The French marathon where runners are fuelled by wine and foie gras

“Wine can touch your soul; it can make time stop; it can transport you to another dimension…”

So says Dominique Arangoits, the technical director of Cos d’Estournel in Bordeaux, as we enjoy a glass of the château’s 2005 vintage.

Two days later, this moment would feel like a distant memory. Wine had turned from pleasure to poison. That’s because I was drinking large quantities of it while attempting to run a marathon.

The 38th edition of the Marathon du Médoc, to be precise – a strange affair in which “degustation” stations are placed at alarmingly regular intervals so competitors can enjoy complimentary glasses of Bordeaux plonk as well as croissants, cheese, foie gras, oysters and steak. Trust the French.

It is a test of one’s constitution as much as it is of their stamina, with a final embellishment provided by a requirement for most runners to don fancy dress. I managed to swerve that rule as I was part of the Château Pichon Baron team, and sported the winery’s colours instead.

There was a carnival atmosphere at the start line in Pauillac. A DJ blasted music from a large stage to a crowd of people singing, dancing, drinking and smoking. Then a group of nuns walked by. Oh and there were the Blues Brothers, and a gaggle of skipping Oompa Loompas. A giant Viking ship, complete with a crew of six, came next. And then a bunch of lads with inflatable penises attached to their heads. You’d struggle to find a more bizarre crowd.

The jovial atmosphere came despite many participants, myself included, attending alcohol-fuelled pasta parties across Bordeaux the night before. At my Le Mille Pâtes shindig there was a brass band and various local whites on offer. The carb-heavy courses of pasta might have helped; less so the tasting of 15 wines.

The marathon course is a figure of eight, heading southwards out of Pauillac, looping back midway, and then going north, before finishing right back where it started – all the while passing through some of Bordeaux’s finest wineries.

My first mistake was getting caught in the crowds. There is no staggered start, so unless you elbow your way to the front, you can expect to hit traffic. During the first 2km (1¼ miles), I twice came to a complete standstill because the course was clogged up with thousands of strangely attired runners.

After barely 3km, we reached the first château – and its degustation station. Pain au chocolat and red wine was on offer and, naturally – after all that hard work – racers stopped to refuel. They knocked back wine, made a start to move on, but then went back for more. It set the tone for the rest of the race.

The only moderating factor for those considering getting totally blotto is the fabled “sweeper cart”, which strictly enforces the marathon’s cut-off time of six and a half hours. If you reach the halfway point and are behind it, you’re disqualified. And if you finish after the deadline, you are not given an official time.

Before long I saw people darting into the vines to relieve themselves, including a man dressed as King Leonidas leading a large group of – though fewer than 300 – Spartans.

We were cheered on by locals, out in their droves enjoying picnics as they shouted out messages of support. “Allez! Allez! Allez! Bon courage!” they cried as others clattered pots and pans.

We passed through another beautiful château, where a band in black suits played jazz from the terrace, crunched our way through the vast grounds, and then ran through its acres and acres of vines. The spectacle really was something.

Keen to avoid a DNF (did not finish) on my debut marathon, and still feeling ropey from the night before, I decided to hold off boozing until after halfway, so ended up having my first glass at around the 30km mark. It was at Château la Haye, and it went down brilliantly. The sugar and the alcohol lifted my spirits and eased the pain in my feet. Who needs energy gels when you have a vin rouge?

But my enthusiasm for the new fuel did eventually get the better of me. I drank several glasses over the next few kilometres and reached the point where any performance enhancement – genuine or perceived – was rendered useless by the acid reflux.

The feeling of wine swilling around my stomach rather overshadowed the final stages, and when I forgot to wash one glass down with water, leaving me with a horribly dry mouth, I endured a particularly tough mile or two.

As I crossed the finish line three hours and 54 minutes after I started, volunteers presented me with a medal, a bottle of water – and a bottle of wine! (Those who finish beyond six and a half hours don’t get the same treatment.) Out of 8,500 runners registered, 7,516 finished, which, all things considered, is not bad going.

It was then onto lunch at my team’s château, where we celebrated our success with more wine, more oysters and more steak. Perfect.

The Marathon du Médoc is probably not the one for you if you are going for a personal best. The trail-style route and undulating hills don’t lend themself to speed. But with all the delightful things to see en route, why would you want to rush?

Alex Barton was a guest of Smooth Red, a luxury wine travel operator which offers a Marathon du Médoc Experience