then they arrived, as fast as the wind, the first, the quickest, the fiercest. Disappointingly, Marko was not among them.
It’s funny how such an extreme test of endurance can (still) bring out the silliest in people. Not that I don’t enjoy it! Every year there are male ballerinas, superheroes with capes and furries mixed with the more traditional runners, not the mention the Eurocrats. 😉 My children always get a kick out of the costumed competitors, which just adds to the whole experience for them. And me.
As the time was nearing for Marko to pass by, we brought out the cheering accessories and approached the running track. And then, finally, we saw him. A vision in white, whose vision left much to be desired. Although we were loud and blatant as only two excited 4 and 6-year-olds can be, he still managed not to see us. However, as my very mature 6-going-on-60-year-old said: ˝That’s fine! The important part is WE saw him. And cheered him on. ˝
Since it was way past my children’s bedtime, let alone dinner time, we settled in the near-by park to grab a quick bite, make a few faces and get some cuddles at the end of a thrilling but exhausting day.
On the way home, we passed some more cheering squads and grabbed a bretzel for Mia and a gaufre for Jakob, showcasing Luxembourg for what it really is – a crossroads of cultures, where both, a bretzel and a waffle, are typical and widespread.
Meanwhile, Marko made it successfully to the finish line and took this undeniably flattering selfie in his ready-to-drop, half-crazed state. Shortly after the children actually dropped off, the hero of the hour was home together with his well-deserved medal.
To all a good night and a good night to all!