Right its 7am, out the door and a little walk to catch the bus. I hope I’m going the right way? Yep there are some fellow marathoners at the bus stop. I’m at the start area in Blackheath by 8am. Still an hour and forty-five minutes until the starting gun. I take a last drink of Lucozade, no more to drink now until the 3 mile feeding station. What’s the weather doing? The sun comes out and it’s warm. Then it goes in, the wind blows and it’s suddenly cold. Can’t see any of the storm clouds they predicted. What to wear? Club vest of course but do I need the t-shirt underneath, or the hat, and maybe the gloves? Too early to decide yet I’ll take a walk around, some more stretching and a little rummage through my bag. Apply the Vaseline to prevent chafing, a little Deep Heat on that hamstring, and some Vapo Rub under the nose to keep the airways clear.
OK, approaching 9am, weather is still changeable but its decision time. T-shirt under the vest? No. Hat? No. Gloves? Yes, for the first mile or two at least. I pull out the old jumper I’ve selected to keep warm in the start pen. Tuck the energy gels in sides of my shorts. Now everything else in the bag and head over to the baggage buses. “Nah, mate this is 2,400 you’re 24,000”. Oops, lucky escape there. Now it’s getting really busy, get the bag on the correct bus, a quick visit to the loo and off to the start pen. Seems like everyone has the same idea. OK, here it is, start pen 2. Another quick stretch and then gently jostle for position in the start zone. All around me runners are discarding old clothes and bin-liners. There’s still ten minutes to go so I’ll keep mine on for now. We all shuffle forward towards the start line. The elite athletes are introduced over the loudspeaker, right its time to say goodbye to the jumper.
Bang. There’s the gun and we’re off. Just 30 seconds to get through the start and I’m able to run tentatively almost immediately. Don’t bob and weave, duck and dive, it’ll only waste energy you’ll need later. The pace in the first mile is actually pretty good for such a large field. Remember 26.2 miles at 7:24 minute mile pace will get the desired sub 3:15 with a little to spare. There’s the mile 1 marker already and it’s a 7:39 split. Don’t try to make up those 15 seconds just settle into your pace. Mile 2 is upon us soon enough and it’s a 7:14. Slow it down a little. The sun is shining and it’s quite pleasant, time to dispense with the gloves. Ten years loyal service only to be discarded by the side of the road. No time for sentimentality now, besides they were riddled with holes. Runners from the red start appear on the left, the mile 3 marker must be approaching. A quick mouthful of water at the first water station.3 miles done. A quick look at the watch reveals a sub 7 minute mile. Aaagh, too fast, slow down, slow down. Not this year, not again, I will not cramp up at the side of the road at mile 19, 20 or 21. Slow it down. Look there’s Graham Poll flashing his yellow card at the crowd. He’s not looking too good and still 23 to go. And how is that other guy running the same speed as me AND juggling 3 balls in the air? Miles 4 and 5 are right on target (7:27, 7:23) and there’s the first Lucozade station. Take the pouch and drink the whole thing slowly you’ll need the fuel later. Mostly everyone else is taking a mouthful and discarding them. Hit mile 6 and it’s a slow one, 7:42 what happened there? Maybe it was the tiptoeing through the Lucozade pouches. The Cutty Sark beckons or at least a large boarded area with Cutty Sark under renovation notices everywhere. A few twists and turns and plenty of crowd support here. The sun is quite strong at times beating down on my exposed head. Just a little too warm for my liking.
My pace seems to have settled down. Miles 7, 8, 9 and 10 are all in or around the 7:20s. Some clouds have appeared and its cooler, perfect in fact. I’m feeling relaxed and high five a few kids along the side of the road. At mile 10 I grab another Lucozade and drink it all. Many others seem to be doing the same this time. 7:21 for mile 11 and a 7:19 for mile 12. Tower Bridge beckons, the excitement rises just a little. Turn the corner and there it is in front of me. A magnificent sight and the atmosphere reaches a crescendo. Someone shouts “Come on stragglers!”. I think to myself “What a nerve” we’re not stragglers we’re in the top 20% at least. Then I look at the guy on my right, who has Stragglers Running Club emblazoned across his vest. Smile for the cameras. It’s nice to look good on photographs I’ll later balk at paying extortionate prices for.
Over the bridge and swing east towards 13 miles and on to Canary Wharf. Mile 13 is a 7:17 split and I hit the halfway mark in 1:36:48. I tell myself “this is NOT halfway” it’s merely the end of Section 1. Consolidate through Section 2 (13 – 20 miles) and then and only then will I have reached halfway. I’ve blown up twice in this section of the race but it’s not going to happen this year. The storm clouds mustering up above have erupted and I’m caught in some kind of monsoon. It’s like the Fire Service have turned the hose on me from above. Championship Women are on the other side of the highway at around the 22 mile point. Soon after the elite men fly past apparently wearing rocket skates, or so it seems. I look at my watch and something is wrong. Either I’ve slowed right down or I missed the mile 14 marker. Forget it, gulp down an energy gel and keep on keeping on. Consolidate through section 2. Soon enough I go through the mile 15 marker. The watch says 14:28 for the last 2 miles. A little too fast, ease off.
