Beyond The Chequered Flag.....

The organisation of the London Marathon 2013 was something quite special (it's almost like they've done it before). From the finish line you are instantly channelled down a reception line comprising of.....

• A person on their knees in front of you, worshipping at your very feet; oh, and removing your timing chip.
• Another person - not without its ceremony! - adorning you with an official finishers medal.
• The official finishers photo (all of us looking at our most sweaty and bedraggled; now that will stand resplendent on the mantelpiece of......no one).
• The official finishers pack of goodies, which I already knew contained at least an apple as half my fellow sweatoons were already chomping into theirs 
• Bag pick up. Yes, those pesky lorries which took our belongings away were by some miracle (the miracle of....errr....driving...) waiting for us at the end. By the time I got there they had already spotted my race number and were holding out my bag....such service!!

Yes, I can't deny it; the operation is incredibly slick; and it was only a matter of fifteen minutes before I was peeling off the masking tape (not one hint of joggers nipple, although numerous scorching cases of red-raw tape stickage!), donning my tracksuit, and stood, eating my apple, trying hard and not entirely succeeding at coming to terms with what I had just achieved. Behind me were the bedraggled but exhilarated bodies who just realised that after 26 miles of running they still had to do a bit of walking; with may I say not all of them looking capable of managing it!

I joined this peculiar, shuffling throng of people - if you imagine the scene of a zombie attack in 'The Walking Dead' your imagination won't be too far off! - the next task being trying to find The Royal Society building as it was here that Age UK were stationed with their welcome wagon, as well as where all my scattered supporters were going to converge. Sadly I had lost all memory of where it was, so opted for striking up a conversation with a father and daughter (looking remarkably fresh; did they take a taxi?!) wearing the identical charity vest to mine. The purposeful way they were walking filled me with directional confidence; and even if I got lost, I would not be alone!

As it turned out, I needn't have worried; only a few minutes had passed before a woman's tannoyed voice (who to be honest didn't need the tannoy) boomed out...

'AGE UK......THIS WAY!!!'

And from thence my good people we were led to paradise (okay, it probably wasn't but it felt like it). Our bags were taken from us (don't worry, they were given back afterwards), we were led up a flight of steps and - with envious eyes looking on - vanished into the oh-so-posh surroundings of the Royal Society. I don't think Sir Isaac Newton envisaged its hallowed halls being put to this sort of use!

'Hellooooo theeeere!!!! Congratulations!! How are you feeling?? You've done brilliantly. Here's your finishers pack (another one!); would you like a drink? Don't worry; we'll take your bags and keep them safe here. Could I take your name?'

'Errrrrr, Adrian Blaydon'

'Adrian.....Adrian.......aaaaaah there you are! Now then, the photographer is over there; do you want to do that first, go and grab a beer, or do you want to head downstairs for your massage?'

(What a choice; photo commemorating the greatest achievement of my life to date, guilt free alcohol, or smoothing out my aches and pains. Life really is a bitch sometimes ain't it?)

'I'll grab the photos first and then head down for a massage if that's okay. Oh, I hope you don't mind but I've got some supporters coming along. Could you let them know where I am?'

'Of course, don't you worry; we'll look after them. Actually, there are some people waiting for you already!'

And there, out on the balcony were Alison and Kevin; big smiles, big hugs (and that's just me and Kevin!) and a bit of chatting on the mobile phone with other supporters on their way before I politely excused myself for the fame of a photograph and the comfort of a pair of massaging hands.

Actually, as it turned out; there were TWO pairs of massaging hands!! Looking around I noticed that I was getting the special treatment; the typical ratio being 1:1. Whether it was due to the fact that when I was asked 'what particular parts of your body are hurting' and I said 'everywhere!' I really don't know; but after they had pummelled me for twenty minutes I could have hugged them both....in fact.....looking back I think I might have (sorry if by some slim chance you are reading this....and thank you for your blessed healing hands!). Incidentally it was there; whilst waiting for my massage number to come up, for the first time in well over five hours, that I sat down! Never was something so simple so incredibly welcome.

Heading back out onto the balcony, there was a considerable increase in 'buzz'; with more finishers and more relatives arriving (most of the former opting for a beer rather than a massage.... and who can blame them?!). My own personal buzz, was more of a roar! They were all there: Paul (Brother), Martha (Paul's partner), Dom (brother), Christina (Dom's partner), Clare (sister), Greg (brother), Patricia (sister-in-law), Alejandro (nephew) and Ana (niece). As I discovered later, each athlete emerging into the sun would receive a concentrated cheer from one of the tables, followed by applause from everyone else; but I like to think that my cheer was loudest!

I hope if anything, you've established that I am a positive person; I flatter myself extremely positive. So much of life is a challenge to maintain that positivity; but that whole day, every second of it, every step, was flooded with goodness, culminating in supping a nice cold beer - or four - amongst family and close friends. Even if most of them were not my family or my close friends; they were somebody's! The sort of warmth I felt from sitting there in that atmosphere was not down to the sun. Photos were snapped, stories told (about the nutter with the whiteboard, the guy in the big doll outfit, the journeys my adoring fans made in order to see me....at times just as exciting!), beers drunk, laughs laughed and hugs hugged before the inevitable disbandment of what will hitherto be called 'The Fellowship of the Run'.

As we went our separate ways (me heading back to the car; if only I could remember where I'd bloody well parked it) sure it was a bit sad; but the journey back to my brothers place was a chance to contemplate. I'd actually done it. I'd actually done it. I'D ACTUALLY DONE IT!!!! It is strange to experience a fact which is simultaneously so easy, and so impossible to believe. Texts of congratulation sent from university Gavin, work Mark and the homeward bound members of The Fellowship kept confirming it, my own memory confirmed it, and yet I could still not believe the sheer magnitude of the achievement. I looked down, and there lay irrefutable evidence; the medal still round my neck. Oh yes! 

A shower, a quick chance to inspect the damage - a lot of sunburn, and a few abrasions but other than that, surprisingly unscathed - and slipping into something less athletic; we were off to Café Rouge for the biggest no guilt, binge, pig out, three course, gimme gimme-gimme, yum-yum, scoff-scoff meal I have ever had. After which it was time to play a live TV game of 'Where's Wally'; and when I say 'Wally' I mean me, and the 'scene'? The recorded footage of the marathon start line! As it turned out, it was an impossible game; there were just too many bobbing heads to pick up my slightly balding pate among them; and I wasn't wearing a red and white striped bobble hat. Still; I saw some of the more extravagantly dressed runners that I passed - and regrettably passed me - along the way. Nice memories, and more evidence that I was actually there.

All too soon it was bedtime; the end of a day which felt like a week, and the impending thud of reality.

Monday morning 7:30am I was back in the office.....!