On the day before the race, David and Becky (in China on the last leg of their year long world tour and our guests for their stay) and Hannah and I decided that we would get up early and make our way to a section of the marathon in order to cheer on the athletes as they tried to write themselves into the history books. We had done our research the night before and found several sources depicting the route the runners would be taking on the Chinese version of that taken by Pheidippides running from the Battle of Marathon to Athens. This proved far trickier than we thought it would; a quick search turned up several different Beijing marathon routes, each of which claimed to be the “Official Route of the Marathon of the Beijing Olympic Games”. Deciding that the safest bet would be the route published most recently, we set our alarms for what can only be described as offensively early and retired to bed for what felt like about two minutes.

Despite our minds being stuck in that limbo between deep slumber and complete wakefulness and looking at the early morning world through a haze of sleep-clouded eyes, we all managed to be dressed and prepared at our pre-arranged time and set off to the subway station. Our destination on the marathon route would be towards the end of the race, but not too close to the stadium, for a couple of reasons. We wanted to cheer on Paula Radcliffe and, knowing that she’d been injured until just before the games began, we figured that we would stand at a point in the race where she would still be in touch with the leaders and thus we could offer our encouragement when she needed it most; more importantly, however, the Beijing authorities had decreed that no one without Olympic tickets or passes was to be allowed anywhere near the Stadium on pain of (possibly) death.

To digress briefly, while we were getting ready we had turned the TV on to watch the progression of the marathon and noted to our dismay that, unlike usual marathon races, the spectators would not be allowed to get too close to the athletes. The race route was marked out by a series of white fences, and then about ten or so metres behind that was yet another fence keeping the screaming hordes at bay. The reason for this was basically that the Chinese Government were (and still are) scared that people would use the chance to demonstrate about Tibet or anything else that has been irritating them about the state of the host nation (in the news recently was an item stating that a 79 year old woman, who had been protesting about being forcibly ejected from her home, had been sent to a one year labour camp for “re-education”).

We arrived at the final subway station with a bit of time to spare (David had been keeping time on his watch, so we could approximate when the runners would come past) and followed our map to the supposed location of the marathon, only to find that it was completely deserted; the map had lied and we were evidently miles away from where the race was being run. Only one option was left to us; we’d have to get a taxi and hope that the driver could get us as close to the Birds Nest Stadium as was possible for people without any form of Olympic ticket.

We flagged down the first taxi we could find, piled in and screeched “marathon” and “Birds Nest” at him. Remarkably, he seemed to understand us and we set off, David casting nervous glances at his watch and informing us that we were running out of time. As we got closer and closer to the stadium, we spied more and more of the Beijing Olympics Volunteers, dressed smartly in blue and available to help lost visitors find their way to their destination. We got the driver to stop so that we could ask one of these volunteers to give us directions to the marathon - she had no idea. Beckoning a few of her colleagues over, she posed the same question to them and, yes that’s right, they had no idea either. We kept stopping at every group of volunteers in the hope that one of them would know and, after about ten minutes, our luck improved; the cabbie was given directions by the finest person in Beijing (according to us anyway) and off he set.

It only took a few moments, however, for us to hit our next obstacle; one of the roads that we were directed down was closed off. We did, however, note that it really wasn’t that close to the stadium and that other cars were being let in by the police officers on guard duty. The taxi driver, thinking that the passengers in his car had the correct documentation, headed that way heedless of the knowing but resigned looks that we shared with each other. Sure enough, the car was waved down by the police and we were questioned about our motives and asked to produce our tickets. We tried to state that we were just looking to stand by the roadside to watch the marathon runners drift past but our Chinese wasn’t up to scratch and he understood no English. He beckoned his comrade over, who ambled slowly towards us and we thought that the game was finally up. He looked in the rear window at us, and asked in pretty good English where we were trying to go. Becky (the unfortunate person in our group to be closest to that window) repeated our aim. The policeman requested to see our tickets; we, of course, had none - Becky stated as much and re-emphasised our (not any longer) simple goal. As though he had just been instructed by an unknown presence to let us go, the policeman tapped the top of the cab and waved us through. Whether Becky had just hypnotised him or coerced him in another manner we did not ask; not looking the gift horse in the mouth, we urged the driver on and towards the marathon route.

We arrived to see a throng of people, of many different nationalities, milling around. We asked some other British spectators (hard to miss when wearing the Union Flag like a cape) if where we were was the best place to watch the marathon at the roadside; a rueful smile informed us that there was something we’d missed. It turned out that we were almost on the road that would lead the athletes into the stadium and that they were likely to come that way in about ten minutes. The problem was that the road they would be running on had been completely closed off to anyone but the runners and camera crews. We were as close as we could get, but the position was poor, since we were below the road level and unable to see much at all. People were clambering onto anything sturdy enough to hold them so that they might get a chance to see even the heads of the participants as they ran past. Meanwhile helicopters were circling overhead, like a committee of vultures following a wounded animal, moving ever closer to the stadium as the runners approached, giving us a good indication of when the leaders would be coming by.

We got our first glimpse of a lone woman, far ahead of any chasing pack and it felt as though the planets volume had been suddenly up. Regardless of the fact that no one could really see, people wanted to cheer and urge the athletes on as best they could, so they opened their mouths and screamed encouragement. Shortly afterwards, a group of four or five runners streaked past, all chasing silver and bronze and the decibels rose again. By this point we had glumly noted that Paula Radcliffe was not among the leaders and that her injury had obviously bested her. Resigning ourselves to not seeing too much more of the show, we decided that it would be nice to find somewhere to get brunch. It was at this point that the Chinese spectators decided that they’d had enough and wanted to see more.

Almost as soon as the athletes fighting for medal positions had run past, people began to break rank, climbing over the big fence and heading towards the marathon route proper, to offer support to the remaining competitors. The police looked momentarily stunned and then stormed into action, hurtling down from their higher positions to get to the seething mass below. Undaunted, I leapt into the fray, swiftly hurdling the fence and following the horde of locals up the hill and towards the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of the athletes and maybe a photo or two before being arrested and sentenced to a years worth of “re-education” (being that I was the first westerner in the pack of outlaws, surely my detention by the law was inevitable). Without once looking back, I began hollering my support to all who ran past and snapping away so that I would at least have evidence of my lawless ways. I even managed to see Paula Radcliffe run past and gleefully took picture after picture and bellowed encouragement (and pride that she had kept going despite her injury) for all my lungs were worth, making some of the spectators jump at the sudden increase in vocal volume. It was at that point, when I had got what I wanted, that I chanced a look back to see if there was any chance of escaping what must surely now be a line of riot police looking for some skull-cracking fun. Instead, my eyes met something evidently preposterous and widened in disbelief; the police were helping people over the fence so that they could safely get closer to the action or return from whence they’d come. They had obviously figured out, unlike the authorities, that all the people wanted to do was support the athletes, not stand in their way with “Free Tibet” slogans clutched in their hands. It was a heart-warming sight and it made me feel for those Beijingers who hadn’t procured tickets and just wanted to get involved in the spirit of the Olympics but were denied by a Government terrified of the truth.

With the medal positions decided and Paula sadly not amongst them, we decided to finally get some food. Upon leaving, David and Becky were collared by Channel 4 news and interviewed on their thoughts of the marathon. We’re not sure if their thoughts were broadcast on British television, but I somehow doubt it since, when referring to the charge of the public over the fences, David shrieked, in his best Citizen Smith impersonation “Power to the people!”, and raised his arm triumphantly, which led the presenter to search for other British faces to question. All we were left with was to reflect on how difficult it had been made to find and watch a free-to-attend foot race on public roads.