Races in Funny Places: The Car Park Marathon (26.2 Miles of Spirals and Concrete)

Welcome back to Races in Funny Places, the series that proves marathons don’t need scenic vistas or fresh air to make a lasting impression. This time, we’re heading to West Sussex for an event that’s gone down in the annals of running folklore. In February 2017, a group of 50 brave (and possibly slightly unhinged) runners gathered for the UK’s and possibly the world’s first-ever multi-storey car park marathon.

Yes, you read that correctly. A full marathon held entirely within a run-down car park at Worthing’s notorious Teville Gate. Picture yourself running up and down ramps, dodging concrete pillars, and climbing the equivalent of Ben Nevis in elevation, all while taking in the bleak beauty of brutalist architecture. If you thought treadmill marathons were monotonous, welcome to the next level.

The Venue: From Parking Spots to PR Nightmares

The Teville Gate car park was no stranger to controversy long before runners arrived to turn it into their personal endurance playground. For years, the site had been promised a glamorous redevelopment, but by 2017, the car park was a stereotypical British relic, think peeling paint, echoes that amplified every footfall, and the occasional glimpse of the grey skies outside through the gaps in the walls. It It was the kind of place where you might expect to find an abandoned shopping trolley or a rusting Ford Fiesta rather than a pack of marathon runners.

It almost didn’t happen. The event organisers secured a contract to use the space, but when word of the race reached the council’s upper echelons, panic ensued. The CEO, fearing the spectacle would bring unwanted attention to the long-neglected site, tried to pull the plug. Cue a week of tense negotiations, a threat to go public with the story, and some behind-the-scenes heroics from Worthing’s events manager. In the end, the race went ahead, and a car park became an unlikely mecca for 50 determined runners. 

The Race: Stairway to… Somewhere

The course was straightforward in the same way running up and down a ladder for six hours might be: simple, but cruel. Competitors tackled all eight levels of the car park on repeat, their reward for each punishing ascent being a descent that offered little respite. By the end, the elevation gain was equivalent to scaling Ben Nevis, albeit without the scenery, fresh air, or general sense of achievement.

Concrete floors and tight corners added a certain joylessness to the ordeal, while the open-sided ramps teased runners with fleeting glimpses of the outside world, a cruel reminder of life beyond this grey, claustrophobic purgatory.

Atmosphere: Bleak but Brilliant

It turns out a multi-storey car park isn’t the obvious choice for a race venue, though this didn’t stop organisers, participants, or the occasional bewildered shopper from committing fully to the occasion. The sound of trainers pounding against concrete created an almost musical backdrop, albeit one you’d happily turn off after a minute.

Still, there was a grim kind of charm to the setting. The sparse crowd, made up of a few supporters and a few lost pigeons, seemed to appreciate the runners’ shared determination to finish the race or, at the very least, survive it.

The Legacy: A Marathon for the Masochists

The Teville Gate car park marathon didn’t just push the boundaries of endurance sport, it also pushed the patience of anyone who thought they were here to park their car. Despite this, it has carved a niche for itself in running folklore as the sort of event that people talk about in hushed, slightly traumatised tones at post-race pub meet-ups.

Although the car park has since been demolished, possibly out of shame, its brief moment as a marathon venue remains a fitting tribute to the kind of creativity you usually find in events where health and safety regulations are more of a suggestion than a rule.

Post-Race Reflections: Thinking Outside the Tarmac

The Teville Gate marathon proved two things. First, that runners will go to extraordinary lengths to test themselves, even if it means looping endlessly around a structure designed for hatchbacks and shopping trolleys. And second, that while a marathon is technically about miles, it’s really about the anecdotes you can milk afterwards.

Because let’s face it, if you’ve slogged through 26.2 miles in a car park, no one can ever question your dedication, your stamina, or any other life choice for that matter.