How much further? Surely this is the turn. I’m not sure I can keep going. It’s ok to walk for a bit. Your time doesn’t matter, no-one cares. Focus on momentum. Nearly there now.
Just keep going.
It can feel a bit cliched to talk about running marathons as being a journey – the race itself being a reflection of the build-up, the highs and lows, points where it feels easy and others where you dig deep and find strength you didn’t know you had.
But there’s a reason why those clichés have become so familiar – essentially because they’re true.
First, let’s start with the obvious stuff: running any marathon is an awesome achievement. I’m really fortunate to have been able to finish seven at time of writing, including two goes at London, which makes me incredibly lucky – many people dream of running London once in their life and never have the chance. I appreciate that hunger one hundred per cent and I believe that anyone who has the opportunity to be a part of such an occasion really should appreciate it for what it is and what it means to those who cannot.
Sunday 28th April was my second turn at the 26.2 in London, five years on from my first. It feels like much has changed since 2014 and a lot of water has passed under Tower Bridge – I’d just bought my first bike for £150 (but had no idea how to ride it), Brexit was just a twinkle in a politician’s eye and, to me, running was a brave new world of early mornings, carb-loading and incredibly short shorts.
First time around, London Marathon went better than expected – my time of 3.04.16 on a glorious, sunny, spring day meant I’d just dipped inside the Good For Age (GFA) barrier and would be guaranteed a place in the following two years’ events. What a time to be alive – I was officially ‘good’ at something for the first time in my life and it genuinely felt like I’d achieved something I could be really proud of. What next? Sub-3? More marathons? Maybe even an ultra? Who knows.
The following months were fun – training plans and races came and went, my times continued to creep down and things generally continued to improve. But then 2015 happened – having registered for my return to London, I developed an injury in my left hip which would ultimately force me to stop running and defer my place to 2016.
No problem, we all have injuries from time to time, it’s no big deal, it’ll only be a few weeks and then I can crack on.
Except a few weeks turned into a few months with no sign of improvement. Regular visits to osteopaths, physios and musculoskeletal experts amounted to an extended game of Pin the Tail on the Injury before being told, after 16 months, that it might be time to consider a different hobby.
April 2016 came and went with a second London withdrawal and the disappointment that I’d failed to use the GFA place I’d worked so hard to achieve. That said, it didn’t really feel like it mattered at that point because I was an ex-runner – cycling was my thing now, and that’s fine, vests don’t look good on my anyway.
And then ‘the comeback’ happened. It started with a 4km jog that felt like an eternity, then within a few weeks, my first medal for a 4.2 mile race around a lake. Then a 10k in around 42 minutes and more frequent weekly running. Soon it was a half marathon again – with a surprising sub-90 minute time and all of a sudden, returning to running felt real again. So real, in fact, that I soon found myself booking a slot in Barcelona marathon for 2017 and starting out on a training build-up – all done in secret, of course, no need to put pressure on myself in case it all went wrong.
Except it didn’t – it went pretty well. Barcelona brings out the best in me and it certainly did on that March morning. A warm day in Catalunya, the streets full of passionate support: “Venga! Venga! Animo! Animo!”, and, from nowhere, a new best time (by a whole two seconds), and a return to the GFA club on comeback.
Fast forward to 2018 and, by now a visor-wearing, lake-swimming, fully-fledged triathlete, the spring saw lofty plans for marathon running: first, Rotterdam with the goal being to go sub-3, then the victory lap in London two weeks later, taking it easy and drinking in the day.
Rotterdam didn’t quite go to plan. A quick start on a warm day and all seemed ok, then at around 20k it started to get a bit tough. Pain in the outside of my right knee and unshakeable tightness in my left quad saw me walking by halfway. The final 10k was a grim experience with more walking than running, as I only felt capable of maintaining a stride for about 500m at a time (at a push), but I still finished and I’m still proud of my medal. I remember feeling a real sense of joy at the end of that race, despite the way it played out. Maybe I was just glad it was over!
It turned out the feeling in my quad was a partial tear, so running was a no-no for at least a couple of weeks, throwing London into doubt. I rested up, avoided anything that could stop the healing crossed my fingers, but it wasn’t to be – I deferred my place at the last possible opportunity, so it was another year missed, but not to worry – I’d be there in 2019.
One small detail – just before I deferred my 2018 place, the GFA goalposts moved, so my time of 3.04.14 would no longer have met the criteria. If I wanted to achieve the marque required, I’d need to go sub-3, something that seemed beyond impossible with my Rotterdam time of 3.16 and my two new friends, Torn Quad and Knee Pain. Deferring my 2018 spot meant I was guaranteed a place for 2019, but beyond that, the door was closed, your name’s not on the list.
Fade to April 2019 and it’s that time of year again – London Marathon. No other races planned for spring this time around, not even a 20-miler in preparation (I’d had mixed experiences with this approach to the build-up in the past, so decided to swerve it this time around). I took a deliberately low-key approach and removed the pressure of going for a time – I feel a million miles away from the shape I was in during 2014 and I’m about 5kg heavier, most of which is probably peanut butter or bread.
With no ambitions of a time, the sole aim was just to enjoy the day, savour the occasion and finally use my GFA place.
I’ll spare you the lengthy race report, but here’s the nutshell: I started too fast but felt ok, hung on at a good pace but expected to run out of steam; ran with Elmo for five miles and danced like an idiot through the Redway Runners cheer point; tears ran down my face around Cutty Sark and the sheer number of people on Tower Bridge brought a lump to my throat; I clung on for dear life in the final 10k and had to walk through one water station for about 10 seconds.
Under the underpass and back into the daylight. Big Ben in the distance and huge crowds all along Embankment, flags fluttering in the breeze and strangers cheering you on, shouting your name. Take the right turn onto Birdcage Walk and then it’s downhill. Under the trees of St James’s Park and into the final kilometre, but it feels like an eternity between each of the distance boards: 800m to go, 600m to go. Another right turn and Buckingham Palace is suddenly visible, right in front of you – fountain and golden statue first. A final right turn and onto the mall, with seats to your right and the finish gantry in sight so finally you can celebrate. Arms in the air – if you can find the strength – but make sure you finish well (think of the photos!) and make it to the line.
A glance up at the clock as the red tarmac passes beneath your feet and suddenly it all feels real. The day that was all about just enjoying the day has suddenly seen you re-draw your personal boundaries and a new PB is yours. You cross the line, stop your watch and it’s over – you’ve made it. A quick thank you to Mum and Dad and the realisation the after five years of ups, down, pains and missed opportunities, you’ve finally done it – you want to cry with the emotion, but there’s no tears – probably dehydration.
You take a look down at the medal and it’s yours – you earned it. Drink in the moment and make sure you remember all those that preceded it: the chill in the air at the start, meeting someone from my home town in the yellow assembly pen, the steel drums, the ‘pain is just French bread’ sign, receiving a bottle of water when you were blocked out of an aid station, spotting Steve’s running vest nailed to an umbrella, the Tower Bridge cheer squad, meeting a triathlon hero after the finish, eating all the M&Ms. Every single, wonderful second.
An incredible day that went beyond all my expectations and it’s clear as crystal, saved in my memory, exactly as I’d hoped.