The time when I ran across an entire country

Yep it might sound like a big claim, but it is true…I actually did this. “Champion effort!” you might think… “What a hero!” one might cry… “You are extremely handsome and good looking!” another might add. Well, they are all very true and very nice things to say, but I might explain myself before we start declaring it something it is not. In fact, I’ll start with a short list of what it wasn’t so we don’t get ahead of ourselves…it wasn’t any of the big ones:

Russia (upwards of 12,000kms
Canada (over 6,000kms)
Australia (4,000kms)

To be honest, it wasn’t your average sized country:

Colombia (1,900kms)
Spain (1,300kms)
France (1,100kms)

It wasn’t even what you’d call a small one:

Belgium (350kms)
Fiji (200kms)
Luxembourg (80kms)

In fact, out of a list of the 249 countries and dependencies on the planet, the vast, wide, never ending land I was about to cross, comes in at number 248 on the list…

MONACO! A whopping 4kms from end to end

And for all of those people who think I set the bar low, I did not stoop the level of doing the very last one on the list right? That would be the miniscule Vatican City. Although a mere two weeks after visiting Monaco I would in fact jog around the circumference of that one for good measure, but that’s not the point.

While backpacking across Europe in 2012, I was camped out in Nice, in the south of France for a few days. As timing would have it, I arrived the week when both the Cannes Film Festival and the prestigious F1 Monaco Grand Prix were on nearby. After exploring Cannes for celebrities with minor success on the Wednesday, (if seeing Cuba Gooding Jr hop into his fully-sick-bro-souped-up-fancy-car and rip around the streets like he’s the best thing since sliced bread counts) I knew I had to check out Monaco. And considering all of Nice, Monaco and surrounding areas were completely booked out over the weekend due to the race on Sunday, I decided I’d try and buy scalped tickets to the practice session on the Thursday. Upon entering Monaco by bus, I set off for the race area and secured my tickets for later that afternoon from a large German man named Torstein who was selling all sorts of things as discreetly as a large German man can. I handed over my 40 Euros and goal one was accomplished. Goal two was a little different to what most people had probably planned for themselves in Monaco that week. I’d packed my running gear for the day, and done a after a little Google Maps researching, knew how to get to the most western border of Monaco. It was roughly 1 kilometre away, so I started to trot it out (a warm up if you will). Once I found the sign notifying me I’d reached France, I turned around and took my first steps back into Monaco and didn’t look back (except when I was crossing the road-I’m all up on my road safety skills).

Now from my Map Researching skills (which are nearly as tight as my road safety skills-I’m a real catch) I thought I could more or less follow the main road, and my measly 4km journey would be leisurely jogged while taking in the sights and completed in about 20 minutes or so. During any other week it probably could have been. The fact that a large majority of roads were closed due to the Grand Prix been on, there were more barricades, road blocks, scaffolding, security officials and crowds than you could poke a stick at. And as a general rule, I don’t poke sticks at security guards, so that wouldn’t have helped me anyway. So detour after detour I would be diverted off the road, and down one hundred odd steep winding steps, dodging crowds, then once on the lower road a little further along I’d be diverted back UP some more steps (back up to the road I was originally on). For anyone that’s been to Monaco, they’ll agree it’s got a lot of elevation for a small chunk of land-and I was feeling it firsthand.

I even got to one point where an official instructed me in broken English, that I could either turn around, or go into the train station. Like a boss, into the train station I went, looked for Exit/Sortie signs, and found that I’d need to catch the lift several floors up to get back up on the escarpment. The feeling that I was “out on a run” was quickly dissipating, considering I was sharing a lift with eight other people while elevator music is playing over the PA for a couple of minutes…it certainly wasn’t your typical “run”.

Darting out of the lift I continued along the main road, at this point away from the main hoopla but still close enough to hear the near-deafening sound of the lower tier race cars zoom around the Grand Prix track nearby over the sound of my Ipod headphones.

Half an hour later or so (I guess all the detours, lifts and crowds slowed me down) I found myself next to a sign similar to the one I had started out at, stating that I had officially reached France, and in turn, run from west to east across the entire length of Monaco.

I’ve read reports of people running across countries, continents and even world runs. The feeling of elation they get at the end must be one of an indescribable nature. That invincible, I-can-do-anything feeling that just makes all the hard work worth it. My feeling, on the other hand, was pretty describable…summed up it would be “I just feel like a hotdog and beer and want to watch the Grand Prix”. Pretty underwhelming. But then again, I’d only run a paltry 4kms in the same amount of time as you could watched an episode of the Simpsons and had barely worked up a sweat. Guess that’s what you get when you pick the second smallest country in the world to run across! To say it was a “challenge” would be a big stretch, considering all the other runs I’ve done, but being a Map-nerd, it was pretty fun and a strange little anomaly.

But that underwhelming sense stuck in my gut got a little shot of confidence when I realised I was stuck standing on the eastern border of Monaco, and considering most things-including the race track-were on the west side, I had to run back. I would run the entire length of a country twice in one day! Guinness world records here we come! So off I trotted back to where I began, checking out the sights of the massive cruise ships in the bay and some of the richest property in the world as I went. Interestingly, I didn’t pass the train station or the lift on the way back, and seemed to take an entirely different route, which was nice, but made me wonder how I could get lost in the second smallest country in the world. Shortly afterwards I arrived back at the race area, but decided to keep going the extra 1km or so to the western border to make it official…I’d just run across Monaco twice. 

Feeling better that my initial 4km run had turned into about a 10km run, I got changed out my running gear, headed to the race area in time to grab a beer and a baguette (it wasn’t the hot dog I longed for but was the best I could do in these parts) and see the start of the Monaco Grand Prix practice round, and was blown away at the sheer power, speed and sound of these mechanical beasts. Seeing Mark Webber taking the corners like the pro he is was infinitely better than seeing Cuba Gooding Jr’s pride and his terrible pimp mobile...just like Mark would kick Cuba’s arse in a race, I felt like I kicked Monaco’s arse that day too.

 

Gotta love a good map. Race area was near La Condamine

The start of the epic, epic 30 minute journey

 

Standard snap overlooking Monte Carlo

 

 

 

Me demonstrating the length of Monaco with my arm span. Double the length of my arms and you are close

 

 

A little further away from the crowds, looking over the Mediterranean

 

 

 

When I shouted "Go Webber!" he must have heard me...he would win the main race on Sunday three days later. Onya mate!

 

Just as impressive as the cars were, the boats opposite the track were too. Clearly only for disgustingly rich people-especially the one with it's own freakin helipad.