Something a bit different this week. I’ve been road running and not just any old road running. The London marathon no less! Now, before I start, let’s just clarify the fact that I hate running on the road. It’s boring, there’s nothing to look at, it hurts your feet, and any big marathon is just an exercise in battling your way around trying past people that are going slower or faster than you are, whilst trying to avoid the curbs, roundabouts, speed bumps and millions of other things that litter our roads. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, running on the road is the last thing that I every really want to do, and having run a couple of big city marathons before (Brighton and Manchester) it wasn’t something that I had any desire to do again, and London, being the biggest of the lot held no appeal at all. For some reason which now totally escapes my mind, I applied for a ballot place in 2021 and didn’t get in. No loss, by the time it came around I’d remembered that I didn’t actually want to do it anyway. And then, and I still don’t know why, I reapplied for another ballot place for this year, and promptly forgot all about it. Fast forward 6 months and the e mail dropped into my inbox saying that my application had been successful, and I was in with a rare as hens teeth ballot place. Sitting on the sofa with “The Emma” when I read that e mail, she obviously questioned what I was ranting about, and continued to question my sanity when I said, “I’ve got a place for the London Marathon that I didn’t really want, so now I’ve got to go and run a marathon that I don’t really want to do”. I think she might have muttered something about me being an idiot in response to that, which isn’t unusual, and we both promptly forgot about it, putting it to the bottom of the pile of things to do that were ages away at the time. Fast forward a few months, and having paid for my Marathon entry ages before, I suddenly remembered that I needed to be at the Excel centre in London on the Saturday to pick up my race number, (I don’t know what’s wrong with the post either, but that’s one of the things that put me off ever doing the Brighton marathon again too). Needing to be in central London early on Sunday morning too, It would be too early to get the train, so I suppose I had better get a hotel for the night at great expense. Roll forward a few more months and I suddenly discover that the sodding train drivers are going to be on strike on the Saturday, so now I can’t get to London on the Saturday to pick up my number either. Que a massive sense of humour failure and no other option but to arrange another hotel in London for the Friday night, so I can get the train in on Friday, change hotels and pick up my number on Saturday and actually be there for the Sunday. And you’re wondering why I didn’t really want to do this in the first place? Anyway, moving on another few weeks and I’ve got a hotel for the Friday, a different one for the Saturday, I’m going to have to buy 2 one way train tickets, take half a dozen tube trains and suffer 2 days in London with only the clothes I’m stood up in, as I’ve either got to carry everything round the Marathon or fit it in to the small bag that you can hand in at the start and collect at the finish, but I’m ready to go. Except I’m not, as I’ve left my running trainers at work! Now I could use one of the old pairs that are knocking around at home, and if it was off road that’s exactly what I’d do. But 26 miles on the road is pretty hard on your feet. I could just go back to work and get them, or I could just use this brand-new pair that’s in the cupboard, ready for just such an eventuality. “The Emma” cautioned me against this idea. But I’ve run marathons in new shoes before with no problems, and anyway, I’d be slogging around London Friday and Saturday which should break them in nicely, so I did what I do best, and just ignored her. “The Emma” kindly dropped me off at the train station on Friday afternoon and I got into London with no problems (apart for being a day early), changed trains a few times to get as close to my hotel as possible and was ceremoniously dumped onto the pavement a couple of miles away from my accommodation in the middle of a downpour! Que a 2 mile walk in my now wet, new trainers, which instantly proceeded to rub a big old blister onto the back of my right heel! And you’re still wondering why I had no desire to run another city marathon? Anyway, having been kept awake most of the night by the constant flow of police car sirens outside my hotel window and my room neighbours having a massive barney in the middle of the night, I was up early! Being up early, I thought that I might as well do a bit of sightseeing and elected to walk from Lewisham to the Excel to pick up my number. It was quite a nice walk too. I took in the Cutty Sark, the foot tunnel under the Thames, Canary Wharf, stopped and got some plasters for my heels which were unsurprisingly a bit sore, had a look at the Thames, wandered around some random streets, had some lunch sat on a picnic bench and eventually got to the Excel to collect my number just after mid-day, which turned out to be a far smoother affair than expected. Despite the thousands of other people milling around and having to walk through the endless Expo stalls, each extolling the values of their latest wonder socks or running shoes, to get to the exit, I was in and out again in less than 30 minutes. Which left plenty of time to walk the couple of miles to find a supermarket to grab some bits for my tea and some milk etc, before walking the couple of miles back to my new overnight accommodation. Endless wandering done, I settled down for the evening in my salubrious hotel, made a brew and pulled my new trainers off, which were accompanied by half my right heel! Bugger! Well at least they’re well broken in now, I’ll just have to bandage up my heels and man up tomorrow! I’m hoping you might be getting the idea of why I don’t like city marathons by now. I will admit that Saturday’s budget hotel was far nicer and quieter than Fridays and I had a pretty good night’s sleep and was even awake before the alarm went off, which was nice. A good breakfast, an extra brew, plenty of plasters and tape on my heels, the Right one of which was missing most of its skin and prepared to scream as I pulled my running shoes back on ready for the day’s adventures. