0-6 miles
On finally reaching the start line there was a log jam of people queueing up to high-five with Greg Rutherford and Nicola Adams. I would like to publicly apologise to them both for not doing the same. They are fantastic athletes, who have achieved a quite extraordinary feat; but to be honest Greg and Nic, at the time I had a lot on my mind and slapping the hand of a gold medallist was on my list of 'might be nice if I passed them in the middle of Bury precinct - in fact if that happens I'll buy you a coffee - but not today' items.
The hills started pretty much straight away, as did my fellow runners who went careering of like idiots. On reflection I probably went off a bit fast aswell; swept along by the euphoria of cheering fans, the Tyne Bridge, the various cameras positioned around the course making us all act like waving (not drowning, yet!) crazies, and the sign about six minutes in saying 'don't worry Mike, only 12.5 miles to go!!' (that made me laugh). The distance markers were pretty confusing too, and I got a bit of a nasty surprise on realising the '5' I had passed was kilometres and not miles!
Still, by this time I was into a rhythm which I felt would see me all the way to the end (don't worry Adrian; only ten miles to go!!); helped ably - I am almost ashamed to say...........almost....! - by of all things a ladies bottom! It was purely coincidental that the person I picked who was going at my pace, and therefore the person I would stay behind as much as possible, actually happened to have a nice behind! Finding a pacemaker is an extremely effective tactic I learnt at the Great Manchester; losing concentration would end up with me going too fast, so if I started to overtake her I would slow down and slot in behind her again to avoid overdoing it, thus setting in motion a chain of events that would risk leading me to need - oh the irony - a pacemaker!
It was going pretty well, still cold and still wet; but I was very much in my comfort zone for the first half of the run. I had run six miles before only recently. Fitter and lighter now than I was then, there was no reason that I should have any problems in getting to the turn. Inspirational music (Birdie Song, Shaddappauface) was blaring away in my ears, and rain and hills notwithstanding, I was managing to absorb the energy of the crowd and enjoy the journey.
6-12 miles
It is a very interesting experience pushing yourself to unnatural physical limits; what goes through your mind as well as what happens to your body. I was still chugging along at a nice pace, but the little voice in my head which until then had been dormant - or at least ignored - became more and more insistent; sneakily telling me that the only time I had ever run more than 6 miles was the Great South Run, eight years ago......and after ten miles it was uncharted territory all the way. I won't lie to you, it gave me the collywobbles.
In an effort to silence the demonic voices of negativity, I looked for stimulation, distraction; and may I say people of Newcastle; you did your city proud. In driving rain and chilly temperatures the Geordie lads and lasses were out in their numbers to cheer us on, every moist inch of the way; thoroughly brilliant people. There were those who shouted and clapped us along, but I wondered if I was seeing things - and no I am not kidding - when some of the more imaginative supporters were giving out ice lollies, and yes........occasionally even bottles of lager!! I did not partake of either, but the spectacle of seeing the bemused looks on the faces of runners trotting along with an Rocket (lolly, not bazooka...but what an image!) in their hand was certainly worthy of a giggle!
There is only one word to describe the stretch from 8 mile to 12.....brutal. One long unending road....all uphill. The voice came back with avengeance and did its best to erode my confidence. I focused on the person in front, I looked around and geed up the spectators for a cheer, I grabbed a bottle at the water station, I drank the water, I saluted the British Heart Foundation bus at the 8.5 mile cheerpoint; anything to keep my mind occupied. It was tough, but you know what the best thing about running is? While you are listening to these voices lurking in your head, waving at supporters, cranking up the ipod to drown out the heavy breathing, you are making progress; I knew that as long as I kept going, the mile markers would take care of themselves. I make it sound simple; it wasn't, but nor at any point did I contemplate giving up, or even walking. I was going to finish this, and run it all the way.
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