The Finish Line.

I knew I was to travelling up to London on my own, and running the race with 35,999 strangers and no familiar faces in the crowd, a little different to 2010 when I shared the experience with Nic Pengelly and my brother was able to come down and support me with his family, but that changed on the platform at Exeter Train Station. I asked the couple next to me if I was on the right platform for Waterloo. They thought so as that was where they were heading and she was doing the London Marathon. I shook hands, introduced myself and we got talking. They were Steve and Julie from Launceston, with Julie running for the first time.

It immediately made a difference to me, it was nice to know someone else who would be running the route at the same time. We talked, I read a bit, enjoyed the views and on arrival at Waterloo we went our separate ways.

The Excel Centre was a little nerve wracking. If you’re going to train for a marathon and make it all the way to London, you really don’t want to balls it up at the final hurdle. I got my entry pack and the chip registered then started to relax and set off round the great hall to look at the stands and exhibitors. They had a new innovation from last time, photo booths with a twin print out, one to keep and one to pin up on their “Wall of Fame” with a message underneath.

The weather was crisp and clear, with not a cloud in the sky, it was cold in the morning and toasty in the sunshine by lunchtime. The rest of the weekend was made up of relaxing, catching up with old friends and eating Jaffa Cakes, Tracker Bars, pasta pots and drinking Lucozade sport. Until Sunday………

Sunday 21st April 2013.

I woke ahead of my alarm but managed to doze through. Got up, stressed over the packing of my kit bag, forced down a bowel of cereal, fitted my “names” wristband and the taxi arrived. It was a short drive from Ladywell to Blackheath and I even recognised part of the route we took. It was pretty much identical to last time, a couple of barrage balloons up in the air and a half dozen Hot Air Ballooons on the ground, with various people milling around, but not busy……yet. 

I wandered across the frosty grass in the general direction of the Red Start. 

Walking through Greenwich Park was very pleasant. Daffodils were out and there was a still in the air. Our actual start and the baggage lorries were situated next to a bandstand. I milled around taking in the runners and some of the fancy dress. Bagpuss was probably the most impressive, but there were a few super heroes, an awful drag, Luke Skywalker with Yoda on his back and a couple of fairies.

It was a lot of waiting, but it all contributed to the feel, the event, the weekend as a whole. I spotted some guys wrapped in the bacofoil sheets and managed to blag one from the St Johns Ambulance stall this gave me the chance of staying warm if there was a loong wait at the start line. I used the urinals (Oooo how exciting) which was all part of the plan….. A plan that could have turned out to be very embarrassing. 

At about 830 I took off my spare clothes, vaselined my feet and chest, strapped up my knees and packed my bag. I got a couple of photos taken before the bag went in and then headed over to pen 9, the final pen, which I had been allocated to. As I was nice and early, I got to the front. It was right on one of the entrances to the Start Zone, so we were able to watch all the runners arriving and this they did right up to the 1000 start time. I got talking to a (very) talkative young lady next to me, from Bournemouth and after we had exchanged pleasantries, she wouldn’t stop….. 

At around 950 I felt I ought to finish my “plan of Action” and with the foil blanket wrapped around me, I subtly reached inside my shorts with a drinks bottle, rather awkwardly “docked” and started to pee….. Just as everyone round me started waving frantically…… at the tv camera pointing straight at us!!!!!!! My arms stayed rooted inside my space blanket and I smiled, weakly, maniacly, wanly, I don’t know, I was a little self conscious at taking a whiz on national TV. Possibly. A few minutes later the camera did another pass and I waved this time. I was to be told later that I had been spotted on tv on the start line and I still don’t know if it was the first shot, or the one of me holding an Apple Juice bottle!

The weather was sunny, incredibly sunny, but with a chill in the air, in the sunshine it was warm and standing around at a loose end wasn’t really a problem.

