At 13:46 on Sunday 25 April 2010, I completed the London Marathon. They call it a marathon for a reason and now I know why. Thank you so much to those that have supported me - you are the real champions. Chris and Lizzy would no doubt want to say the same thing. God bless, Paul x

London Marathon 2010 - Run Report

that I have 26.2 miles to run; Excitement that I won't ever need to eat pasta again. I follow the

steady stream of competitors to walk through Greenwich Park towards the start area. Given

today's forecast was to be the warmest day of the year, I'm happy as it begins to rain. I cower

under the park's smallest tree seeking shelter - the fact that I will be sweating buckets shortly

seems to pass me by. Before I know it I'm drenched but it doesn't deter me from my usual pre-run

drill: nipples, warm-up, loo.

Some say 'Runner's Nipple' is for a man what childbirth is for a woman. Painful. Hours of gentle

T-shirt chafing can reduce a grown man to tears and I don't wish to be one of them. I reach into

my bag for my all important plasters only to find I have a small crisis - only one plaster remains.

Now choosing which nipple is my favourite is a little like choosing your favourite parent. They both

have their merits but you would never want to decide. Vaseline comes to the rescue and I walk off

to stretch.

Stretching is momentarily halted though as I clock a stall making a sterling trade selling tea and

bacon butties. Quite how a bacon sandwich is deemed to be ideal marathon fodder I do not know

but many runners obviously disagree. I remind myself that my strict diet of pasta, rice and

potatoes will give me the endurance I need. Flapjacks were another recommendation by

yesterday’s Metro newspaper - just probably not the two boxes I munched through. Much as I'm

tempted, I continue with my stretching, even if I still can't touch my toes.

Seeing the portaloo queues makes me grateful I'm not female. We've only 15mins to go and still

each queue tails some 500yards. Pitstop strategies make F1 look decidedly easy. It's a difficult

balancing act to remain hydrated whilst not ending up in every toilet stop along the course.

Convinced that I have the correct balance, I make my way to the start.

With some 37,000 runners, the start is staggered. The Elite runners leave 15mins before the rest

of us. I'm obviously deeply offended not to be chosen to join the front runners but happy not to

steal their limelight. All penned in, we wait for the final countdown. With just a couple more

minutes remaining. I take a moment to reflect on why I'm doing this. Lizzy and Chris seem like

they're right beside me. I feel sad but they give me a cheer and I can't help but smile again.

BBC's Paul Dickenson counts us down. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.. I'm off.

The traffic of people is not as bad as I had expected. From the very outset, I have a reasonable

amount of space to move and weave amongst other runners. Many revert to using the pavement

but with the camber constantly changing, I stick to the road and try to find a suitable pace.

Each mile is marked by a giant arch of red Virgin balloons. Before I know it, I pass Mile 2. I'm

pretty much on pace target given the traffic so have nothing to worry about. As we pass by

Charlton Park, male runners dive into the bushes for an unscheduled toilet stop. Maybe that cup

of tea wasn't such a good idea afterall.

There's a real carnival atmosphere as we weave our way through Woolwich. Residents cheer

from their doorsteps. Many wear fancy dress. Some play musical instruments. A priest throws

holy water at us. I'm blessed now so I have no excuses not to finish.

We go as far East as we ever will before the race veers West. I note London City airport is the

opposite side of the river to me - I'm an awful long way from the finish. At mile 5 I take advantage

of the water station and quench my thirst. Rear runners have complained in previous years of

there not being sufficient water so I do my bit and run with my bottle. The thought of running out

of water during a marathon does not bear thinking about.

As we approach central Greenwich, the crowds cheering us on grow. Cutty Sark may be closed

but the roaring atmosphere is incredible. A runner in front puts his hand to his ear in need of

support. The crowd reacts with more intense clapping and cheering. Friends are supposed to be

around Mile 7 but the sheer number of people makes it difficult to spot anyone. I stay running on

the left as agreed. Out of nowhere I see my friends and we exchange brief smiles and waves. It's

a huge boost.

At mile 8, I treat myself to a carbo gel from my back pocket. Designed to both hydrate and

energise me, the blackcurrant taste is sickly sweet but gives me the energy I need. Some runners

wear a belt for multiple gels - how they can carry that extra weight I do not know.

My pace lessens a little through miles 10 & 11. My current pace of 7.5mins/mile is faster than

planned but I know I'll burn myself out if I'm not careful. My GPS watch tells me everything I need

to know, including my exact distance. I'm disheartened to see that I've actually run further than

the mile markers are indicating. The sheer volume of people means I can't always take the racing

line so I'm being forced to run further. The racing line is in fact marked out in red on the road so I

decide to stick to that from now on.

Celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay is beside me just at mile 12. People chant his name. Someone

shouts he's a rubbish cook. He stops. My pace falters too, wondering what on earth he's about to

do. I turn around expecting to see him lunge at someone. Instead he stretches against a wall - he

looks in pain. This is a man running his eleventh consecutive marathon. If he's suffering, I wonder

how I will feel? I later learnt this was the point he pulled out.

