Venice Marathon: 40 years running the Serene One

To understand what the first edition represented, you have to start with a tasty detail: in 1986, running in the streets of Venice was officially forbidden. The most fragile city in Europe, administered by a bureaucracy jealous of its stones and canals, simply hadn’t anticipated that people might sweat between its palazzi. Organizing a marathon under these conditions was as much an administrative feat as it was a sporting vision.

It was Piero Rosa Salva who carried this slightly mad project—who persuaded, negotiated, insisted, and ultimately secured the necessary permissions. On May 18, 1986, 713 runners set off from Stra toward Venice. The route of that first edition finished at Campo Santi Apostoli, in the working-class district of Cannaregio. Not the most glamorous setting in the Serene One, but it’s what the organizers managed to wrest from the authorities. The Venetian public—curious and enthusiastic—lined the quays to watch this unprecedented spectacle go by. The reaction was immediate: this thing works.

Salvatore Bettiol won the race in 2:18:44, with Paola Moro taking the women’s title in 2:38:10. A 100% Italian podium 🇮🇹. Bettiol repeated the feat the following year and became the first “lion” on the honors list—an image that also gave the race its logo: the winged Lion of Saint Mark, a symbol of Venice for centuries, engraved on every finisher’s medal 🏅.

A course that never stopped growing

One of the great stories of the race is its route. Over 40 years, the course has never stopped being enriched, moved, pushed toward the heart of the city. Every change was won in hard-fought battles with an administration that manages Venice for what it is: a World Heritage site to protect as much as a city to live in.

During the early years, the race remained confined to what it was reasonably possible to send thousands of athletes through. Then in 1991, everything changed. For the first time, the organizers obtained permission to have runners cross the Grand Canal, via a bridge of floating barges built especially for the occasion. The finish moved to Ca' di Dio, much closer to the historic heart. That floating bridge—assembled a few days before the race, dismantled the night after—was born that day. More than any other element, it’s what turned a nice marathon into a one-of-a-kind experience.

The years that followed brought their share of improvements. The route gained a passage through the center of Mestre, turning the race into a true journey from inland Veneto to the lagoon. Parco San Giuliano (the second-largest park in Europe) entered the course and became one of the liveliest support points of the entire race 🌳. More recently, it’s Mestre’s new cultural complex M9 that has made its way into the route, anchoring the race in a city that’s reinventing itself.

But the big moment of consecration came in 2011, when Piazza San Marco officially became part of the course. The images that resulted went around the world and became the race’s definitive postcard. Thousands of runners now cross the most photographed square on Earth, between the Campanile and the Basilica. Before that date, the route skirted the area without really entering it. Since then, running Venice means really running through Venice.

(Photo credit: Jorge Franganillo)

The course in its final form: a lesson in emotional geography

Today, the route of the "Venice Marathon" is a work of art in its own right 🎨. It starts in Stra, in front of Villa Pisani, whose 18th-century Baroque park exceptionally opens its gates to welcome runners before the start. The first 30 kilometers follow the Riviera del Brenta through a landscape of noble villas whose façades are reflected in the waters of the Brenta. Flat, fast, conducive to good feelings. This is where you manage your effort, because you know what comes next.

After Mestre and Parco San Giuliano, the course leads onto the Ponte della Libertà 🌁: four kilometers of flat, straight line linking the mainland to the island 🏝️. The view over the lagoon is breathtaking—and sometimes the headwind is too 💨. This is where the race truly shifts, where the legs start negotiating and the mind steps onto the stage.

You enter the city via the Zattere, two kilometers of waterfront along the Giudecca Canal, and then comes the mythical moment: the 170-meter floating bridge built over the Grand Canal at Punta della Dogana. Next, Piazza San Marco and the Doge’s Palace, then the 14 bridges of the last 3 kilometers: wooden footbridges installed to spare exhausted runners the steps—something that also benefits strollers and rolling suitcases until Epiphany, thank you marathon 👏. The finish is at Riva Sette Martiri, facing the lagoon and the St. Mark’s Basin. Flat and fast for 85% of the route, frankly brutal at the end, and unforgettable across the full 42.195 km.

(Photo credit: Venice Marathon)

From 713 runners to 15,000 participants: the story of a growth

In 1986, 713 runners took the start. In 2005, 7,000 participants in the marathon alone. Today, the race is capped at 8,000 bibs for the 42 km—a figure dictated as much by the logistics of crossing Venice as by respect for the city and its residents. Added to that are the 10 km (launched in the 2000s and bringing together up to 7,000 runners on its own), the half marathon from Mestre to Venice (introduced in 2022, already at 4,500 participants for its third edition), and the Family Run created in 2006 to open the weekend to families and children 🧒. Altogether it makes an event of more than 15,000 people over the weekend, without the gentle madness of the whole thing ever disappearing.

