I went onwards to London last Saturday for
charity run number 3, the
world's biggest marathon.
I expected registration on Saturday to be stressful, and it was. Unlike other events, where your bib number is posted to you beforehand, for this one they posted out kitbags. You then had to drop these off at the
ExCeL Centre, choose your finishing t-shirt, register and collect your number. Supposedly this was for covid reasons, to reduce the crowding of thousands of people together on race day. If so, it was a miserable failure. All it did was move the crowd
indoors and a day earlier. Social distancing was impossible; you just had to trust a combination of luck, vaccinations and the requirement for everyone to have a negative lateral flow test in the two days beforehand. I suspect the real reason for this bizarre set-up was to influence people to buy stuff at the ExCeL's marathon show. I didn't go to the show. I was sufficiently freaked out, by the crowds on the Tube and while waiting in various queues for an hour, that I just wanted to get out as soon as possible.
After that, it was back to
my hotel in Canary Wharf, where I'd literally only had time to check in, drop my bags and go, for a more chilled evening and an early night before the big race. The 18-mile marker was just outside the entrance, giving a taste of things to come. The weather was absolutely chucking it down, thankfully
not giving a taste of things to come.
I woke as dawn was breaking on a crisp, dry and chilly morning - near perfect running conditions again (I've been so lucky with the weather across all three events!). After a sensible, carb-oriented breakfast (must resist having lots of bacon and sausages...), I hopped onto the DLR to Greenwich and made my way through the park to the start line. I was in the green starting zone, which was the smallest of the three, and had less of the excitement than the red zone, where all the TV cameras were. It was cold, waiting to begin, and I was glad I'd brought a foil blanket with me. It was nice to chat with other runners during the long, last-minute queue for the loos and while waiting in our holding area. I spoke with those hoping to go sub-3h30m, those doing their first or fifth marathon, and found myself stood behind the start line next to
six people about to break a world record, dressed as Colin the Caterpillar. I love the dichotomy between all the different stories and challenges people have set themselves, and the way running events are such a communal, shared experience. Mind you, everyone in our holding area exclaimed, "What!?" at the guy being interviewed on the big screen for
running 48 marathons in 30 days. That's just ridiculous!
As with the
Great North Run, the wave starts and absence of spectators at the start line meant it didn't feel like a huge moment. I was mostly just eager to get going (and get warmed up!). It was fairly big though, being called forward with 1,000 other participants, hearing the airhorn, then all crossing the line in our three-minute window. The mass start times were spread over two hours, rather than six, as they had been in Newcastle, making for a much busier start. For all the chaos of Saturday, the organisation on the day itself was faultless, so full credit and thanks to all the organisers and volunteers (who, of course, I thanked along the way). Marshalling the runners, helping people cross the roads around us, manning the drinks and energy stations - all of these were vital jobs. Even if the road around the Lucozade hand-outs did feel rather too much like trying to run on the floor of
the Roxy disco.
The early part of the run was all about not charging off too quickly and finding a comfortable pace. Easy enough, though it was tempting to go speeding ahead during the downhill mile 3. Greenwich, for the most part, looks like a residential part of any major city - normal roads, lined with houses, shops and the occasional park. It was easy to forget this was the London Marathon. Also, the 12-year-old me enjoyed sniggering at the marshalls stood either side of every speed bump, shouting "Hump!" enthusiastically and repeatedly as a warning.
As we merged with the red zone starters at the end of mile 3, the numbers grew and it began to feel more like a major event (I couldn't resist shouting, "Come on, you reds!" when they first emerged on the other side of the carriageway, divided from us "greens" and "blues" for a short stretch by the barrier). Then, just past the 10k mark, came the first iconic London Marathon moment - the tight loop around three sides of the
Cutty Sark. The crowds here were enormous and gave everyone great support. If you want to know why mass running events are addictive, think about having thousands of people lining the streets, cheering you on. It was like that all the way around (easily the equal of the Great North Run), but nowhere moreso than there at the Cutty.
