Marathon Day

All runners including Team Higgs had taken the ‘hydration’ advice seriously and had, over the preceding days and hours, being tipping vast quantities of liquids down their necks. Considering it was alcohol free - a most unusual experience for Team Higgs. Thus the time spent between the initial thought as we entered Greenwich park that sunny morning : ‘we’re here quite early  - what are we going to do for the next hour’ to the pre-start ‘Bloody hell - we are going to miss it’ was duly spent writhing in bladder bursting agony in one of a series of parallel world record long queues for the portaloos.

But we made it just in time and in the final seconds before 10am I inserted headphones, ramped up the ipod and entered the ‘zone’. With the Proclaimers’ ‘500 miles’ belting out at deafening levels I decided to offer final words of encouragement to Matt, my running companion, and only eldest son. His look of astonishment and the head turning of all runners in a radius of 200meters told me something was wrong. Being ‘in the zone’ I had missed the announcement and whistles and we were in the middle of 30 seconds silence for the Boston Marathon tragedy. I was shouting, being aurally ‘blindfolded’ ‘ there’s no way any of these fat bas***** can beat us’ at the top of my voice.

Ten o’clock and the slow walk toward the start line came all too slowly. I needed to find some new adjacent runners in a hurry. The start line was crossed at around 10.13 and the race, and the search for the first ‘on course’ portaloo was underway. About 400 yards up the road we came across some open fields - at least I think they were fields as it was difficult to see through the ranks of men lined up against the hedgerow having ‘Paula Radcliffe’ moments. The temptation was too great and another penny was spent. Getting underway again and trying to establish my race pace (exactly the same as every pace I run at from 400 yards and above) I glanced at my GPS watch, did some mental arithmetic based on average speed so far and, knowing that there were water stations on route, estimated that starvation would get me early the following Wednesday evening just short of the twenty mile mark.

Now it is not my intention to give a real time account here so I have to confess not a lot happened during what I term the ‘pre-extreme pain’ part of a marathon. Crowds were numerous and in good humour and mostly indulging in their own spectator lager, bitter and G&T hydration therapy. Matt was following my pace and becoming increasingly amused at my growing irritation that all runners in front were trying to block my way by specifically deciding to run 0.01 mph slower than me. Words were spoken. Walkers were kindly asked to perhaps walk at the edge of the route in single file and not three abreast in the middle? Zig zag patterns were established like some cross-Atlantic convoy. Arms were raised, gestures made – my open apology to all fellow runners who suffered from my version of the ‘London Marathon goodwill’ effect. But the miles passed, Tower Bridge came and went, we saw the ‘proper runners’ coming back the other way 6 or 7 miles in front making us look as if we were not moving.

At around 19 or 20 miles came the first sad moment. I parted company with Matt. He had not so much trained for this event as re-enacted in his mind a very creditable 3hrs 46min Loch Ness Marathon he did 6 months previously  - while lying on the sofa eating crisps. The confidence of youth. He said, Titus Oates style, ‘Dad – push on – do a PB, I am going to spend some time chatting to my fans, shaking hands’.

I was on my own. Pain levels were rising, the wall was being climbed. At this point only the thought that family and friends said they would be at (optimistically I thought) the 23.5 mile mark kept me going. They would not see me walking. They were there!  – with every ounce of remaining energy I raised, what they afterwards said looked like, a grimace.

No way to describe the final couple of miles. Only to say if I could remember it would be a massive incentive to train properly for my next marathon. Yes I will have another go. But do not fear I will not be after donations again. Within a couple of hours of the finish and after a couple of beers the pain disappears and I do now genuinely think it was a wonderful day.

My final time was a few seconds short of 4hrs 9 minutes which in marathon runners speak is 4hrs 8minutes. A personal best! Matt came in under 4 hrs 30 minutes with a big smile and an appetite for beer, champagne and steak and chips that was sated during the course of the afternoon and evening.

Many, many thanks for all your contributions – a great response. (My target 4k will be reached.)