Shortly before the start we were joined by the obligatory Rhino. Then another and then a troop of about 8 all in a row. Our particular pen had a dozen Squaddies in full kit just march in at the front but no one complained. Then there was a muttering over the speaker system and a whistle blew shrilly. The signal for a pre arranged 30 second silence for the City of Boston and the victims of the bomb earlier in the week. Someone in the massed runners hadn’t got the info ‘cause they cheered loud, then realised that everyone else had frozen….. The birds sang in the trees, someones mobile phone went off and a plane droned overhead, but all those things just emphasised the quiet of thousands of people. The second whistle blew and applause rippled up and down the massed runners and supporters. 

Shortly after that we were off and started the long walk to get to the start line. Partway along there was a Cornish contingent, with several St Pirans flags pinned to the railings, I debated, mulled over and when we got almost alongside I couldn’t resist. “OGGY OGGY OGGY”. And it wasn’t just them that replied the place boomed with it. I finished the war cry and immediately after a voice said to someone, “Well I’ve never heard that before!” Coming out of the park through the famous gates, I made a point of lining up with the cameras and then it was a straight line to the Start. All in, it had taken about 21 minutes from starting, to start. It was busy, congested, but we were moving steadily, if not at the pace I wanted, but I was patient.

 It was odd running though the first three miles or so, it could have been any town or city. Nothing really distinctive about the suburbs and throughout it was a case of listening to the crowd, Hi-Fiving a few and getting a feel for the road. But it was busy…. A lot more congested than I remember from last time. Having said that, my timings were bang on….. 10 minute miles one after the other, or just under. A niggle at the back of my mind though was keeping some time in reserve should anything happen, but I didn’t want to push it. 

 The problem I have, now, 24 hours later on a train heading back to Devon is that the ending was so positive and exhilarating, I am struggling to remember the early stages of the race. 6 miles, one hour of running in the sububs of London. The crowds, the children, every age, nationality, cars with open doors pumping music out and across the road. It all kind of blends in until I got to Greenwich park and the Royal Naval College. A beautiful area, landscaped to an inch of its life and then past the Cutty Sark. Unmistakeable!

 I missed it in 2010 due to the boarding and scaffolding being up and around it. This time though it was a lovely sight to see, majestic and with smatterings of supporters cheering from above us. Then round the corner and there was The Gypsy Moth, the pub I had visited in October before the Muse concert and onward through Greenwich itself.

Rotherhithe was interesting. Something wasn’t quite right, a slight niggle in the left of my groin and my thighs ached a little, in an unusual manner, nothing serious just out of the ordinary and I had also spotted a couple of pacemakers with the 4:30 flag, in front, but I had caught them up, did that mean I was ahead of time? Not according to my watch which reckoned I was bang on or a little behind. I tried not to think about it, but I kept drifting back to it. It was also around that point my headache took hold, base of the back of my neck and relieved every time I took water on board or damped myself down, but it didn’t last long and just to top it off I hadn’t brought any painkillers!  What caused it I don’t know, I can only guess. My liquid intake was little and often (every drinks station, only missing out a couple on the 20 to 22 stretch, I kept as cool as I could, looking for shade and using spare water to splash over me. The only thing I can think is the direct sunlight…. I am suffering a little at the moment with sunburn on my shoulders, forearms and below my chin, whether that is what brought it on combined with the noise of the crowds….. It’s all I can think of. 

 Tower Bridge was fantastic. 

Majestic and once again I looked up and down river as I crossed, then spied the photographers and gestured towards them. The crowds were great the encouragement reigned down and on we went………..

After the bridge though things turned nasty. My legs were heavier and my thighs ached more, my breathing was fine, not even slightly laboured, I could just feel my pace ebbing away. It was Docklands….. I didn’t like it last time and I didn’t like it this time either. The pace setters drifted out of view and I was caught up by a 4:42 man instead. My head got worse, I started to feel tetchy, annoyed whenever the field bunched up, teasy at the screaming spectators and out and out pissed off at the ones constantly blowing a whistle or clack-clacking the clacky things. It hurt my head and shifted my focus and my pace suffered. My legs felt like they were drying up. I began to think I would be quicker walking fast rather than running slow, I could smell the sweat and odours from the runners, the barbecues, the docklands themselves and thought I was going to be ill. It. Was. Punishing.

