In those many years of couch potatoism, sat on a Sunday morning watching the marathon on tv; I always imagined those last three or four miles being the worst. The most agonising, the most desperate. So close to the goal while at the same time trying to convince the body to keep moving. Energy at an all time low, exhausted like never before. But there, in the tv looking out; I found the experience quite different. Sure I was knackered, everything was hurting and I had long ceased to count the miles (being now reduced to just making it to the next lamp post); but I felt so so SOOOOOOOO good. Yes, you heard me; I felt good! Was I mad?? Well, of course yes; anyone who runs a marathon is clinically insane, but in this particular case there was some method within it.
It went like this. With so little distance remaining there was no way ON THE PLANET I was going to stop now. I had come so far - not just 23 miles, far longer in both distance and time - so whatever was to befall me now (tripping over...leg falling off...extinction life event meteor) was utterly irrelevant. I was going to finish the race.
Now, to realise this before the race was actually over was quite a revelation; to feel a supreme confidence of success before the success was achieved. And what did this mean for me on those remaining miles? what was I doing? what was I feeling? Well that's quite simple.....
.....I was celebrating!!
Okay, I had no energy to punch the air, hell I had no energy to even so much as raise my hands above my shoulders; and yes it hurt....a lot. But don't let that fool you, I was loving every step. The crowds were intensifying, feeding off the atmosphere and contributing to it thousands of times over, making themselves well and truly heard. I honestly could not quite believe what I was seeing and hearing near journeys end. The crescendo building to its incredible - and what I now was sure of, inevitable - climax.
Then comes mile 23-24, and 'The Tunnel Of Yes'. Yes, yes, there was a tunnel of yes; ooooooh yes!! When you explain it as 'just a tunnel where they were handing out bottles of Lucozade with inspirational messages on balloons lining the route' it really doesn't seem like much; but I tell you, it was exactly what we all needed. Helpers yelling us on, spectators booming out their support, and runners exchanging meaningful glances with their fellow exhaustees; every one of us united in two simple words......
......almost.....
......there.....
Then comes the tunnel itself (video below), and the roar of the crowds dies away, leaving only the sound of running shoe on tarmac, and very, very heavy breathing. Weird in the extreme, not to mention the perfect time to break into a sneaky walk, or stop under the pretence of stretching your calves - no one will ever know - but when you start reading those balloons; telling us......
HAVE YOU GOT MORE IN YOU?!!
BE PROUD
ENJOY THE MOMENT
PAIN IS TEMPORARY
KEEP GOING
DIG DEEP
NEVER GIVE UP
GLORY AWAITS
YOU ARE SO CLOSE
......and fatigue?......PEH!!.....what fatigue!!? I was going all the way baby! I will admit to a few tears on reading those messages, but what happened next utterly finished me off. Just as quickly as the crowd noise died away entering the tunnels, we were battered by it coming out; and what a noise. It made what went before seem like a vow of silence. It felt like coming home.
Unfortunately it only felt like it, I still had to run! Regaining focus was impossible; to be honest I didn't want to. Moments like these are rare and fleeting, and may never happen again (and even if I have another crack at the London Marathon, I will never again have a first time), so I drank it in; enjoyed it. Even allowing myself the odd wave and fist-pump.
Mile twenty-five and people around me started getting out their phones; talking to friends and family at the finish, finding out where they would be standing. I thought about doing the same, but was very sceptical of my chances of unzipping arm pouch, getting phone out, dialling number, talking, putting phone back in arm pouch and zipping said arm pouch without a severe case of droppage and multi running shoe-tramplage (see, I'm a runner now, I know all the technical terms!).
Is this really happening? Am I really here and doing this? Have I almost done this or am I going to wake up tomorrow morning nineteen and a half stone again with all of this just a fantasy?
Nope, it was very much real. Twenty-five miles and 385 yards gone - one mile to go - and the distance markers are now counting down the distance remaining, 200 yards at a time. Passing one, I could already see the next one in the distance, beckoning me on; pulling me towards it. 400 yards to go, and the tarmac goes from black to the familiar red; coincided with the first view of Buckingham Palace in all its glory. The final turn down The Mall, and the finish in sight.
Now there are many possible emotions available to a person at the end of a two year long challenge. The person themselves may not necessarily be aware of their own reaction; maybe slightly tearful, maybe sobbing uncontrollably like you've just watched an episode of DIY SOS, maybe cheering, maybe that angry yell of emotional release.....nope......
......I laughed!!
With joy, with amusement, with positivity, with achievement, with relief, with overwhelment (and yes it is a word), with the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Yes, I laughed myself down the mall.....
and......
.....over....
.....the....
....line.
Sunday 19 January 2014
Tuesday 7 January 2014
The Race - Part 4
Focus, breathe, pace, breathe, don't think of the miles, don't count the miles, breathe, pace, focus, don't think of the distance, use the crowd, breathe, lose yourself in the music, don't count the miles, don't think of the distance, breathe, focus, calm, calm, calm, don't count the miles....
