Before… Crossing Tower Bridge at 13 miles
Well, that was quite hard. Once again I’ve learned you can train all you want, have a realistic target time in mind, and things can still not go quite right on marathon day. My heart sank at the heat of the sun as I walked from Greenwich station to the start, and it was only 8.30 a.m. Yes, It wasn’t as hot as 2007, but when you’ve done your long runs in the cold it was still darned uncomfortable in the upper teens.
Anyway, I began in high spirits – it’s impossible not to be excited by the music and noise of the crowds. At mile 2 I sang along to Robbie Williams ‘Angels’ with my fellow runners, and bounced along to ‘Come on Eileen’ at 4. I kept an eye on my watch and my mile times were roughly what I planned. It was lovely to see my cousin and his family at 5 miles and my own with Dani and children at 6, with other friends and their jelly babies at 12.
My leg cramp-avoidance strategy was not to drink any water, only sports drink, but at around 15 miles I worried I’d missed the Lucozade station. I was thirsty and desperate enough to pick up a discarded, sticky bottle – to the horror of a race official who almost slapped it out of my hand. He told me the station was half a mile ahead. Phew, and gaargh…What was I thinking?!’ A little further on, African drummers boomed in an underpass – I felt every beat in my chest which gave me a shot of energy.
My family was a welcome sight at 16 miles, but I was annoyed to find my wooded comfort break spot at 17 had been fenced off since 2009. Undeterred, I climbed the railings to avoid the portaloo queues. An absence of embarrassed dog walkers was an unessential bonus. At that point, I just couldn’t have cared less.
Around 18-19 miles I started getting tearful. My maths went to pot and at 19, I was thinking ‘I can’t run another 9 miles…’ My spirit a little broken, I began to walk and run. ‘Fast as you can to the traffic lights, then you can walk for a bit..’ I told myself. I counted to 100, repeatedly. The rhythm helped, and concentrating on what number came next helped block out the voice that was trying to say, ‘Stop! You bloody fool!’ Sometimes I said the odd numbers aloud, sometimes the even. Even in my long distance running delirium I knew I must have seemed a little mad.
I had a strange stomach pain around 22 miles (ruptured kidney/ovary/hernia, obviously – drama queen…moi?) and a fellow runner led me to the St John’s ambulance people who were all for sitting me down and wrapping me in a foil blanket. I lost a couple of minutes, but decided no pain was going to stop me from finishing. I didn’t spot my family at 22 miles but I did see another friend at 23.
Things were getting ugly. I thought I would throw up if I tried another jelly baby or slug of Lucozade, but the support from the crowds was incredible. It’s impossible to overstress the difference it makes when someone uses your name and calls out something encouraging. Still, it was a struggle in that heat, and with the stomach pain. I never got the abysmal leg and foot cramps of the previous two marathons (thank you, mega doses of calcium and a total water-drinking ban) but I’d used far too much energy acknowledging every single ‘Come on, Geves!’ and just staying cool.
I ran (in between sobs) past Buckingham Palace and down the Mall, but it was not a glorious finish. When I had my medal, I sat on the ground and cried (in between gulps of water and bites of muesli bar) while I contemplated the disappointment of 5 hours and 3 minutes.
Anyway, enough. I had a 25-minute window for the time I wanted/could expect. I couldn’t have trained or prepared better than I did so although it was the end of that window, it was at least IN the window, and I should be content with my time. Hey, it was a personal best by five minutes after all! And I’ve raised nearly £4000 for Child Bereavement UK, which brings our fundraising total since we lost Juliette to just over £25,000. My little girl had been with me every step, particularly over the tough final “9” miles. “Count, Mummy..” I heard her say.
I suppose it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but I know I can run 26 miles in under 5 hours… and I could JUST be recovered for the Halstead marathon in three weeks time…
After…. a few yards from the finish The medal, after a bowl of pasta and some prosecco