At this time last week my feet had swollen, my thighs were tight and my stomach wished it was somewhere else, although the majority of its contents were.
I had just finished my 3rd London Marathon, and without a doubt my worst marathon to date. It all started so positively, I came into the race in arguably the best condition that I have been in for long distance running and although I had not stated it publicly I was more than confident of going sub 4:45 for the first time.
Sporting a lovely new haircut, which I would later regret, purple iScout vest and a dozen kneckers that I had collected from around the country and abroad I was in the mood to join in with the carnival atmosphere which started on the train from New Cross.
Fast-forward an hour to 10:00 and I was crossing the start line. Given the forecast was for an overcast showery day, we were treated to glorious sunshine, which is certainly what the spectators wanted and they responded by coming out in their thousands.
The first 7 miles were very easy and it was nice to run past the renovated Cutty Sark. It was also very nice to see a number of Scouts, either helping hand out the water or informing runners of obstacles in the road, even nicer to see them when you are running as a Scout.
From mile 8 it all started to go downhill when I my stomach started to feel a little suspect. I put it down to going a little bit too fast than I had planned for and slowed down accordingly. Mile 9, still feeling sick but I had been boosted by spotting my parents in the crowd.
Mile 10, legs feeling very good and a sub 4:30 time was on the cards, however that was not to be after I suddenly had a very urgent need to be sick and fortunately reached a piece of pavement where there were no spectators in the immediate vicinity before being quite violently sick. There are a few things that you do not want to happen in a marathon, being sick, especially before you have even hit halfway is one of those things.
From mile 10 onwards it was not about battling against the clock, but instead a battle to complete the course. Tower Bridge, what is meant to be one of the most memorable moments of the marathon turned out to be a very depressing one as despite all the crowd encouragement I could not break into a run without being sick again. It is very hard to listen to the crowd telling you to keep moving when all you can do is raise a hand of thanks and trudge on.
The miles up to mile 21 were slow and frustrating. Dehydrated I could barely manage to get a few sips of water down before it came up again. More miles passed, more conversations with some fellow strugglers, everyone wants everyone else to do well. Mile 22 and the immediate need to vomit was passing which meant there was a possibility of some gentle running. Checking my watch and I was somehow still on with an outside chance of a pb, albeit one that I by this stage did not want. Mile 23 and gentle running had turned into a good pace.
Mile 24, saw my parents one final time, perfect timing as I was craving some jelly beans which they provided me with. Mile 25, everything that had gone before seemed an eternity ago, and just as well, this is where all the official photographers start to pile up (there are some half decent ones here).
Mile 26, there is no better feeling than when you pass the 26 mile mark in a marathon, with the finishing line in sight you find something extra and manage what constitutes a sprint to cross the finishing line.
Final time 5:36:52 – 8 minutes outside my pb, over an hour outside where I wanted to be.
Highlight – Getting round
Low point – Everything between miles 10 and 21
Best crowd comment – On walking back to my house, one kid outside ask ‘Are you running in the Olympics?’ closely followed by a comment early on in the race ‘Nice hair, you look like Freddie Mercury’
Next Year? – You bet!
There is still time to donate to STEPS or Alsager Scout Group