Such was the post-halfway mantra. The surge of adrenalin which came from crossing London Bridge wore off at about mile sixteen on the realisation that twenty-six miles minus sixteen miles was still.....a really long way. I tried so hard not to think, because thinking meant thinking about how long there was to go. I tried so hard not to look, because looking meant seeing the mile posts not coming and going fast enough. I tried so hard not to feel, because feeling meant feeling...well. .....pain! Instead I enjoyed the crowd, enjoyed my music, enjoyed the increasingly boisterous AGE UK cheerpoints, and of course my own personal cheering sections dotted en route.
Yep, you've heard it before and you are about to hear it again; the crowd was extraordinary; a limitless source of energy; but it was those people just there for me who gave that extra boost. If it wasn't milking the charity supporters as they yelled out my name by megaphone (and by jingo I milked it until the the udders fell off),it was Paul, Martha, Dom and Christina roaring me on to the finish. Quite superb.
These particular moments, dotted along the course are the ones are not only impossible to forget, they are etched in detail on the memory. They are a strange narrowing of a large world which is already pretty strange (oh yes, he's going off on one again.....strap yourselves in; it's gonna be a bumpy ride!). There you are, one of thousands, being cheered on by hundreds of thousands - utterly brilliant - then suddenly you spot a familiar face in the crowd and your world concentrates itself into that small zone; the bit of atmosphere which separates the two of you. You are no longer being encouraged by strangers, you find yourself rooted for by someone who is sharing more than just this one experience with you. The thousands vanish, and for the brief moment that you come near them, come level with them and then leave them behind; you are the only people cheering, and the only person running. It's real magic.
There were three particularly surprising surprises during the second half. The first was at mile eighteen (and no cheeky, the surprise was not that......I made it to mile eighteen!.....I don't know, you just can't get the readers these days.....). The road narrowed severely at this point, bunching the athletes (love saying that word; athletes....athletes...ATHLETES!!) as well as bringing the spectators in closer. I was very much in the zone, focused; only to see a high-five hand thrust in front of me by Mark Bennett - colleague and technical director at my new company - and then by his wife Amy. They were there supporting Amy's sister, and stuck around to wait for me. As it turned out they didn't have to wait for long! Fives were highed; but by the time I realised whose hands I was slapping I was doing that weird, back-of-the-hand wave as I left them behind. It's great to have family and close friends supporting me, but the unexpected support is arguably even more special. It instantly brought the finish line that little bit closer.
Now you may have noticed that for some time Wee Ali has not been mentioned; enter stage right surprise number two. Okay, the presence of her in the crowd though wonderful, could hardly be called a surprise; but it was the manner of her appearance at mile nineteen that struck me as somewhat spooky! By the time I had reached this point, all knowledge of which friends and family would be cheering where was completely lost on me (to be honest, that happened at mile three, but don't tell anyone will you??!); it was therefore their dubious and nigh-on impossible task of visually combing (how do you do that, surely you would get a prong in the eye?) the runners for me, followed by SCREAMING my name to attract my attention. Unless of course you are Wee Ali; in which case you just stand by one of the barricades and wait for me to come right past!
The chances that I would at that time be on that side of the road - right by the barriers - were pretty slim, but add to that the chances that my wandering, distraction-seeking eyes would meet hers makes the lottery look like a roll of the dice! It was lovely. Fortunately, spotting someone early coupled with marathon pace allows for quite a bit of hand-slapping and cheering (I also dimly recall saying 'well hello there!'; how profound!). I'm not saying that we had time for a mocha and a natter, but it was enough to send me on my way with a skip (metaphorical, I've just run nineteen miles......you want SKIPPING??!). Never was there a loin more girded.
The final, most unexpected and possibly most meaningful encounter came not long after. Approaching the 20 mile marker, and thinking that my final supporter must surely be behind me, with everyone making for the finish line (there's confidence for you; and yes, I am aware that that is ahead of me!), my courage thrown to the sticking place and the final push.......
'Reg.....!!!'
(did I hear someone just yell 'Reg'??? Naaah, must have imagined it)
'REEEEEEEG.......!!'
(no, I distinctly did here someone yelling 'Reg'! I'll just pull my earphones off so I can hear properly)
'REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!'
and there they were; the most unexpected of the unexpected.....a group of my old university pals!!
(Yes, I know what's got your head scratching......Reg?? It's a long story....actually, no; it's quite a short story. A nickname which was given to me at secondary school which I mistakenly leaked to university. It caught on to such an extent that people thought my name really WAS Reg! All I can say is Daniel Nolan of St. Ambrose College, Hale Barns; thank you very much, and you'll get yours!)
There were the people in their thousands you expected to be there, there were the charity supporters who you expected to be there, there were the personal supporters who you knew or hoped would be there, but these guys making the effort to support me was a concept which not once ventured to venture into my mind. Such a massive surprise. I don't mind telling you that the unexpectedness made it quite emotional; and one thing you don't need when every bit of oxygen and fluid is required for leg-pumping, is to get all sniffly and teary-eyed!
After that though, at mile twenty; I really was on my own. The final six miles. The glory. The end of the odyssey. All waiting for me down the Mall. I couldn't possibly fail now could I?........
