We were only in the Bordeaux region briefly.

It wasn’t like we recorded Exile on Main Street (although we did some decent writing).

But friends of Amy’s had taken us from the train station to Moubisson, and two weeks later picked us up, but only after a luxiourous lunch in Bordeaux, at their vineyard (I got excited because I got the Internet to work and downloaded and sent two weeks of Internet stuff).

Rebecca Fishbein of Bustle writes the world’s longest boozy race Bordeaux is in which participants are supposed to pair running with 23 glasses of Bordeaux wine. That seems … not what marathons are intended for, but it certainly sounds more pleasant than pairing running with protein gels and chafed nipples, so.

Apparently, the Marathon du Médoc is an age-old tradition, dating all the way back to, um, 1985. Every September, thousands of people from all over the world descend upon Bordeaux to take part in the race, which is essentially the opposite of a regular marathon. According to the Guardian, participants dress in costume instead of JackRabbit gear, which means attendees might show up as sexy policemen, Smurfs, zombies, or zebras; they wind through beautiful vineyards and chateaus, where they stop for wine, cheese, waffles, fruits and oysters, which cannot possibly be conducive foods for exercise; there is at least one steak break, and, of course, there are the aforementioned 23 glasses of wine. The race takes about six and a half hours, and unlike real marathon races, participants are encouraged to take that time, and not actually speed through it all. But even without a sprint, the race does lead to some, uh, interestingmoments, like this one in the Guardian:

Plodding along in my own merry way, I’m quite oblivious to the mileage we’re getting through. It’s Birdy who breaks into a spontaneous, projectile vomit around 18 miles (29km), necessitating another Imodium tablet. “Too late,” he shouts, seconds later, running off at a speed we could have done with a while back towards the nearest chemical toilet.