Are we nearly there yet?

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!

Eh!

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!

Shhh, I’m trying to sleep.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!

Oh dear god. It’s marathon day.

I switched off the alarm. 6.30. I had 3 hours and 15 minutes to complete the last 4 weeks of my neglected training. I thought this may be pushing it.

I lied in bed looking at the ceiling, collecting my thoughts and making a mental note of all the things I needed; shower, breakfast, Vaseline, running kit, water bottle, running chip.

I looked over at my girlfriend asleep. Just lying there, sleeping away without a care in the world. How can you sleep at a time like this?! Some people get all the luck. What I would give to be able to just fall back asleep and pretend the whole thing was just a bad dream. Run a marathon? Me? Today? Don’t be ridiculous.

I noisily got up, making a loud cough. Nothing. ‘Huh Hum!!!!!’, ‘You still asleep?’. Nothing.

It was no good, I’d have to peel my own banana.

I got into the shower and tried not to think too much about what lay ahead. I knew I was completely under prepared, but it was too late to worry about that now. At least I knew I could get to the 15.5 mile mark, with everything after that being uncharted territory. After my breakfast I slipped into my new shorts and had a quick stretch. I looked down at my watch, 7.30, it was time. I walked toward the door and took one look back over my shoulder. A thought flashed through my head, the next time I see this junk filled hallway I would have changed. I would walk differently, talk differently, think differently. I would be drunk.

I arrived at Greenwich station at around 9.00, and followed the crowd up the hill to the red start zone. I felt a little out of my depth. They all looked fit and healthy, head to toe in the latest sports wear – I had only just purchased my shorts from Lilywhites the day before for £5 and my T-shirt was 10 years old. Most people had several gel bars strapped round their waists. I hadn’t ever even tried a gel bar, and the one time I’d tried glucose tablets hadn’t ended well. How was I ever going to get around without even one gel bar? I told myself to stop worrying and just relax and soak up the atmosphere.

After making my final preparation I closed my bag and passed it over to the officials for it to be taken to the finish line, and joined what seemed like half of south London in the cue for the toilet, but with 15 minutes to go it gave me something to pass the time. It went quickly and before I knew it I was lined up with everyone else slowly moving toward the start. A chirpy Geordie helped relax the crowd over the tannoy, and at 9.55 I crossed the start line. I was off. 10 weeks of mediocre training had all built up to this life defining moment. I had already decided to take it really easy, and settled into a gentle jog.

I can quite honestly say the first mile went very very slowly, I thought for quite a while I had missed the sign. It wasn’t because I was tired, but with the crowd cheering and other runners chatting, there was a lot to take in and it took a while to process. When the mile marker came, I looked at my watch and saw it had taken just over 10 minutes. This was slow compared to my average training times, but it was at this point I decided to just settle into 10 minute miles and see how I was after 13 miles.

I hadn’t really known the course before I ran, but was very pleased to find out the majority of the first 6 miles is down hill, and when we met the runners from the other start zones at the 3 mile point I was feeling good. I was running down the centre of the dual carriage way, the sun was shining and the crowd was cheering. I took a look around and smiled.

Just as I went under the 5 mile marker I remembered that Jon from work would be outside a pub, on the left hand side, just passed the fly over. Suddenly the allure of alcohol had made this particular stretch of road thick with spectators and I held little hope of spotting anyone in the crowd. Then I heard a yell of ‘Rich’, and I turned round just in time to see Jon. I gave him a quick thumbs up and shouted back ‘Alright Jon!’ in a ‘fancy seeing you here’ sort of way, ‘I’m running a marathon don’t you know?’. This gave me a quick confidence boost, as I thought at least I had made it this far in one piece.

As we made our way deeper into real South London, and towards the Cutty Sark, the pubs became more frequent, the crowds thicker and the people denser. Everyone seemed to be loving the occasion, with local women (who were not exactly natural athletes - although I think they did share the same interest in jewellery as Jimmy Savile) handing out segments of oranges and jelly babies. The next couple of miles passed quickly and we were soon rounding the Cutty Sark. Hundreds of people, 6 or 7 deep from the barrier, cheered encouragement and I took another look at my watch. I was still on exactly 10 minute mile pace. I still felt good, but I knew there was a very long way to go and I would need to really look after myself over the next 6 miles.