Such was the post-halfway mantra. The surge of adrenalin which came from crossing London Bridge wore off at about mile sixteen on the realisation that twenty-six miles minus sixteen miles was still.....a really long way. I tried so hard not to think, because thinking meant thinking about how long there was to go. I tried so hard not to look, because looking meant seeing the mile posts not coming and going fast enough. I tried so hard not to feel, because feeling meant feeling...well. .....pain! Instead I enjoyed the crowd, enjoyed my music, enjoyed the increasingly boisterous AGE UK cheerpoints, and of course my own personal cheering sections dotted en route.
Yep, you've heard it before and you are about to hear it again; the crowd was extraordinary; a limitless source of energy; but it was those people just there for me who gave that extra boost. If it wasn't milking the charity supporters as they yelled out my name by megaphone (and by jingo I milked it until the the udders fell off),it was Paul, Martha, Dom and Christina roaring me on to the finish. Quite superb.
These particular moments, dotted along the course are the ones are not only impossible to forget, they are etched in detail on the memory. They are a strange narrowing of a large world which is already pretty strange (oh yes, he's going off on one again.....strap yourselves in; it's gonna be a bumpy ride!). There you are, one of thousands, being cheered on by hundreds of thousands - utterly brilliant - then suddenly you spot a familiar face in the crowd and your world concentrates itself into that small zone; the bit of atmosphere which separates the two of you. You are no longer being encouraged by strangers, you find yourself rooted for by someone who is sharing more than just this one experience with you. The thousands vanish, and for the brief moment that you come near them, come level with them and then leave them behind; you are the only people cheering, and the only person running. It's real magic.
There were three particularly surprising surprises during the second half. The first was at mile eighteen (and no cheeky, the surprise was not that......I made it to mile eighteen!.....I don't know, you just can't get the readers these days.....). The road narrowed severely at this point, bunching the athletes (love saying that word; athletes....athletes...ATHLETES!!) as well as bringing the spectators in closer. I was very much in the zone, focused; only to see a high-five hand thrust in front of me by Mark Bennett - colleague and technical director at my new company - and then by his wife Amy. They were there supporting Amy's sister, and stuck around to wait for me. As it turned out they didn't have to wait for long! Fives were highed; but by the time I realised whose hands I was slapping I was doing that weird, back-of-the-hand wave as I left them behind. It's great to have family and close friends supporting me, but the unexpected support is arguably even more special. It instantly brought the finish line that little bit closer.
Now you may have noticed that for some time Wee Ali has not been mentioned; enter stage right surprise number two. Okay, the presence of her in the crowd though wonderful, could hardly be called a surprise; but it was the manner of her appearance at mile nineteen that struck me as somewhat spooky! By the time I had reached this point, all knowledge of which friends and family would be cheering where was completely lost on me (to be honest, that happened at mile three, but don't tell anyone will you??!); it was therefore their dubious and nigh-on impossible task of visually combing (how do you do that, surely you would get a prong in the eye?) the runners for me, followed by SCREAMING my name to attract my attention. Unless of course you are Wee Ali; in which case you just stand by one of the barricades and wait for me to come right past!
The chances that I would at that time be on that side of the road - right by the barriers - were pretty slim, but add to that the chances that my wandering, distraction-seeking eyes would meet hers makes the lottery look like a roll of the dice! It was lovely. Fortunately, spotting someone early coupled with marathon pace allows for quite a bit of hand-slapping and cheering (I also dimly recall saying 'well hello there!'; how profound!). I'm not saying that we had time for a mocha and a natter, but it was enough to send me on my way with a skip (metaphorical, I've just run nineteen miles......you want SKIPPING??!). Never was there a loin more girded.
The final, most unexpected and possibly most meaningful encounter came not long after. Approaching the 20 mile marker, and thinking that my final supporter must surely be behind me, with everyone making for the finish line (there's confidence for you; and yes, I am aware that that is ahead of me!), my courage thrown to the sticking place and the final push.......
'Reg.....!!!'
(did I hear someone just yell 'Reg'??? Naaah, must have imagined it)
'REEEEEEEG.......!!'
(no, I distinctly did here someone yelling 'Reg'! I'll just pull my earphones off so I can hear properly)
'REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!'
and there they were; the most unexpected of the unexpected.....a group of my old university pals!!
(Yes, I know what's got your head scratching......Reg?? It's a long story....actually, no; it's quite a short story. A nickname which was given to me at secondary school which I mistakenly leaked to university. It caught on to such an extent that people thought my name really WAS Reg! All I can say is Daniel Nolan of St. Ambrose College, Hale Barns; thank you very much, and you'll get yours!)
There were the people in their thousands you expected to be there, there were the charity supporters who you expected to be there, there were the personal supporters who you knew or hoped would be there, but these guys making the effort to support me was a concept which not once ventured to venture into my mind. Such a massive surprise. I don't mind telling you that the unexpectedness made it quite emotional; and one thing you don't need when every bit of oxygen and fluid is required for leg-pumping, is to get all sniffly and teary-eyed!
After that though, at mile twenty; I really was on my own. The final six miles. The glory. The end of the odyssey. All waiting for me down the Mall. I couldn't possibly fail now could I?........