From 14 to 20 I battled it out, looking at the names on my wrist, visualising the finish line, willing my legs just to keep moving at whatever pace. I tried NOT to think about how far it was to get back to the Tower of London, how my timings were slipping, whether I would have to pull up. It was mental, in several senses of the word and there were times when in my head at least, I was shouting at the crowd “Will you please just SHUT UP!”

Mile 20 or thereabouts I dried up. I could barely feel my legs. It was like operating on sticks and I drifted back into a slow jog and then fast walk. One leg in front of the other, look straight ahead, smile if you can when someone shouts your name, but no thumbs up, no wave of acknowledgement, just keep moving forward. Limply grab a bottle of water, drink, splash, drink, pour, drink and feebly toss it to one side. Pick up the pace, c’mon pick it up. Lift your leg up back to a jog, run, aim for the roundabout, c’mon get round, automatic pilot are you there, can I run without thinking , no, mind drifts back to the legs, where are they…..6 mins of running again. It’s gone again. Now what, walk, save yourself now, run later. Just before Blackfriars, there was a huge placard over a bridge saying Run if you can, walk if you must, but finish for Boston. I was back up by then, but it rang so true. Somewhere between 20 and 22 I was given a major boost, back to a running gait of sorts I spotted a figure on a set of railings. Staggeringly it was Steve, the guy I had met on the train on the way up, I ran over, shook his hand on the way through and said something along the lines of “Lovely to see you” and carried on my merry way.

It got better, very, very gradually, but there was one fear filled moment when something stretched and bunched in my left thigh, on the inside…. Cramp was threatening, and I twitched, growled at myself (getting a few odd looks into the bargain) and concentrated on keeping it at bay. Feeling the movement of my legs, what worked and what didn’t.

I think there were three sections where I had to walk and push and focus but by the time I had hit the tower of London for the second time I had some sort of rhythm albeit a relatively slow one. It was all gradually coming back, I felt different, like running on tickover. Then came Blackfriars bridge and tunnel. The monkey on my back from 2010. The stretch which I had walked and then struggled with cramp afterwards.  

This time it was well and truly the opposite I hit the underpass nice and steady and inside it was lined with miniature hot air balloons each with an encouraging message. But surreally and it still feels like a daydream, the Whomping Soundsystem they had set up started up “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC. Track two on my running play list and an all time favourite. I ran, I sang, I punched the air and from that point on, I didn’t slow down.

Emerging onto the Embankment held mixed emotions. I knew where I was and what was left, but I couldn’t see the London Eye and when it did drift into view, round the bend in the river, it looked an awful long way away. But the crowd. Oh, the crowd. Whereas earlier they were a hindrance, a brain rattling annoyance who I wished would just bugger off and leave me run in peace, now They were glorious. The cheering, the personal support, the clapping. They could feel my pain, they could see the hurt in my eyes and those of the runners around me and they spurred us on. I clapped them in return, new found energy to thank them for just being there and getting me through, It was emotional and painful and so very, very different to 2010. I saw the faces lining the embankment, Cleopatra’s Needle, the South Bank, The Eye, I applauded The “I-Can” team at the 25 mile mark I was overtaken by Wolverine running in Jeans and a leatherjacket, I watched the South Bank drift past and the Westminster Tower loom ever larger. 

Passing Big Ben I singled out the photographers, lost seconds but pointed at the cameras, gave them the thumbs up, smiled like a loon. Dammit I didn’t just enjoy the ending, I freakin’ loved it and just to top it off, with Big Ben on my back it boomed out three o’clock. Thanks for that! 

