The Race - Part 2

The Cutty Sark!!

I have visited the country’s capital on numerous occasions, yet it was through these twenty six miles  that I got the first glimpse of many of the biggest and best landmarks which ‘the smoke’ has to offer; - and from I think it’s safe to say a ‘unique perspective’! - this fine tea clipper being just one of them. Once again I had this immense feeling of privilege that I should be there, witnessing these things for my first time, doing what I was doing for the first time. Truly unforgettable!

It was all beginning to feel strangely straight forward; the mile posts were coming and going and I was simply enjoying the journey. Good old Age UK were there just beyond ‘The Sark’ (as we athletes….don’t call it….) to simultaneously give me a rousing welcome and send off; then again at mile eleven (I am seriously considering asking them to provide this sort of support on all my journeys…… HEYYYYYYY!!! AWOOGA AWOOGA; ADYBLADY IS LEAVING THE HOUSE TO GO TO WOOOOOOOOOORK!!!!!!). You are already aware how much hefty hard work the fund raising has been, but I can heartily recommend it for your first marathon (if you are mad enough) as it comes with a built-in extended family of people shouting your name!

Feeling good, and I guess what you could say ‘in the zone’; steady pace established. I started to think that I might actually be able to do this. Don’t worry though; I dismissed such cavalier thoughts from my mind immediately.

Mile eight was the next family cheerpoint, or should that be cheerpoints! Three for the price of one!! First there was brother Paul (yes, the giving a box of chocolates one) and Martha the leaping in front of athletes sister-in-law. This time however it was me who saw them. I must have been exceeding the expectations of my predicted speed (lumbering faster than originally thought!) as when I trotted past I saw them setting up the camera for an action photo…..oblivious to the fact that the action in question was approaching, passing, departing! Just time for a quick wave and a shout before it was eyes front and on with the race……

……at least for about 200 yards as on the same side screaming their lungs out were brother Dom (my brother, not holy orders) and his partner Christina (see, told ya!), who had that morning coached it down from Sheffield; bless them! They also hold the dubious honour of being present through all three of the fatmantofitman runs; which in itself deserves a medal. His early morning e-mail on marathon day reads ‘eh yup Adrian; we’re just getting on the coach to go and watch my mad younger brother run the London Marathon. What are you up to??’ Great to see him and give him a wave and a pump of the fist…..but now it was time to focus on running……

…….Oooooooooh no it wasn’t; as who should appear in the crowd, jumping about, but Alison (wee Ali; remember her, staunch supporter and commenter of the blog right from when it was nothing but a glint on his daddies keyboard?). My full-to-the-brim cup at that moment ranneth over. It’s probably with Alison that I talked most often about the challenge; she had told me that every London marathon day for so many years I had bored her senseless with claims that next year would be my year. I would be there amongst the runners. I wonder how she felt on the day when I finally delivered on that promise? Surprised no doubt; I know I was!!

I think it’s safe to say that I had a much more significant bounce in my step after those few hundred yards; a bounce that lasted long after mile posts nine, ten, eleven were trembling in my wake. It wasn’t just seeing my ‘fans’; it was the thought of them darting back on the tube for the next vantage point, coordinating their movements so that as much of the journey is covered by a familiar face….whether I saw them or not!

It was time to take stock......nearly half a marathon down and feeling.....well.....pretty good actually. Running within myself. Enjoying the awesome crowds, the scenery, the energy, the spectacle, but not overdoing it; knowing that all my energies need to be conserved for one purpose; to keep putting one foot I front of the other at pace. I suspected there would be a time in the not to distant future where something as simple as that would not be so........simple!

The Race - Part 1

1-6 miles.....
So how did I feel on crossing the start line? I'll be honest, I felt good, I felt calm, and I felt an enormous sense of wellbeing; one of those occasions when you know you are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I wasn't particularly 'agog'; just blissfully aware that all I had to do now was run. One foot on front of the other, both feet not touching the ground at the same time, and just....well.....keep doing that for a while.

That said, I confess to being a little nervous too. The quality and success of every previous training run could be accurately forecasted within its first half hour. If I was running well within myself, in control, thinking positively, or more importantly thinking very little at all; I knew I was in for a good one. However if I had eaten badly the night before/morning of, if I had not slept well, or if I just wasn't feeling 'right'; I was struggling from the outset. It was never going to be easy, but it was critical that there were no warning signs in those first few miles.

There weren't.

Okay, there was one; and boy did it make me laugh. It was quite literally, a sign. A whiteboard sign in actual fact, held by a spectator who bore no expression on his face, not so much as a smidgeon of smirk. He gazed blankly into the throng of athletes with the words written acting as the only outer indication of his thoughts.....

'You are all MAD'

SO funny on SO many levels. The expressionless, unmoving, face, the simply put yet direct message, and of course the fact that said message was quite accurate; we were all off our rockers, but so content to be so; all nutters together.

