Okay; now it's very real.
In order to become officially official for the marathon, it is necessary to bowl yourself down to the Excel Arena in London's docklands in order to register. It is there you pick up your official race number, your timing chip and your 'official red bag'.
Here's me expecting to just roll up, sign a form and then leave; how wrong was I??
Should have realised that if there is something being held at somewhere with the word ARENA in it, that there is going to be a bit more going on than a few registration stalls. There was every make of running shoe, running garments and running accessories known to man; and I am sure a few that before today man knew nothing about (this man anyway) being flogged. There was a stall for every charity with an interest in the marathon (including the brilliantly named 'The Panda Made Me Do It'; charity raising money for the benefit of the natural world). Then there were the stalls advertising runs where you try and escape from zombies, and marathons in such exotic places as Norway ('the land of the midnight sun'), Iceland, and.....aaaaah bless them.... .....Milton Keynes!
The whole place was absolutely buzzing.
The most poignant of the sights in the arena was a great big wall, and numerous box-benches, on which people are able to write messages of goodwill, good luck, remembrance; whatever is most on the writers mind, or in the writers heart. When I arrived there were people of all ages with a marker pen; quite an image, not easily forgotten (who would want to?!). One could not help but walk along and read them, and they certainly brought a tear to the eye; particularly those messages of people lost and very much missed, not least of which was the message to the people of Boston, echoed I am sure by all who are running.
As for me; I could not resist having my two cents worth. I found my bit of wall off to one side and quite simply wrote.....
'Fatman, is now fitman'
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