I’d been looking forward to this for nearly a year. But the prep didn’t go as planned. A month earlier my achilles tendon went pop as I ran, that’s the best way to describe what I felt. Taking a week away from running helped and I managed a few sessions until the pain returned. I decided to stop completely until after the marathon. I still swam, rode and walked so my fitness didn’t suffer. 

I took it easy on Saturday, and after lunch Southern Rail delivered me to Brighton. After a fairly short walk I checked in to The Claremont and had an early night.  I had a good sleep, just over eight hours.

It was with much trepitation that I awoke on the Sunday. My goal was just to finish, rather than a particular time. I know that might sound a little defeatist, but my achilles issue was at the front of my mind. I didn’t want my day spoilt. With hindsight I know what I should have done much sooner; replace my running shoes. I’d received a message from Strava that they were over 350 miles old some time before. I normally only replace footware when it startes to fall apart. This wasn’t the case with my ASICS Ortholites. I was in London on Friday, and close to the office is a Sports Direct store. I know you’re not supposed to try new things on race day, but with over 450 inflicted on my runners I didn’t think I had a choice. Wearing them in was just a walk around the block and the journey to the hotel.

 An early, big, breakfast allowed time for digestion followed by the walk to the start. I was going in wave seven, I could hear them announce the departure of the first wave not long after I arrived in Preston Park. All to quickly it was my turn. I hoped I’d warmed up enough without stressing my injury. The Garmin watch has a feature that warns of too fast a pace. So I set it at ten minutes per mile. This should mean a time of four hours, twenty minutes. I knew not to get too exited at the start and this was a good way to ensure I didn’t. Sure enough it was beeping at me a lot for the initial ten miles.

The route had a couple of climbs just after the start. it was rolling with no big tests after that. Most of the route meanders along the coast with zig-zags into the city and out again. There was a strong wind that went from hindering to helping. Once I found a comfortable pace it didn’t seem too bad. Once into unknown territory, after 13 miles my leg muscles let me know. I’m used to the dull ache of long distance bike rides so I knew it was okay.

I’d been downing energy and electrolyte gels at regular intervals and drinking plenty of water picked up from the service stations along the way. 

A lack of long runs as part of the prep meant by mile eighteen my stomach started to object to the sugary diet. I knew I had to keep taking them and drinking but it wasn’t easy. 

By now my watch wasn’t telling me to slow down, and I calculated a four hour thirty time was on the cards. One of the features of the route was that I often saw runners coming towards me on the other side of the road. And that meant I read their distance markers. It gave me a false sense that I was closer to the end than I was. At mile twenty I started to take the sweets on offer from the crowds, they were better than the gels. I even had a couple of pieces of vegan pizza.

Back on the seafront again with three miles to go was when the pain set it. Not the tendons but my hips, and thigh muscles. I was now down to eleven minute miles, and not sure I could keep that up.

The next two miles was pure pain. It seemed like I wasn’t moving, the mile markers were getting further apart. I wanted to keep running, and not walk, but at twenty five and a half I gave into what by body had been telling me. No matter how loud the crowds cheered walking was as fast as I could manage.

A big surprise was how emotional I was. The half marathon last year and the Ride Londons I’d done only had outbursts as I crossed the finishing line. This time the tears had to be wiped away at regular intervals. My sister, Michelle, and her husband John were waiting for me. Everytime I thought of that it brought a reaction. And whilst I wouldn’t say I could hear Marcia’s voice willing me on. She was in my head even more than usual. None of this was upsetting though. It felt good to let it out.

With about a third of a mile to go I managed a hobble, only a slight improvement on my pace at this point. I didn’t see Michelle, but she saw me. I heard her shout my name, but it didn’t register at the time. I was focused on a finish line that although close was still out of sight. It seemed not to be getting closer. I could hear the DJ congratulating finishers as they passed him.

And the finally I saw it. I’d like to say I sprinted to the line, but I didn’t. Maybe I ambled a little faster. And then it was done.

A visual to explain how I felt

I don’t know what the person who gave me my medal must have thought as she placed the ribbon over my head. I was smiling and crying at the same time. 

I called Michelle once I was a little away from the crowds and sat on the curb to wait for her to find me.

My hotel was a few awkward steps away. Another lesson was then learnt. Book overnight accomodation on street level, with your room on the ground floor. Not up a flight of stairs, then no lift to the third floor.

Showered and changed I gingerly returned to the street and met Michelle and John at a restuarant she had found. Bring my medal for a 20% discount I was told. A very nice meal followed dispite my stomach was still being tied in knots and very uncomfotable. I knew it would take time to recover but I needed to eat.

They went home after that and I painfully returned to my room.

One question during our meal was; “would I do it again?”

At that moment the answer was no, but I kind of knew that might change over time. Maybe I’ll try another city; watch this space.

Finally; I’d had the question of sponsorship put to me a few times as the day approached. I asked people to give money or help a charity of their choice. Something that meant the most to them. And I’ll ask the same of you dear reader, if you can.