London Marathon 2014

In many ways, London marathon didn’t go quite as I expected. I wanted to run 3:30 – 3:35. I finished in 4:19. I wanted to love it and come back year after year, but I finished not wanting to run London ever again. I wanted to qualify for Boston, instead I’ve fallen out of love with the idea of big city marathons.

In terms of my result, I don’t know what went wrong. I could say it was too hot, but I’ve run faster marathons on hotter days. I could say that injury interrupted my training and left me under prepared, but I’ve run faster marathons off less training. Or I could say that I went off too fast and paid for it later on, but I’ve run faster for longer in this build-up.

For the first three miles I ran with Cat and Cathy, two speedy runners who went on to have a great race. But by mile 5 I was seriously considering dropping out – something that has never happened to me in a marathon before and something that shouldn’t be happening at mile 5. I stopped at mile 7 when I saw Phil and as soon as I stopped running I felt dizzy and sick. He encouraged me on with some of my own advice: “If you’re finding it hard, just slow down.”

My mum and dad were waiting at mile 10. They’d made a banner and caught the early train down to the race. I couldn’t drop out before seeing them. So I started running again. Two pace groups had gone past me while I stopped and now I was stuck at a pace my legs didn’t want to run at. They wanted to run faster, even if the rest of me disagreed.

The crowds, enthusiastic in their support were, at times, overwhelming. On a good day, maybe they’d have spurred me on but I wanted the wall of sound to quieten down. But there was no respite.

I made it to my parents and their banner and stopped again. My mum offered me jelly babies which I tried to eat and then had to spit out because I felt sick. They told me they’d see me at mile 18, but I was sceptical that I’d make it that far.

supporters

Katie and Liz were my next stop at mile 12. Despite how I was feeling I was still smiling and waving, and they seemed confused when I stopped and shouted at me: “keep running.” They’d run 39 miles together the previous week, I couldn’t argue with them after just 12.

At the next corner we turned onto Tower Bridge – it’s a scene I’ve seen year after year on the TV and being part of it was like stepping into a film set. The crowd were loud and I looked around and tried to soak it in. I knew by this point that I didn’t want to run London again, so I’d made it my mission to finish it.

I saw Phil and my parents a couple more times in the second half. I ran into Anne Marie around mile 16 who was running London for the third time and who told me: “Yes, it’s always this busy” as elbows jabbed us from every angle and water bottles flew past our faces at drinks stops.

At mile 21 a kid handed me an ice pop and eating it kept me busy for a while. I ran a 8:47 mile – maybe there was nothing wrong with my legs and it was all in my head. Every time I stopped to walk or talk to one of my supporters a man called Dave, naked other than his running shoes and a blue thong, ran past me. The crowd went mad for Dave and his naked buttocks and became deafening, so I’d try to run away from him through the crowd.

I overtook and was overtaken by the guy trying to set the world record for the fastest marathon dribbling a football. Come on legs, I had to at least finish in front of him.

Every time I started running again there was no space to settle into a rhythm. People were walking three abreast and there was no way to avoid constant speeding up and slowing down.

At mile 22 the London City Hash House harriers had a beer stop. They handed me half a pint of warm beer which I downed to calls of “On on.” And on I went. Through the last tunnel where there was some respite from the crowds. Down the Embankment which I’ve run many lunchtimes over the years dreaming of the day I’d run it as part of this race. Past one of my running group who’d come to support me with her own sign. Past my colleagues with whom I’d cheered on runners from our cheer point for the past four years and, eventually, after a long day of running, over the finish line.

Yesterday wasn’t my day and London wasn’t my race. But there will be others. Thanks to my supporters, without whom I wouldn’t have made it past mile 5.