CAAC’s resident joggler, Scott Jenkins, took his three balls and steady nerves to the Marrakech Marathon on January 25th. Read on for his report from the Red City; a tale of sunshine, scenery, one dropped catch, and a lot of very confused police officers.
Race Report:
Flying out on Friday felt like a sensible plan to “acclimatise”, though Marrakech greeted us with cold air and torrential rain for much of Saturday. A pasta‑and‑pizza carb‑load and a solid night’s sleep set me up nicely, and I woke on race morning ready for whatever the day had in store.
I’d had a few down weeks since my last race of 2025 (Watchtree Half Marathon saw a 3-ball PB of 1:23 in November), with Christmas, my birthday, and bitter weather just pushing my return to running back even further. Today, the goals were to have fun, soak in the atmosphere, and get round in one piece to limit the impact on the rest of our holiday! All 3 were completed pretty well I think.
It was great to have my partner, CAAC craic-squad member Jess, supporting. I layered up on the 20 min walk across town to the start, bobble hat included. After a few pre-race photos, I jumped in at the back of the field.
I took the first few kilometres to warm up my chilly fingers, and the field strung out very nicely. Just jogging along, we set off into the darkness. I caught up with the 4 hour pace group at around 5km in, and on a wider part of road, worked my way through the wall of runners. It was gratifying having confidence with these kind of manoeuvres, even a few years ago. I felt much more comfortable sticking to the edges of packs such as this. No qualms at all today!
As I ticked past the first hour of running, my legs were already feeling heavy. Already, this was my longest run of 2026. I stopped at the aid station for a few minutes at 15km, the sun was up now, so the sunglasses went on (Day mode activated!) A quick gel stop, and then I was on my way again. Often my legs are most sore after a break, so I made a mental note not to stop unless I really needed to, not before 25km at least, I hoped.
The early miles were full of friendly exchanges with other runners, in varying levels of English and a few words of questionable French. The field seemed mostly Moroccan with a scattering of Europeans; a couple of Brits even recognised me from races back home. The crowd were clustered around junctions, and long straights didn’t really lend themselves to massive crowd support. My favourite spectators were actually the very stern looking police and military presence. Many of whom cracked a smile and seemed dumbfounded as I joggled by, before they returned to their traffic control duties!
My one drop came at 23km. Running beneath a row of trees, the rapid flicker of light and shade threw me off. Just unlucky, but it made me more alert on the shaded sections that followed.
My breathing stayed comfortable, but I felt my legs stiffen and stride shorten as I clipped towards 30km, testing the muscles for the first time in many weeks! It was actually a stroke of luck that we merged with the Half Marathon runners at around this time. They outnumbered us 20 to 1, and I let myself get swept up in their mass. My focus turned back to weaving through the crowd, and the amazement of the joggling hit new heights in the hustle and bustle!
Roadside support had also increased, Marrakech was awake! It was heating up and I was getting thirsty. I’d shunned every drinks stop to this point, but at the 35km point I stopped for a bottle of water, sneaking onto the pavement to get behind the drinks table to allow me a proper stop. It felt good to give my legs a short break. But as soon as I got moving again, I knew it was going to be a long 7km, they had really seized up within my rest stop.
A few runners I’d passed earlier came by with encouraging nods, and I settled into a steady “just get it done” rhythm. One benefit of joggling is the extra dimension of goal setting. Sure it wouldn’t be a PB, but I could certainly aim not to drop again. “Trente-huit”, said the Frenchman when I asked him something about ‘Quante kilometre?’
At my slower pace, I could really soak up the atmosphere, and enjoy the scenery: the mountains surrounded the city with their imposing presence, steady figures back dropping the several long straight roads in the tail end of the course.
As we turned onto the finish straight, the 21-k’ers zipped right, and us earlier starters stumbled left to pass under our respective gantry’s. Jess cheered me on from the stands, no long needing her jacket and coat.
Amazingly, my arms finished completely unscathed, around 4 hours of juggling and over 40000 catches (plus 1 non-catch) later. But my legs were in bits. As ever, the finish line of a marathon can, in some respects, resemble a war zone: bodies stumbling everywhere, and many in anticipation of a medal for their efforts. I tried to keep moving through the chaos to meet Jess for a sit down and drink.
My fourth joggling marathon complete. 3:50. Not my fastest. Not my slowest. On paper, pretty unremarkable. But the memories I made today tell a different story.
In the 24 hours since finishing, I’d polished off a couple of tagines, briouattes, pastilles and pastries. I’d sunbathed on the terrace in 22 degree heat, dipped in the Riad pool (definitely not 22 degrees), been to the local hammam for a massage, and walked the Souks. Recovery done right.
Marrakech Marathon isn’t one I’d rush back to, but a race that I would recommend to CAAC members looking for a different marathon racing experience.
Report by Scott Jenkins, Publicity Officer, CAAC
Have you got a race review or story you’d like to share with your club members? Email publicity@caac.org.uk , we’d love to hear from you.
Great achievement again Scott 🎾🎾🎾💪🏽
Lovely to read your
Story of Marrakech Marathon joggling 🤩