Alien in CH: The -- Somewhat Tardy -- Report From the Duke's Race

As those who have read this blog for the past year will doubtless remember, it was in December of 1602 that the Duke of Savoy staged an attack on Geneva. The attack was, in legend, anyway, repelled with the aid of a pot of hot vegetable soup tossed out the window onto the attacking soldiers by a woman known as Mère Royaume. Four hundred and ten years later found me lined up with a couple thousand other slightly loopy runners to reenact the voyage that the duke took as he came from Savoy to attack the city. When I signed up for the race in October, it seemed like such a fun idea. Eric and I were going to run the 17k together. We would take the bus to Reignier, France, in the evening for the race, which would begin at 9:30 p.m. The night run, crossing from France to Switzerland, the novelty . . . it all seemed unique, adventuresome, and far in the future. Then a work trip to London made it impossible to Eric to join me, and the adventure started to take on a darker tone. Running 10 miles in the dark by myself started to seem a little silly. Not to mention scary. Silly, nevertheless, has yet to stop me (though scary sometimes does). So, after a half-hour bus ride to Reinier during which I sat next to a Portugese man who explained his running exploits in a mixture of English, French, and Spanish, and after sitting in a drafty gym for two hours waiting for the race to start and trying to decipher the conversations around me, there I was. As I stood, shivering, with all the other runners, I had to ask myself one question: Why had the Duke thought it was such a good idea to attack in December, of all months?

My view as I waited for the race to start. Everyone was given headlamps, which made for an amazing view of a chain of lights snaking up the hills. It was an amazing view for those of us in the back, anyway.

A cannon shot started the race. We were in blocks, and I think the organizers arranged the blocks so that the fastest runners went first, followed by the slowest, then the middle. At first, I passed person after person. Then, as each faster block behind me caught up, I found myself passed by waves of runners. Not very inspiring, but since one was not allowed to enter the race without being able to finish in under two hours, I had known from the beginning that I would be among the slow. I had been worried that I would be running all alone in the dark. The opposite was true. I'm not sure how many people were out there with me, but it was difficult to even find a place where I could move my arms without whacking someone.We passed a drum corps dressed in what I can only assume was traditional Savoyard costume. People around me were singing, "Nous sommes les Savoyards!"

As we ran on and I warmed up, the cold became less of an issue, and my question about the December attack was replaced with another: Why had the Duke chosen such a hilly route? We weren't exactly going over the Salève mountain -- but we weren't quite going around it either. Thanks to the early morning hill repeats that Johanna makes me do, however, I managed the hills with something close to aplomb. And just a short hour and 40 minutes later, I was coming into downtown Geneva seeing the lights, the cheering crowds, and -- best of all -- the finish line. I was delighted that, while we had followed the duke's course, we had escaped the duke's boiling vegetable greeting.

Another Escalade tradition is the Marmite Run, which took place the next night. I don't know how wearing costumes and parading around the city ties into the history of the Escalade, but I think almost any excuse to dress up is a good one. Johanna participated with a friend from the U.S. and one from Germany (a very international crowd). They dressed up as the Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick Maker. Eric and I took them downtown, but there were so many people in the parade that we didn't see them once from beginning to end. Typically, even though it was a costume event, lots of people ran it. These Swiss people are just not kidding.

The costumes were Grandma's idea -- a great one, I think. The only problem was that
Jo's bloody cleaver and apron scared people who didn't know the nursery rhyme.