Just want to say thank you to everyone who sponsored me. We raised over £1500 for Whizz-Kidz, which is just amazing. I’m really proud about that and very grateful.
OK. Several days have passed now and I’m finally getting my brain back in gear so before I forget it all here is a long, rambling and slightly soppy account of that really long run I did on Sunday.
First thing to say is that it was incredible and one of the most life-affirming, wonderful things I have ever experienced.
Second thing to say is that it was also bloody horrible.
Third thing to say is I would do it all over again without a second of hesitation.
Look how happy I am in this photo - especially compared to "Phil". Poor "Phil".
The Start, Blackheath
A reoccurring theme throughout the day is that despite reading loads of advice, taking in the sage words of experienced marathoners, reading several books and picking up dozens of great tips from websites I succeeded in forgetting them all. The first tip was to arrive early. I arrived late. After hiking up to the start in the pouring rain I found myself in a damp marquee. It was a bit like a festival except the air hung heavy with the smell of Deep Heat instead of dope, but it was just as busy. After changing and dumping my bag, I needed the loo. When I exited the charming portaloo the entire field was empty. It was 9.40am. The race started at 9.45am. Then something puzzling happened and I’m still uncertain how but I was ushered through a wormhole in space and time and suddenly found myself next to thousands of runners, about 20 yards from the start line and stood next to a very friendly man in a foam penguin suit. Last year, he told me, he was a carrot. I told him I hoped people didn't throw fish at him but I think he would have liked that. He looked uncannily like Bobby Ball, It probably was. And we’re off. I had been told it could take up to 15 minutes before I reached the starting line because of the crowds, it took me 15 seconds. I even made it on telly.
The First Half
Despite the fact that I’ve been to the London Marathon a few times to cheer people on and knew what a great atmosphere it has, it hadn’t prepared me for just how loud and genuine the support is. From the start there are so many people on the streets it’s ridiculous. Having my name on my vest was great - it really does give you a big boost, especially when you’re feeling low. It just blew me away. The early part is mainly running by people’s houses and pubs and high streets, there’s music (mostly terrible - an Elvis tribute act doing Burning Love was good, I could have done without Agadoo). The atmosphere among the runners is buoyant too. When the various starts (red, blue and green) join at Charlton there’s the expected banter and chanting of “who are ya?” across the divide. I dunno, it’s magical, we’re like a wild pack of animals (in vests) stampeding through the streets.
Reaching Tower Bridge (around mile 12 and a half I think) was a big moment, it felt like a major iconic London Marathon place (Cutty Sark was really over crowded, narrow, and the boat is all wrapped up) and it’s just great running over it. The psychological downside though is that it’s so iconic, such a big moment that I kidded myself I’de made it already - the truth is it’s just the start of the main game. Big rule number 2 was to start slow and gradually build up your pace, cos you’d need that energy later. I started fast. So fast that most photos of me are just a blur. Notice the admiring glances of my fellow athletes.
The middle
Ah, magic. Spotting everyone who came along to see me (number one fan not in picture) just past the half way point was just amazing. I felt great, they looked great. Fab. Grabbed a jelly baby, kiss, sun shining, everything was perfect.
The Second Half
Things were going well for my target time of 4 hrs 30 mins. I’d set off too quickly but i still felt really good.
Throughout there are people holding stuff - lolipops, bananas, jelly babies, Mini Mars Bars, cups of beer, pies, cuddly toys - but after 13 miles you really appreciate it. Things started to wobble around mile 16/17 - that's round about the place where you hear your first "almost there" from the crowd. Down in the depths of the Isle of Dogs I felt a spasm in my right calf, next I started to cramp up and every step began to hurt. The next two or three miles were a combination of hobbling, walking and jogging. Any idea of times and making that 2012 Olympic Squad went out of the window, the pubs we were running by started to look increasingly appealing. There was a moment when shortly after passing a St John’s Ambulance set-up I stopped and started walking back towards them, then something kicked in, I remembered all the people who had sponsored me (ahhh), all the training runs where I’d struggled through to the end because of this day and I decided to plough onwards. I got a little mantra going in my head “easy-easy-easy” to beat the negative vibes leaking into my skull and it sort of worked. And I was still having a great time, when I was at my lowest ebb the crowd was even more of a factor and I’d walk until someone shouted my name and then kick on for as long as I could. Or I'd aim to run until the next traffic light or bridge or person dressed as Darth Vader. There were great signs in the crowd. My favourite was a motivational sign which read “Motivational Sign” but “Fancy A Pint?” kept my spirits up too. Yes I did fancy a pint - and a Calipo. We’d started in drizzle but after a few hours it was radiant.
By the time I saw my lovely family and friends again at mile 21 I was feeling exhausted and ready to call it a day but they prodded me with a pointy stick and made me continue, the heartless swines. From there on in it didn’t feel that far to the end but what with the new walk-hobble-run technique it seemed to take forever, I was being overtaken by grandfathers, conjoined twins, two Fred Flinstones, Sherlock Holmes, a camel and banana. The camel was the final straw (is that right) and I gave it one last push. I was actually quite stunned when I sashayed on to The Mall and saw my time. I had my giant digital Blakes 7 watch with me but ignored it once things started going sideways. All things considered 4hrs 47 mins ain’t that bad but the most important thing was that I'd made it to the end, my nipples weren't bleeding and I hadn't done a Paula.
The End
Elation, relief and nausea - in that order flashed through my mind and body when I crossed over that line. I’d done it. I’d bloody done it. I felt like the King of the World. I sleepwalked home, looking like a big happy fool with a huge Mr T sized medal round my neck, a dream of glory in my big deluded head and the sweet aroma of 26.2 miles of perspiration in my nostrils. I had found the hero inside myself just as Heather Small had promised I would.
