The London marathon, an amazing experience. Running a marathon is quite a quest, it really does have the long haul feel to it in the weeks, then days and hours leading up to it. I made so many friends on Sunday. The man at the bus stop waiting for the bus from Dulwich College to Lewisham, where the market traders setting out their stalls all called out good luck to me, the friendly bobbies at the [free] Docklands Light Railway station where I caught the DLR to Greenwich, the lady who sat with me on the DLR whose training plan had disintegrated the same way mine had due to injury, whose attitude - I am pretty damn sure I have got it in my legs to run a marathon without training - I liked as I realised that was mine when fully articulated...
When you finally get to start, setting off is quite daunting, you just try to stay calm, focus, relax and then settle into a rhythm. I liked the slow pace of pen number 5, I spent the first hour or so listening out for any niggles and tried to make minor adjustments to biomechanics to compensate for any. You just keep moving, checking your pace every mile, making sure you don't fall over and when that's all working well, actually enjoy it. Each mile took a fairly predictable ten minutes, the math was easy - if I kept this up for 26 miles and pushed my foot down towards the end, I might beat Peter's PB for the London Marathon and he would treat me to a coffee and cake. That was never going to happen though. I could dream. I did follow the thin blue line most of the way in honour of the athletes who preceded me along the route, and in fairness to save energy and hopefully a few seconds off my time.
Meanwhile, there were the water, Lucozade and Lucozade gel stations to interrupt any thoughts of victory over Peter. They seemed to loom into view as soon as the road became clear of empty bottles; this is not a criticism, this seemingly almost constant supply of food and drink was really welcome. Something else happened which almost caused memory loss especially when it came to the all important need to beat Peter's PB. Thousands of people applauding, smiling, cheering, shouting and by the end screaming all the way round... ... literally willing all the runners on, literally picking up those who fell. People in Hallowe'en costumes (or maybe they were just goths) outside a pub, jazz bands, horns, mobile discos, DJs on balconies, Darth Vader guarding a traffic island, blokes sat on settees on the pavement drinking beer cheering us on, bag pipes, drummers pounding under bridges... even a Valley Strider cheering a Valley Strider on!
The handful of images I have retained are a drop in the ocean of what I saw as I ran the 26.2 miles. The last 5 or 6 miles I cannot describe without my lip wobbling. I am pretty sure that there was a very loud wall of noise for a long time which was just constant and unwavering and I don't think I have ever been anywhere like it. I have to confess a lot of it is a bit of a blur. I was so proud to be taking part in such an amazing event and so proud when I finished. I beat Peter's time by seconds. He was gracious in defeat and handed me the crown, by gracious text.
At the end of such a momentous marathon experience it should have come as no surprise to receive a text from Bob before an hour had passed with his congratulations and observations on my split times. Well that was more welcome than an automated text generated by chip timing and deserves thanks, surely.
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