Almost as if it's the world's biggest parkrun, a marathon is mostly "a run, not a race". The camaraderie and support all the runners give to each other is fantastic. It may be different for the very elite, but us mass runners are mainly focussed on our own run, rather than jostling for position. Every one of us know how much training needs to go into running this distance and have enormous respect for one another. Especially so for those taking on the extra challenge of running in fancy dress. Those runners attract more attention from the crowds, but you can't begrudge them any of it - it's hard enough running 26.2 miles in clothes designed for running in; doing it in a bulky, hot and heavy costume isn't something I'd want to do. As well as the aforementioned Colin, along the way I saw a rhino, an elephant, a stormtrooper with a feather boa, a tractor, a bride and groom pairing, a three-legged pairing, Spider-Man, Batgirl and a giant brain. You cheer them all on, just as much as the crowds do. As I and a couple of other runners passed a guy clomping along in full ski boots. As one, we did a double-take and complimented him, "Well done, mate!" As the event's tagline says, #WeRunTogether.
Beyond the Cutty, the next few miles were uneventful and I got properly set into my rhythm. This wasn't a run I needed to think particularly hard about. There weren't the constant undulations of the Great North Run, or the massive uphill slog of the
Sheffield Half. This was mostly flat all the way. It was just a case of finding a comfortable pace I felt I could keep up forever (the distance is too far to be thinking "Well, I can push for
this long before I start to tire) and making sure I broadly stuck to it. This was quite easy given the number of other runners to pace against, and I found myself slipping into something of a zen-like state. Beyond that, the sum total of my strategy involved regular sips of water and energy bars after 15k and 30k. A shorter run, such as a 5k or 10k is all about speed and managing your heart rate/breathing; a marathon is all about going the distance and managing your energy/hydration levels and your legs. Every mile and every kilometre of the course was marked out (most events mark out either one or the other), which provided plenty of markers to reassure us all we were making continuous progress. I kept reminding myself, £17 per km - that's how much money I was raising for charity, and it seemed like a pretty good deal. I was definitely achieving something here. Thank you once again to everyone who has sponsored me over these events.
The biggest progress marker of all was
Tower Bridge. I knew it was coming up, from passing the 12-mile marker, but it was still quite something to turn the corner and see the road stretching up to it. It was the only really noticeable uphill on the entire course, but the sight of the bridge gives you such a boost, you don't care. The crowds were in full force here too, and running across such a landmark was just as iconic a sporting moment as crossing the Tyne Bridge had been in Newcastle. In London, the bridge has the added significance of meaning you're nearly at the halfway point. This was one of the most exciting bits of the course - in quick succession, you run over the bridge, past
the Tower of London, join a mile-and-a-half stretch of watching elite runners passing in the other direction (the fast club athletes, by the time I got there; the Olympians were long gone!), and hit the halfway point.
After that, it was into the winding slog around Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs. Not that it was terrible, but this was definitely the least fun part of the course. You lose track of where you are, it goes on for seven miles before you rejoin the carriageway in the other direction, and this is the point in the run when you're starting to seriously tire. And I had to run past my hotel, knowing I still had eight miles to go until the finish line. This whole section was not helped by (a) the sun starting to beat down hard - thank heaven for the shade from tall buildings; or (b) my Garmin watch losing GPS position - curse you, shade from tall buildings! The resulting garbage pace information (16min/km one minute; 3min/km the next - Go home, Garmin; you're drunk!) made it harder to concentrate and stick to my pace. But I got through that long section, and the 32k marker was another significant psychological boost - just over 10k to go and, unlike
my previous marathon two years earlier, I was still going strong at this point. Don't get me wrong. It was hard work, I was tired and ready for it to be over soon, but I was still running well. I hadn't had to stop or walk so far and it was around this point I set myself the target of keeping that going until the finish line.
At 37k, I passed that all-important "only a parkrun to go" moment and entered
very familiar London territory. There wasn't just an arbitrary distance to the finish line any more; it was a route I knew well. (Well, perhaps not running through Blackfriars Tunnel, but generally.) This was the first and last moment during the run that I had a serious think about my finishing time. Having established I wasn't going to break sub-3h45m (a possible goal I had going in), but nor was I going to be slower than 4h, unless anything went badly wrong in the last stretch, I dismissed such thoughts again and just concentrated on making it to the end without breaking stride. Others were slowing around me at this point. I tried to encourage them along where I could, but I was too tired to shout very much.