When will this rain ever desist? Despite the weather the support remains strong in a section that was pretty desolate when I debuted here in 1999. Some twists and turns and a couple of undulations, miles 16 and 17 are clocked in 7:35, 7:34. The next mile is straight and faster at 7:19. 18 miles down, just 2 to go until the halfway point. Many more twists and turns through miles 19 and 20. Now it’s getting hard, splits of 7:42 and 7:35. More Lucozade taken on board at the 19 mile station. The rain has stopped, not sure when that happened, but the miles seem to be getting longer and longer. Anyway, I’ve finished section 2 and reached the mental halfway point. 20 miles in just over 2:28, a sub 3:15 is still on but boy is it going to be tough.
The rain has gone for now but as I turn into the homeward 6 mile stretch there’s a chilling headwind to contend with. I tell myself section 3 is more mental than physical. I avert my eyes from those stopping to walk, or worse lying by the roadside. I make a conscious decision to stop looking at my mile splits for fear of what they might say. 6 miles to go, squeeze everything out but make sure you get to the end. Run on instinct. I start to repeat a mantra in my head to distract my mind from the pain. Inspired by Paula Radcliffe’s New York mantra of “I love you Isla” I create one in honour of my own daughter. It works for a while but it’s not going to last 6 miles. I expand it to include my son. Then I start to countdown the remaining miles 21-22-23-24-25-26, 21-22-23-24-25-26. Finally there’s the 21 mile marker, don’t look at the watch (it was 7:53), gulp down that last gel, 22-23-24-25-26. I’m beginning to suspect 3:15 is starting to slip away but I don’t care just keep it going to the end of the road.
Both hamstrings are now aching. Ignore them, stay upright, swing the arms, and breathe. The mantras in my head are becoming more varied and less effective but there’s mile 22 (7:54). Only 4 miles to go now, just like a little coastal jaunt from the Astley Arms in Seaton Sluice back home to Monkseaton. I’ve done that a hundred times, that’s easy right? These miles are definitely getting longer. The crowds are getting louder and louder. There’s the Tower of London again, almost home, almost home. At last the mile 23 marker appears (7:53). The last Lucozade station and another 330mls of energy to get me home. More and more people are walking now, some need medical attention. Avert the eyes, stay focused. Almost home.
Strangely enough everything seems to be downhill but it doesn’t help. Now my quads are screaming and my right foot has gone totally numb. Just 3 more miles and you never have to do this again I promise myself. This is it, last marathon ever, it’s just too hard. I pass mile 24 (8:07) and the official clock says 3 hours. A couple of sub 7 minute miles and I might still dip under 3:15. “Yeah right”, I laugh to myself. Just keep going. The temptation to stop is now lingering at the back of my mind. Keep going almost home. Now it really hurts, it hurts beyond belief and I’ve slowed right down, runners are passing me in droves. The crowds on the Embankment are amazing but I barely notice them. After what seems like an age I hit mile 25 (9:16) and turn right at Big Ben.
My mantra for the past 2 miles has been “You CAN do it, you WILL do it” but it’s just too long. I trim it to “can do it, will do it”, then “can do, will do”. As the pain hits home suddenly it’s just “CAN, WILL” and it’s no longer going through my head but I’m saying it out loud. Shouting it in fact like some kind of lunatic. I’d walked this last mile the day before. It was quite pleasant then, now it’s like hell on earth. Almost home, keep going. It feels like I’m crawling up Birdcage Walk but I’m still moving and there’s a big sign saying 600 metres to go. I pass it and think to myself just a lap and a half of the track. The negative presence in my mind gets the better of me and I think “ooh that’s a long way in my condition”. I slow down noticeably, someone in the crowd shouts “Come on, sub 3:20 go for it”. It has no effect. I hit the 400m to go sign and magically it invigorates me. Just a lap of the track. I can do that. I gently pick up the pace careful not to overdo it. Then I’m at the 26 mile marker (9:23) or more accurately the 385 yards to go sign. There’s the Palace, come on give it everything you’ve got.
All of a sudden I’m turning the corner onto The Mall and I’m in what feels like a full out sprint for the line. The clock says 3:19:5x, can I go sub 3:20? No, not quite it ticks on by. Just a few more strides, now what were those tips for a great finish line photo?
Yes, hold those arms aloft and smile. Done it! Stop the watch at 3:20:05. Start to walk, I feel a little shaky. I stop to allow an official to cut the chip from my shoe and almost topple over. Medal over the head, pick up goody bag, picture taken, and collect my bag from the bus. The volunteers are fantastically efficient. Time to reflect, no sub 3:15 but no disappointment, just a great deal of pride and satisfaction which not even another hailstorm can wash away. Try again next year? Yes please. Promises made at 23 miles count for nothing.