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I expected and a trial jog on the way to the tube station proved that although my Right heel (the one with most of the skin missing) was a bit sore, my trainers had indeed, broken in well, and were holding firmly enough around the sore bits to stop then really hurting. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be as bad as expected after all. The tube journey was pain free and arriving at Greenwich I joined the throngs of people making their way towards the start areas. Correct start area identified, security check of my bags carried out, correct baggage lorry identified, and bag handed in. This was brilliant, smoothly organised, hassle free and easy! That left me with plenty of time for a pre-race wee and 45 minutes to chill out and take in the sights of thousands of other runners each going about their pre-race preparations, before making my way to my allocated start pen at the appointed time. Penned up with the others in my allocated group, we had a few minutes delay before being smoothly ushered as a group down to the start line, where we were again held for the few minutes, until the group in front had departed and our allocated time came. Now I was really impressed, that’s how a big marathon start should be handled! Bang on time, we were off, slowly at first, but by the time I reached the actual start line I was moving at pace. Start my watch as I cross the line, glance at those around me, start thinking “I wish I’d had another wee before setting off” and were away, along with the thousands of others. Some more clever organisation had different start groups heading in different directions for the first mile or so, further reducing the numbers trying to find position on the road and reducing the numbers in one place. And by the time the different groups converged we’d had plenty of time to spread out a bit. Approaching from different directions the streams of runners seamlessly joined to become one massive snake of people, all heading in the same direction, all with one purpose of mind. Getting to the finish. I’d been determined from the start not to push too hard on this one, not only is the endless overtaking and jockeying for position tiring, but I was only likely to do this once, so I might as well enjoy it, as opposed to pushing hard and struggling towards the end. My easy pace still seemed fast compared to those around me though, and for the duration of the run I found myself constantly jostling for space to get past those in front, whilst endlessly moving from one side of the road to the other as gaps opened around me which I could slot into. There’s not really a great deal to say about the run itself which I haven’t already talked endlessly about elsewhere. The big thing that stands out though is the incredible spectator support at the roadside. In the popular touristy destinations, the crowds were ten deep, all shouting their encouragement and cheering everyone on, creating a cacophony of noise which was almost deafening at times, and even in the less popular spots there were still plenty of people at the roadside offering their support. Endless support, constant cheering, and the camaraderie of shared suffering with my fellow runners made the miles ticks seamlessly along and before I knew it I was working my way along the Embankment, heading into central London and the finish on the Mall. The closer we got to the finish the louder the cheering from the thousands thronging the roadside became, each shouting themselves hoarse in an effort to spur on those that were clearly flagging by this point. Lifted by the roar of the crowds, one final push saw me and the constant stream of runners by my side through the finish line to yet more raucous cheering. Over the timing mat, stop my watch and slow to a walk, to be greeted by a volunteer eager to hang a finishers medal around my neck and then slowly make my way with the other thousands to the correct baggage truck, which had made its way from the start to the finish whilst we had been running, to be seamlessly reunited with my bags and some dry (although not particularly clean) clothes. Heading back towards Waterloo for my train home in the afternoon sun, it was impossible not to be impressed and moved by the streams of competitors still heading towards the start, most still running, some reduced to a walk, which is understandable considering that they had covered 25 miles by that point, but all still smiling, and all still cheered on by the massive crowds still lining the route. Finally getting home, late in the afternoon, after another massive train related mess around (no trains to Basingstoke from Waterloo, and no you can’t use that ticket via Reading!) with my feet sore from pounding the tarmac for mile after mile I swore to “The Emma” that I’m never going to do another big road marathon. It’s too expensive, too much of a mess around, too painful on the feet and even with the best support in the world, the routes are dull. Why run on the road when I can be out in the hills with endless view’s, soft grass under my feet, and freedom? But you know what. Despite my expectations, it was a brilliant day out, the crowds, the camaraderie out on the course, the excitement of my fellow runners on the train to the start in the morning, many of whom were running their first Marathon, and the atmosphere at the finish as those same runners crossed the line to a warm welcome with a sense of achievement at an outstanding endeavour and the sense of relief at having finally made it to the end more than made up for any dull bits. In fact, despite trying my hardest to find fault, I can’t. The whole event was superbly organised, slickly run, and outstanding in every way. Getting 40,000 runners through the start and finish and keeping them safe and supplied with water whilst out on the route is quite some undertaking and it couldn’t have been better managed. Brilliant or not, I’m still standing by my pledge not to run another road marathon, it hurts too much and it’s bloody boring. Although I might have accidentally entered the ballot for next year’s run yesterday, just don’t tell “The Emma”!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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