As I approach Tower Bridge, I feel weary and touch on the brakes. I've been going at a steady

7:45 pace the last few miles but know I’ll blow up if I don’t slow down. I have my final carbo gel

knowing that my next gel stop will be at mile 14. It picks me almost instantly, just in time to enjoy

crossing Tower Bridge. Enormous amounts of people are there to support us. A soldier with

almost alien-like prosthetic running legs is almost along side me. If I could reach across to shake

his hand I would but there are just too many people. I spot a friend marshalling on the other side.

In my haste to attract his attention, I almost trip up a fellow runner. I apologise and we move on.

Like workers on a daily commute, we trudge towards the City.

Mile 13.1 is an uneventful affair. I've done countless half marathons and I'm always pleased to

see the finish. I'm 1hr 46mins in and to think I have the same distance to run again does not

appeal. A DJ in a London Pride truck encourages us with dance music. There's no London Pride

beer in sight though. The next couple of miles I run alongside the front runners - the only

difference being they're some 9 miles ahead of me and going in the opposite direction. They're

barely out of breath and make it look so easy. In comparison I'm there to show it looks difficult. I

look out for my parents along this stretch but don't see them. It's a blow as some support would

be good right now. I grab some carbo gels and we run towards the Isle of Dogs.

More friends are due to see me at mile 15 but no one is there. I try not take it personally - the

crowds make it difficult for anyone to get a good spot. I just pray I see someone else before the

end.

Mile 17 is as quiet as the race gets before we loop round towards South Quay. It's not until mile

18 that I see my friends again. It's a wonderful feeling and I try to stay composed. Deep down I'm

hurting. I'm now 8 miles from the finish though which is also the distance of my regular training

run back home. I mentally break each mile into points along my home route. It eases things as I

visualise the distance to go. I can do this.

The next few miles fly by. Less from speed and more from selective memory. I get into a routine

of sucking on my carbo gels and sipping my water. As each mile passes, I replenish my water

and soldier on. At mile 22 I see my parents but we have only seconds to wave at each other

before the mass of runners carry me on.

Visualising my home route run, I'm in Effingham. I've run that final 4 miles countless time. sThis is

possible. We pass through Blackfriars Underpass. "Ogie, ogie, ogie", shouts an enthusiastic

runner. There's a rather muted "Oi, oi, oi". Coming out of the tunnel feels like entering a Roman

colosseum. Gladiator I am not but the crowd want to see me defeat the marathon. With my name

boldly emblazed on my T-shirt, strangers cheer me on.

Mile 24 becomes a blur. I pass the Princess Alice Hospice group and wave enthusiastically as I

can. My water and carbo gel consumption becomes ever more frequent. The gel is so sweet I

could vomit but I know it's good for me. Where is that next water station?

Mile 25's water station is much needed. Big Ben is ahead of me but I'm so thirsty. As we turn

round past Houses of Parliament, my water is finished and I'm desperately thirsty. Birdcage Walk

seems to go on forever. I sight Buckingham Palace ahead of me and accelerate for a sprint finish.

I have one final bend and I am there. At 3hrs 48mins and with just 500 yards, the unthinkable

happens. My legs buckle. I fall to the ground and graze my knees. I go to stand up but can't.

However hard I try, I have absolutely no energy in my legs. I'm disorientated and can barely see.

It's a horrible feeling and I'm powerless to do anything. I'm about to crawl when out of nowhere

two runners scoop me up, hoisting me up between them with one arm round each of the

shoulders. The whole of Buckingham Palace seem to be chanting my name - I want the ground to

swallow me up and take me away. As we see the 385yard sign, some other runners take over

and help me across the finish line. It's not quite the finish I was anticipating but I've finished

nonetheless. Finish time 4hr 1min 8secs.

I slump to a tree to one side and a St John's ambulance person sits with me whilst I recover. I

learn that I suffered from severe glycogen debt on that final bend. It was a frightening feeling

and one I hope never to repeat.

I meet with friends and family and we bask in Hyde park in the afternoon sunshine. It's been a

rollercoaster of a day but a sense of achievment nonetheless. I've also raised over £4,000 for the

Princess Alice Hospice which I'm absolutely thrilled by. As I look out to St James's Park Lake, I

sense Chris and Lizzy are there with me. They ask would I ever want to do it again. Never, say

never, I reply with a grin.

Paul x

Thank you for visiting my London Marathon webpage in aid of the Princess Alice Hospice.

As some will know, I lost two friends in 2009, Lizzy Caswill and Chris Walles (see photos 2 & 3), who both spent their final days in the Princess Alice Hospice. The Hospice is a wonderful charity providing end of life patient care, as well as support to family and friends. Their service is provided completely free of charge and therefore donations are a vital source of funding. Here are some of the ways your donations could help:

·        £50 could pay for two aromatherapy or reflexology sessions, helping to relieve a patient’s pain and sickness; and to reduce anxiety in patients and their carers.

·        £96 is the average cost of a home visit by a Princess Alice nurse, to provide free care.

·        £173 is the average cost of each social work and bereavement session delivered free of charge by one of the specially trained staff.

·        £185 is the average cost of an attendance by one of the Day Hospice patients, for free comprehensive medical and therapeutic care.

·        £430 is the average cost of providing one day of free care to a patient on the In-patient Ward.

I have seen first hand the care the staff provide and I can say hand on heart that your donation really will make a difference. I would be ever so grateful for any contribution you can make towards this charity.

Many thanks,

Paul