Birdcage. An obvious change from every other year the marathon has been run, it’s now three times longer!!!! I tapped a walker called Andy on the shoulder and told him “Come on, just round the corner. He overtook and beat me 60 seconds later. I eyeballed Buckingham Palace, looped round the Victoria monument wide, into my own space for the cameras and then started doing things with my hands. Two in the air, John Travolta, pointing at camermen and then the finish. I looked square at the camera, pointed at the sky and smiled. It was elating. The last 3 miles had made up for everything that had gone before and so much more. Running the stretch I had walked in 2010, made me feel like I had finally completed it. The pleasure and excitement round the last few streets, the energy I felt, the support of the crowd. It was wonderful. 

And my time? Well, it wasn’t too bad. The initial aim (January) was 11 minute miles which worked out at 4:48:12, but after training and before my norovirus, I was comfortable aiming for 10 min miles and a bit, leaving me with a target of 4:25:00. Actual time was 4:47:43. Very satisfied with that and the fact I won through a tough mental battle, very warm temperatures and a headache, gives my finish an added bonus.

I grabbed the finisher next to me by the shoulder and congratulated him. I hugged the 6” 2’ grey haired marshal there to greet us and guide us. I walked up the ramp, had my timer snipped and went on to get my reward bag, then my kit bag and I miraculously found a small tent with fold up seats. If I’d sat on the floor I wouldn’t have got up again. It’s a strange sensation feeling like you can’t walk but doing so, aching so much you want to lie down but knowing if you do, you’ll ache even more, in different places. I sorted my bags, dug out the Odd Duck T-Shirt and phoned home. Staggeringly I got through, normally the amount of mobile traffic at the end just clogs the entire system up. Turns out they saw me cross the finish line on the television, having tracked me round the course on line!!!! I kept moving, walked to the embankment and had to take the long way round the to “Hispaniola” the river boat “I-Can” had hired for a get together and rub down. I reckon the massage just about saved me as my aches and pains are distant now. I chatted with the I-Can team and took on some more water, had a few photos taken and then made my way (on foot to keep things ticking over) to Leicester Square. I ended up in a noodle bar and tucked into my tempura vegetables, sweet and sour chicken and chicken noodles. It was slow going though, I was fading and at times didn’t have the energy to eat, I reckon it was the Tango that got me going though. After eating, I fulfilled a promise I had made to a friend, the news editor at Penwith Radioand gave him an “exclusive” interview.

Ever since leaving the immediate finishing zone, people, strangers, were congratulating me, wishing me well and asking how I had got on. It continued, even on the train out of London Central. A delightful turnaround to the usual city life. I  made it home had a bath as cold as I could bear and then topped it up with warm water. I dressed, flopped out on the sofa listened to my interview on Penwith radio and caught up with around 87 FB updates….

Looking back over the run, much of it is a blur, towards the beginning I passed about four other “I-Can” runners (I found out later there were 22 in the race) not all at once, but I made a point of patting their shoulders and introducing myself (hopefully to see them on the boat at the end) There was a knight in shining armour, a gorilla towards the end, Jazz, Reggae, Rock, and Big bands. The big ole Chinese drums were again early on, in the underpass, echoing and booming out, a couple of brass bands, Scots Guards, mobile DJ’s and huge support at the pubs along the way.  Did anything in particular go wrong? I don’t know. I felt hotter than last time, though I reckon it was sunnier rather than ambient temperature. There’s the bug I recovered from just two weeks previously. How much did that knock out of me? And the Red Start. I loved being there, with everything going on around me, the camaraderie, the fancy dress and the sheer volume of people, but for the best part of the race I was having to back off here and there, dodge other runners, change gear or simply slow down in the pack.

London 2013. A fantastic experience, the good and the bad. It was very, very different to the last one and should it ever happen again, I reckon that too would be a unique experience. There were similarities though, with the crowd giving the lift and my disappointment running through Docklands. But for now that’s it, no intention, no plan to put myself through it again. Coming out the other side is one thing, but the build up, the training, the effort and time, the cost and the dieting……it’s a different world and one I have lived in twice now. The rewards are huge, but I’m not a greedy person. I am satisfied and very, very happy.