And, well, I must have, because to be perfectly honest I can’t really remember them. The next point I remember well is going under the 12 mile marker, because 2 thoughts crossed my mind. Firstly, Tower Bridge must be just around the corner, and secondly, I’m starting to get really tired. The tiredness had overcome me like a huge wave. I’d felt fine until this point, but I think the relatively slow pace and crowds had taken my mind off it. However, from this moment on and for the next 14 miles, it would be very much on my mind.

I rounded a corner and Tower Bridge came into sight, as I made my way towards and over the bridge I tried to enjoy the moment, I had seen it on TV so many times before and now I was part of it, but I was too tired, I needed to walk. As we came off the bridge we turned into a tunnel and for the first time for the first 13 miles, there was no spectators. Other runners had taken the opportunity to stop and do some stretching, so I walked for the first time for about 100 meters.

It was at this point I realised running the first 13 miles of the marathon is a bit like going to the dentists, you get all worked up about nothing and then its over before you know it. However, I was soon to realise that running the last 13 miles of the marathon was a bit like going to the dentist, only to find out he’s going to have to amputate your foot, with no anaesthetic and Cliff Richards ‘Lords Prayer’ gently playing in the background.

As a sign of unity my girlfriend and friends had decided to make the City Pride public house their first viewing point, well it was a hot day they needed to quench their thirsts. The City Pride is at both the 15.5 mile and 18.5 mile points, and as I neared the pub I was starting to feel the tiredness come over me again, but I knew I had to carry on till I’d passed the pub, there was at least a couple of camera’s knocking about and I wanted my first sighting to be an action shot. As I passed the pub there was hundreds of spectators, and spotting anyone in the crowd was going to be difficult. However, in hindsight this was not necessary, as unfortunately they were cueing at the bar / staring into the bottom of a pint pot / having a bit a natter, so I went passed unnoticed. I reached the 16 mile marker and I was knackered. I started to walk. This was the first and probably only point that the thought crossed my mind that I may not finish. I had 10 miles to go and I felt spent. The heat was starting to get to me and the air felt thick. I ran / walked the next 2 and a half miles and made sure I was running when I next passed the City Pride. Then through the 4 or 5 deep crowd I spotted my friends and shouted a quick ‘Hello’. ‘You're doing well’ they shout back. ‘Yeh - feeling good’ I lied, and rounded the corner out of sight, where I collapsed back in to a slow crawl.

When I eventual reached the 20 mile mark I suddenly started to feel quite good. I knew I had only 6 miles to go, and felt sure even if I had to walk the remaining distance I would nevertheless make it to the finish. This gave me a quick boost of energy and helped me run for the majority of the next 2 miles. However, when I reached 22 I was dead on my feet. I had nothing left. I predominately walked, in terms of time anyway, the next 3 miles, only running when I felt recovered enough to stagger more quickly forwards for a few more yards. However, at 25 the crowds become louder than ever and you could tell the other runners were becoming more excited, a few more smiles were crossing their faces; we knew we were nearly there. I started to run and pulled on every ounce of training I had done over the previous 3 months. Soon a sign above our heads said it was 600 meters to the finish, then 400 meters, then 386 yards, then 200 meters. The finish was in sight, the crowds were creating a huge roar and I knew I had made it. After 3 months of training, weeks of discipline and hours of running I was about to cross the finish. I raised my arms as I crossed the line – it was over.

As I crossed the finish another runner turned round and shuck my hand, and I wobbled over to the side and sat down. I looked at my watch. My final time, 4 hours 44 minutes and 1 second. Slower than I had hoped, but I had made it. Three months earlier I couldn’t even run for 30 minutes.

I joined the queue with the other finishes, and had my medal placed round my neck, before making my way down to the meeting area. Melissa and Ryan arrived, and after I had regaled my story of the ecstasy and despair, they carried me down to the pub where I enjoyed a few well deserved pints.

After all that what have I learnt? What words of wisdom do I have to share with the world? Well firstly, anyone wanting to run a marathon must be stark raving mad. The only point of running a marathon is to put yourself through hell, and you should be locked away for your own protection. There are much safer and easier ways to be healthy. If you want to get fit – Great, go swimming or cycling, go for a nice walk, maybe even a jog around the neighbourhood; you don’t need to kill yourself to live longer. And secondly - next year I want to do it in less than four hours.

London Marathon - No problem!.........I'll just blog it. by RichEvans

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