French runners, for their part, have grown particularly attached to this race and for many years have represented the largest foreign contingent after the Italians.

The atmosphere, that thing photos can’t capture

There’s one thing all accounts agree on: it’s impossible to convey the atmosphere through words or images. Venetians—though not exactly known for enthusiasm in the face of large crowds—transform on race day. They come out onto the quays, lean from windows, go down to the canal edges to shout "Duri i banchi !" ("hold on, you’ll make it through") at passing runners 🏃. Choirs sing at certain points along the course. Parco San Giuliano turns into a huge zone of popular support 📢. And entering Venice—that moment when you set foot on the cobblestones of the Serene One after 30 km of running—produces something that marathoners who’ve lived it invariably describe as fantastic.

The October weather adds its own character to the race. Crystal-blue skies and 18°C, thick fog over the lagoon, driving rain from the Ponte della Libertà, or a cocktail of all three in the same morning 🍸. That unpredictability is part of the Venetian deal—a city that never quite looks like what you expected 🤓.

In 2018, the final kilometers of the marathon even had runners’ feet in the water. Yes, Venice—famous for its high tides—didn’t do things by halves. The acqua alta forced runners to finish an already difficult marathon with water up to their ankles. Now that’s a memory... 😅

(Photo credit: Roberto Trombetta)

A list of winners that tells the story of world athletics

The early years of Venicemarathon are very Italian: Bettiol, Milani, Terzer, Goffi on the men’s side; Moro, Scaunich, Bizioli, Fogli on the women’s side. The race was then a transalpine stronghold that was only just beginning to attract the attention of the international elite 🌍. But in 1990, something special happened.

Gelindo Bordin, Olympic champion in Seoul in 1988, twice European champion, agrees to take part “for a few kilometers” to liven up the event. Except Bordin, once launched onto a marathon course with runners overexcited at the idea of sharing the road with him, can’t decently stop halfway. He covers the 42.195 km, wins in 2:13:41, and leaves with the trophy 🏆. The Olympic champion who shows up for a spin and ends up on the top step—that’s an anecdote the race’s official site still recounts with palpable tenderness more than thirty years later.

The following year, the first foreigner won: the Portuguese Joaquim Pinheiro, after favorite Francesco Panetta stopped on the Ponte della Libertà due to a stubborn knee. In 1995, Danilo Goffi set the then men’s record in 2:09:26, and then the 2000s arrived—and with them Kenya. Julius Bitok, David Makori, John Bungei... the names roll by and the times fall. In 2009, John Komen set the men’s course record at 2:08:13, a mark that would stand until 2022 despite generations of world-class elites on this route. In 2017, Eyob Faniel delivered the first Italian men’s victory in twenty-two years under circumstances worth telling: the lead pack followed guide motorcycles that couldn’t access certain alleys of Venice and lost two minutes 🏍️. Faniel, slightly dropped at that moment, found himself in the lead by accident due to a navigation mishap. A deserved victory, gifted by a collective GPS failure

On the women’s side, African dominance settled in with the same regularity. In 2011, Kenyan Helena Kirop set the women’s record in 2:23:37', still unbeaten to this day. In 2021, Sofia Yaremchuk brought home an Italian women’s victory after twenty-two years of waiting, with a tactically intelligent race that will be remembered for a long time 📚.

(Photo credit: Venice Marathon)

What has changed—and what will never change

In 1986, you registered by mail ✉️. Today, bibs are snapped up in a few weeks and the race sells out months in advance. Timing chips have replaced hand timekeepers. Social media has turned every edition into an image festival 📲, and the floating bridge over the Grand Canal is probably one of the most photographed marathon backdrops in the world. The Expo Village, the start village, the shuttles, organized accommodation offers: everything has become more professional as the race has grown.

But the essence doesn’t move. The floating bridge is still assembled by hand a few days before the race, and dismantled during the night that follows. The footbridges on Venetian bridges are installed and removed every year by teams that have been starting over for forty years. Villa Pisani still opens its gates on Sunday morning. And Venetians still shout "Duri i banchi" from the same quays, with the same mix of affectionate exasperation and genuine pride for this race that, once a year, turns their impossible city into something even more impossible 💫.

(Photo credit: Venice Marathon)

October 25, 2026

An anniversary edition has to be earned. The Venice Marathon has made it through forty years of Venetian autumns, a pandemic, unforgettable acqua alta, records that stood for decades, and Olympic champions unable to stop halfway. It has grown from 713 runners to 15,000 participants over a weekend, without ever losing what makes you come back: running to Venice is different from everything else. On October 25, Villa Pisani will open its gates once again, the bridge will be there, and somewhere between km 38 and Riva Sette Martiri, there will be that moment you can’t find the words for beforehand—and that you tell everyone about afterward.

Duri i banchi. 🦁