Along the Embankment, past the 25-mile marker - I could feel the end was near as I passed the corner of Westminster Bridge and
Big Ben, 1,200m to go... Up past Whitehall, along Birdcage Walk and alongside
St James's Park - it's just name-dropping landmarks at this point. This was it, the third and final big iconic section (after Cutty Sark and Tower Bridge) leading up to the finish. The signs marked 600m to go... 400m to go... I rounded the corner past
Buckingham Palace (noting the Union Jack flying; Her Maj wasn't in!) and saw the finish up ahead. I got a boost from hearing the announcer talking about everyone coming in now achieving a finish in under 4 hours. It was in the bag at this point and I didn't have the energy for a sprint finish. Along with a couple of others, I spread my arms wide, soaked up the atmosphere and let myself relax a little, just enjoying cruising the final straight up The Mall and across the line. A finish time of 3h52m26s. I'll happily take that.
I paused for a selfie (getting out of the way of a runner dressed as a tree, who was doing the same), collected my kit bag, then went to join the park full of runners collapsed on the ground, to rest my weary legs, have a snack and a drink, and catch up on messages - lots of good luck messages from friends and family, as well as congratulations from those who'd been following my progress online. In my goody bag, as well as the extra layer and food items I'd added, there were much-needed bottles of Lucozade and water, a hefty finisher's medal and the brightest finisher's t-shirt I've ever earned. It'll certainly be handy if I go jogging at night and need to be seen... from orbiting satellites.
Eventually I struggled back to my feet. This was hard. I gave the corporate stalls a miss, but cheered on the people who were still running as I made my way back to the Tube. Having been lucky with the weather so far, the heavens now opened for a brief deluge. I got wet, but mainly felt sorry for those still out on the course. It felt nice to be treated like royalty by the Underground staff - a finisher's medal got you a "Well done!" and free passage through the barriers. Random passers-by also paused to congratulate anyone wearing a medal. There were still runners passing by my hotel when I got back, and the sun was out again, so I stopped to cheer them on before retiring to my room. The remainder of the day saw me attending to my aching body, phoning Mum and Dad, taking advantage of the hotel pool and sauna (Bliss!) and staggering out as far as Nando's for food replenishment. After which I went to bed at quarter to nine and slept for ten hours.
I felt stiff and sore on Monday morning, but triumphant. I made further use of the pool and sauna, and was able to make
full use of the breakfast offer, without having to worry about running. There were several other runners staying in the hotel, so lots of mutual congratulations and swapping notes on how we'd done (a near clone of Dave R had run it in under 3h30m). I checked out, popped briefly into our London office to pick up my new security pass for work (None of my colleagues was in) then joined the queue for medal engraving outside the New Balance shop on Oxford Street.
I was expecting to have to wait, but I spent almost as long waiting as it took to run the marathon. I'm not even exaggerating; I was stood in line for about 3h45m. Not what your legs need the day after running 26.2 miles. Luckily it was a fine day and I had a book to read (thank you, Stephen Fry!) but still, had I known it would take that long, I probably wouldn't have bothered. The people doing the engraving were lovely and friendly, but there really needed to have been more than two of them. Negative marks for post-event organisation, just as with the pre-event arrangements. As a result, I missed the last super off peak train back by about 20 minutes, and spent 3 hours waiting around Kings Cross - St Pancras. I bought books, beer and pasta to pass the time, and eventually made it home around a quarter to ten. I was very glad I'd booked the following day off work as well.
Despite such occasional setbacks, it had been a triumphant trip. And let's not forget I wasn't just doing this for the challenge, but to raise funds for the National Autistic Society. My
sponsorship page remains open for anyone who still wants to donate - I know some people have qualms about donating until after the event ;o)
What next? London has given me greater confidence in running marathons, so I doubt it will be my last. At York, I started too fast, hit "the wall" around 30k and half-limped to the end. I made none of those mistakes this time around and kept running throughout, at
a satisfyingly consistent pace. Yet my finish time was around 2 minutes slower than York. Did I err the other way, and pace myself too cautiously? I feel I've got a sub-3h45m in me; I only need to shave off 11s/km. Not next year though, as I want a break from marathon training over the summer. Maybe in 2023...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
