London Marathon update. 

It’s been a few weeks since the London Marathon but the memories have not faded as they are now indelibly embossed on my soul. It’s been a while as the trauma took a while to get over, as I was pretty knackered after it.

The training didn’t quite go to plan as my longest run was a full 5 weeks before the event instead of 2. My big mistake in training was to fall behind schedule and then do a big jump to try to catch up, this caused a few issues which left me unable to complete long runs effectively. Don’t try to be a hare when a tortoise will suffice! Add in yet another bug from the kids and I was starting to feel quite apprehensive about the big day.

Still, I had done some running and had even bought some new trainers, which were an illunimous bright orange. My wife assumed they were in the sale, but they were the only ones that suited my odd feet. Buying them 8 weeks before the event was better late than never but still poor planning.

On the race weekend, I boarded the coach with some very lean and keen-looking runners, who were excited about going. They had clearly done the miles, as they were oozing confidence, thankfully they were a really friendly bunch, giving great tips such as don’t zoom off at the start.

Race day thankfully dawned sunny and cool. I put on my newly purchased thick marathon socks and boarded the coach. We were dropped off at silly o’clock and the super keen runners rapidly dispersed as I tried to organise myself. A while later I decided using the new super thick marathon socks was probably not a great idea so looked for my regular ones……which I had left on the coach. Oops.

After what seemed to be an age of hanging around and nervously chatting to fellow masochists the 4 hour target group was allowed to start just before we froze in the biting wind of Black Heath.

Being a fully committed and professional runner I was probably the only one in my pen without a sports watch. Why bother with the extra weight when you have staff in the form of pacers with flags on their backs to do the pacing for you. In reality I hadn’t fixed the strap on mine. So my only task was to stay with the pacer and get round.

“Don’t get excited at the start”  the Poole runners had told me, “pace it, start slow”. Off we went, all smiles, some of joy, some of those awaiting their fate. The streets were already busy, lined with supporters, sound systems, families waving and cheering.

All was good…..until 500 metres in, I hadn’t even got out of the park when I realised my shin was tightening.  I immediately knew that I hadn’t tightened my laces properly, 3 hours of hanging around and I hadn’t checked, what a doughnut. So I had to run fast to get ahead then tie the left one up and run fast again to catch up with the flag that was disappearing ahead of me. I was still fresh then, so I managed it without too much stress. Great… I then realised all that nervous sipping of water before the start and the long hanging around meant that I needed to pee. I was now pretty annoyed with myself and had to do the same again. So much for pacing.

Anyway, we worked our way through south London taking in the noise and smells (mainly cannabis) of the crowd. For the first 6 miles, I felt good and was flying past people, admittedly they were carrying ironing boards and fridges or running backwards, as you do.

Then at mile 9, things started to feel tired as that was the distance that I had run the most. Uh Oh. By Tower bridge (shortly after taking Evil Kinevill and his cardboard motorbike on the inside of a corner) I was wishing it would stop, only 14 miles to go! I struggled my way through Docklands searching through my belt for the Paracetomol and now only half-heartedly high-fiving the kids in the crowd. The feet plodded on and the game of trying to stay with the pacer began. The demons started to tempt me to walk and the torment started.

By mile 16 I was really having to focus on the generosity of those who donated and the reason I was putting myself through this pain. Eventually, we came out of Docklands and turned for home. “Only” 8 miles to go. At this point the whole thing became overwhelming and at mile 21 I had an emotional moment. The noise from the crowd and sound systems at Limehouse hit you like a Tsunami and I’m not ashamed to say it, tears welled up. I was exhausted by this point but somehow managed to keep going helped by comparing my progress with those on the other side of the road who were still 6 miles behind me. When I had been there previously those ahead were really racing, now I was one of the faster ones except I was probably closer to shuffling.

Finally, the muscles decided it all got too much and at Tower Hill I ground to a walk. The pacer went past, it was now decision time. Keep walking and live with the thought of what could have been or swear at yourself like a drill sergeant and man up. I apologise to anyone who was present at the side of the road as some of the pep talk came out. Just 5 miles to go.

Thankfully Tower Hill is a hill, all 8 metres of it. What shuffles up must come down. I changed my gait to a loping zombie and pressed on. My pace picked up and I ran again…briefly, then shuffled, then ran, then shuffled, then ran some more. You get the idea. 3 miles to go, will that bloody wheel ever get closer.

By now the crowd were hitting 90 decibels, it was a painful but surreal dream turning into Parliament square just over a mile to go. The pacer had gone, all was lost, goodbye 4 hours.

All I could think was the faster you go, the sooner it ends, death or glory. Ok, maybe a bit dramatic, but by this point your brain is addled. I started to run faster, 1k to go, faster, 600M, a bit faster, Bucks Palace, it was about 4 hours since I had sprung across the start line, maybe there was still a chance I could do it.

The thought of never running again ever spurred me on and I went for it, it was now glory or cramp lying in a heap on the Mall in front of hundreds of people and the cameras of the BBC.

Thankfully I made it to the line before my legs went ping, relief washed over me, then elation followed closely by tears, I was so glad it was over.  My legs immediately seized up and I hobbled past the smiley lady who placed a medal over my neck. Then another who gave me water. My phone pinged and I had done a time. What was it? Bugger, what was it? I couldn’t read it as I didn’t have my glasses.

At that moment my sister rang and congratulated me, informing me that I had gone sub 4 hours. Woohoo. I smashed it by a whole….. 6 seconds. I started to think maybe I could do it again and faster, I still thought that a week later, now I think I might retire from Marathon running, quit while you’re ahead. That seems to be a good idea considering it took 4 days to be able to walk downstairs without grimacing.

All in all though, it was a great event. So the take away from that is no matter what your goals are with exercise you will have the same ups and downs as a marathon runner but stick with it, you can do it. It’s a journey.

One final thing, the fund raise in total exceeded £6100 but sadly Gary passed away before the race. A large part of that figure was raised from his family and friends following his passing,  but probably £3000 was raised from patients and my friends.

So I’d like to say again a massive thanks to those who helped to spur me on through your generosity, it’s the only reason I managed to keep running.

Thanks so much.

Steve Oldale