There are certain images which are classed as iconic. You know, those pictures which immediately come to mind; summing up a place, a person, an event or an.........utterly barmy undertaking. For the London marathon many would think it would be the finish line down the Mall, just past Buckingham Palace; for me though it's the halfway point....and Tower Bridge!!! Whether it's the impressive structure, it's significant location along route, or even the poor unfortunate tv reporters whose job it is to simultaneously accost and interview breathless runners as they jog by......
"So!.....you're halfway!.....BRILLIANT!!.....how are you feeling??!"
"How the hell do you think I am feeling you great prune??!! I'm KNACKERED!!!!!"
......it is a spectacular sight to see the thon.....errr.....throng of thousands (now a thong of thousands would be interesting) streaming over it; but at the risk of sounding smug I can say that the runners-eye view is even much more better spectacularer.
It will come as a surprise to you to know that arrival at this awesome landmark came as something of a surprise to me! I mean, we could all see it in the distance on the approach; but with a mile to go you are suddenly plunged into dense city (density?) where all that can be seen is the road ahead, and buildings on either side. Time and yards tick on, and no bridge.
A slightly manic voice resonated in the back of my mind..."where the heck is it??" Even to the point of wondering whether one could have negotiated it without noticing; thereby indicating that I was clearly more tired and delirious than I currently thought! Surely it's kind of hard to miss; in that it's.....well.......A BLOODY BIG BRIDGE!!!!
I needn't have worried, a left turn and there it was, suddenly and shockingly revealed in all its utter, stunning and stonking (yes, I have run out of adjectives to such an extent that I am now using a word like 'stonking') glory. The murmur of supporters all at once became the cacophony of thousands, battering us all with their reverberating crossfire of cheers. There were the towers, there was the half-way point, and let's not forget the ridiculously powerful feeling of running down the middle of a road usually teeming with stationary traffic (I felt like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon....without the Kalashnikov)! This iconic image of which I realised I was now a part. I LOVED IT!!!! AND mi lud, for those of you suspecting I am now looking at things through rose-tinted running shoes I would like to submit as evidence exhibit A ('photos of me running across Tower Bridge') just down and to the right a bit. The idiotically wide smile on my face says it all my friends. I still get goose bumps, misty eyes and that excitedly wobbly feeling in my tumbly wumblies just thinking about it. I was there, I did it!
For several miles after that I felt no pain; I just soaked up the warmth of the sun, the warmth provided by the constant stream of enthused spectators, the warmth of those oh so recent memories of Tower Bridge, and the warmth of knowing that from this moment I had turned the metaphorical corner, and was heading home. I was no longer counting the miles run, I was counting down the miles remaining!
My cup was most certainly half full.
That said, I knew that every degree Celsius of this warmth would be needed. I knew what was to come. All my research confirmed that crowds thinned out around Canary Wharf with it's impressive but unforgivingly stern architecture, and although the finish was getting ever nearer, that also meant that the mileometer was increasing; AND let's not forget the longest I had EVER run was nineteen miles. I was heading into the hardest part of the entire journey - all two years of it - full of uncharted territory.
I couldn't fail now could I??
