When you move to Italy and decide to run a marathon, it helps to have a half-marathon as a dress rehearsal. When that half-marathon happens to be at one of the most famous racetracks in the world, even better.
The Venue: Autodromo Nazionale Monza
The Monza Half Marathon is unlike most road races. The route winds through the grounds of the Autodromo Nazionale Monza, the legendary Formula 1 circuit that has hosted the Italian Grand Prix since 1922, and the vast Parco di Monza that surrounds it, one of the largest enclosed parks in Europe.
Running on the same tarmac where F1 cars hit speeds of over 300km/h is a genuinely surreal experience. The sweeping curves of the Curva Grande and the Curva di Lesmo feel very different at marathon pace, but no less impressive.
The park itself is stunning. A patchwork of forests, meadows and royal gardens that make for an unexpected and beautiful backdrop to a race.
Fun fact: I only found out about this event when I was playing around in the Garmin app. I was searching for the Milan marathon event when I found this one! The timing was almost perfect, a week after I arrived in Italy and about six weeks before the marathon.
Getting There
I was up at five. Having laid everything out the night before, the morning routine was mercifully simple – kit on, out the door, into the dark. The streets of Merate were empty as I walked the twenty minutes to the station, the kind of quiet you only get before the rest of the world has woken up.
The train pulled into Monza about twenty minutes later, just as the sky was beginning to lighten. Rather than jump in a taxi, I decided to walk — partly for the warm-up, partly because there’s something about arriving on foot that suits a race day.
It turned out to be quite the journey. I made my way through Monza’s centro storico, which in the early morning was completely, beautifully still. The Monza Duomo rose up ahead of me, unencumbered by tourists or noise, the stone catching the first pale light of day. I had it almost entirely to myself.
From there I followed the path into the park, joining a quiet procession of other runners making the same pilgrimage in their race-day gear. By the time the Autodromo came into view, I had been walking for close to an hour. I was, without question, warmed up.
Pre-Race
Bib collected, race bag in hand. The bag was a pleasant surprise – packed with food, energy products, and, somewhat inexplicably, a cleaning product for car interiors. The entry fee for the whole event had been around €15. For a race of this quality, in this setting, that borders on absurd.
After a light warm-up, I found my place in the starting huddle. I’m not a devoted F1 follower, but standing on the starting grid at Monza, even in running shoes and surrounded by 7,000 other runners, carried a weight that was hard to ignore. There’s a history baked into that place. You feel it.
The Race
The conditions were as good as you could ask for. Sun out, air crisp, temperature just right. The kind of morning that makes you glad you got up at five.
In truth, the Monza Mezza was always going to be a training run in disguise. With the Milano Maratona only weeks away, the priority was controlled effort – finish strong, but don’t blow up.
I had three more runs of varying distances and intensities lined up across the following seven days, and arriving at those sessions limping was not part of the plan. So I ran within myself, kept the pace honest, and let the race come to me.
It was, genuinely, a pleasure. Gliding around the F1 circuit and then transitioning into the open parkland is an experience that’s difficult to replicate anywhere else.
The course never felt crowded despite the field of around 7,000, and the atmosphere throughout was warm and easy. One of those races where the kilometres pass without you noticing.
The Finish
I crossed the line at about the pace I’d been targeting. Tired, but the good kind. Beyond the medal, finishers were handed a bag of food: water, a banana, crackers, a panino. It’s a small thing, but it speaks to the spirit of the event.
The walk back to the station was long, but I didn’t mind. The legs were heavy in that satisfying post-race way, and I used the time to call Mum.
By now it was approaching midday, and Monza had transformed entirely. The same streets I had walked through in near-silence at dawn were now alive. A market had taken over the centro, stalls spilling across the cobblestones, locals drifting between them without any particular urgency.
The cafes were full, tables crowded with peopled drinking coffees and some enjoying Aperol Spritzes in the April sunshine. It was a completely different city to the one I’d passed through five hours earlier, and I loved both versions of it.
After the Race
I caught the train to Osnago, where Eleonora was waiting to drive me to Zia Stella’s for a family lunch. Everyone had already eaten, but true to form, they’d kept a plate aside. A shower and a change of clothes later, I felt ten times human again.
I sat down to a proper Italian meal, the kind that restores you completely, and was handed an ice-cold beer before I’d even fully settled into my chair. Antonio (Stella’s husband) took his hosting duties seriously, ensuring I was thoroughly rehydrated, a process that extended to a glass of Lagavulin after lunch. No complaints whatsoever.
That afternoon, we took the girls and their cousins to the park. Pietro (Eleonora’s husband) and Francesco (Veronica’s husband) also came. The kids ran around, the adults stood in the sun and chatted. A perfect way to spend the hours after a race.
That evening, once the girls were in bed, I settled in to watch the Milan derby. Well kind of. The match wasn’t on free-to-air TV, so the channel ran a live commentary show instead. One Milan fan, one Inter fan, narrating the game play by play in real time, with plenty of passion. It was oddly compelling. It also helped that Milan won 1–0.
What It Told Me About Milano
This was always about more than the race itself. Running Monza as a controlled effort gave me exactly what I needed heading into the full marathon. A confidence check, a pacing reference, and proof that the legs are where they need to be.
I finished feeling strong, recovered well, and was back out training within days. The Monza Mezza Maratona did its job perfectly. Now for the real thing.
Patrick's blog 
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