SOMETIMES you have to dig deep to finish a marathon — and that’s what happened in Málaga.

This was my second marathon at Spain’s Costa del Sol hotspot, although ‘cool’ was a better overall description of the early December conditions.

I joined 2,500 others — around 600 from outside España — for the 8.30 ‘salida’, or start, at the Paseo del Parque, near the picturesque ‘puerto’, or port.

A fairly strong north-east wind was forecast, but it was pleasant and around 7oC (44 F) as we headed east. On our right lay the Malagueta beach and the Mediterranean, stretching 81 miles away to north Africa over a cloud-tinged horizon.

This was my 41st marathon. It was measured European-style in 42.2 kilometres, rather than the 26.2 miles we use at home.

The sun was already glaring at us from a clear, blue sky, occasionally blindingly, until we turned at 8k to head back to the city centre via the bullring.

The temperature inched up, and I could see the container terminal cranes at 16k. That was my next target on a course that was changed this year to accommodate an extra thousand runners.

Instead of cutting up through the centre and swinging around to finish along the coast, we were continuing west — parallel with the Med until 22k, before turning north into a challenging wind that dipped the mercury and persisted for the rest of the race.

I did three hours 27 minutes last year, and this time my aim was to try to maintain five-minute kilometres to finish around 3-30.

Málaga is Europe’s southernmost largest city with a population of around 570,000. Many of the Malagueños were on the streets shouting ‘ánimo’, (good luck or keep going) and ‘vamos’ (go, go!). One man called out ‘muy bien’, and then supplied his own translation by adding: “Ver-r-y, ver-r-y good”.

There were more inclines on this new route, adding up to a double whammy with the often chilly blasts coming from the starkly beautiful Sierra Nevada mountain range which runs along the back of the city.

Palm trees, sunshine and brilliantly coloured flowers were in abundance.

Screeching parrots flew off their perches frequently, disturbed by the runners.

I didn’t hit the dreaded marathon ‘wall’ of exhaustion, but I did start to struggle and revised my finishing time to about 3-35 as the kilometres ticked over 30.

It is to the credit of the organisers and authorities that they are prepared to close busy streets on a Sunday for what is a relatively small number of runners, recognising ‘maratóns’ bring a significant boost to the economy and image of a host city.

The spectators included a group of wee girls chanting at the side of a road. It sounded like the Spanish version of ‘you can do it, you can do it!’ and reminded me of the 2001 New York Marathon, where children sat on the pavement in Harlem and recited that encouraging phrase.

We ran by the splendid Málaga FC stadium, having earlier passed the impressive athletics facility where the team trains.

A runner appeared at my shoulder holding a device playing the inspirational theme from one of my favourite films.

I smiled over to him and he announced happily ‘Rock-ee!’ before disappearing into the distance.

I was gratefully counting off the kilometre signs as we went through twists and turns towards the ‘meta’ or finish, crossing the Plaza de la Merced, which boasts a statue of Málaga-born painter and sculptor Picasso, and reaching the stunning Cathedral at around 40k.

Its bells were booming, as if urging me to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Down we went to the stylish Calle Larios shopping street, under a fantastic arch of unlit Christmas lights, and into the final stretch along the Paseo del Parque between cheering crowds on either side.

I rallied for a sprint along a welcoming blue mat to cross the line in a relieved 3-35-24 in 880th place.

Viva Málaga!