Somewhere around the 4 mile mark was where my first official family cheerpoint was meant to be located. Regardless of my positive and dare I say confident frame of mind, I was still straining my eyes towards the ravaging hoards of spectators for friends and family. Sure enough it didn't take long for eyes to focus on my sister-in-law who was jumping about pretty much in the direct path of the athletes so I didn't miss her (my brother was there, not jumping but cheering; I think that's a much better poem title than 'not waving, but drowning' don't you?). One of the downsides of running with headphones - my native American-Indian name - on, is that your nearest and dearest have to either scream themselves hoarse or virtually wrestle you to the ground in order to get your attention. Fortunately I noticed Martha before this final tactic was resorted to!

I can't tell you how exciting it was to think about the friends and family dotted around the course - many of them managing to dot themselves in more than one place en route - weird but exciting, and a little crazy. Knowing they would be there felt curiously like those simple plans you make to meet anyone.....'fancy meeting for a coffee?'.......'fancy hooking up for a bite to eat?'.. ......'hey; I'm in the area, let's catch up at the pub'......'great! it will be good to see you, see you at mile 4.5 of the London marathon; in case you've forgotten what I look like, I'll be the guy wearing tight cycle shorts and carrying a water bottle'. You've heard tell of the wonderful support lavished on us runners by the thousands of spectators, and it is absolutely true; nevertheless it is especially lovely to have people who know you, looking out for you as an individual, and cheering you as an individual.

AGE UK were already making themselves heard too; with cheering stations at mile numbers 3 and 5. They were quite simply a bunch of lunatics screaming and shouting whenever they saw someone wearing one of their charity shirts. That importantly made all the difference, as they were MY lunatics! I confess to being quite conservative on going past them. Played it real cool, gave them a polite wave, a wink, a thumbs up, and then continued on my journey. I absolutely did NOT career past them, screaming 'COME OOOOOOOON!!!!!' whilst pumping the fist of one hand and waving with the other like a man possessed.....honest.........

Did get a nice exclusion zone around where I was running for a while after that though.

One quarter down, and I was doing it; I was actually doing it!!! Not only that, I was fast approaching one of the landmarks I had seen marathon athletes pass year after year on TV; hoping but never expecting that one day.........

The Long Awaited..........pt 3

About ten yards behind the giant, slightly sinister looking pink doll, right next to a guy in drag with a wig that could only be described as Marge Simpsonesque, and within stampeding distance of a bunch of rhinos. Only the London Marathon could provide such ethnic and surreal diversity!

I confess that at that particular moment (as one of the soon-to-be-released photographs will testify) I was not at my most fashionable. For those not in the know, by this stage you have divested yourself of your belongings to such an extent that all you are wearing is the gear you are running in, with whatever else you have on thrown away en-route to the starting line. As a result one wears things you don't mind losing. So for a change I had a bona-fide, concrete, solid as a rock (the thrill is stiiiill ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-hot) excuse for being a fashion disaster.

With twenty minutes to go, on went the headphones and I was lost in the elitest of inspirational tunes (aaaaaa-gaaaaaaa-do-do-do, push pineapple….kidding... .kidding..), closed my eyes and did that visualisation thing of finishing the race (sadly I think I was a bit too realistic and ended up visualising the hail and subsequent boarding of a cab around Tower Bridge), checked my watch every half hour to find that only two minutes had elapsed, and otherwise tried to quiet the noisy mind. After all, there wasn’t much to get worked up about was there. 

I often wonder how the overall noise of a crowd is created; that unintelligible murmur which comes from the total sum of so many individual voices. It sounds nothing at all like speech, but to me sounds like electricity (oh he's going somewhere with this......I hope). A current running through all the runners, powering us, energising us all; a thoroughly thrilling feeling. Then, minutes before the start of the race; there was a power cut.....silence.....thirty seconds silence to be precise, in memory of the tragedy at the Boston Marathon, and all those affected. It was quite simply extraordinary, no other word for it; thousands of people united in the task ahead, united in tribute.

 

Electricity re-connected, power surge; flowing, no, flooding through us all. Back at home and watching the tv coverage, Steve Cram said something which is very worthy of repeating....

 

'If you're looking to break the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to pick on'

 

.....I love that line, and as the starting pistol went and we commenced our 'pre-race shuffle' it was exactly how I felt, how we all felt. As if any further motivation were needed!!

Now, my experience of these runs is that it can be up to an hour between the official start, and my own start; imagine the surprise as within minutes the Greenwich Park gates came and went, followed by a fast approaching starting line. I had my customary handshake and 'good luck' with one of my neighbours (Scottish lass with jelly-babies in her rucksack!), a quick text to friends and family, and finally.....finally........

.....FINALLY......

I was on my way.