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15-04-2003, 09:21 AM,
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London Marathon 2003
Well yes I am keeping a training diary, but I haven't come down off the cloud yet so my 'race' report remains unwritten.
I finished this, my first marthon in 5:19, and in doing so raised around £2,500 for The MS Society.
I shall try and write more later.
Andy.
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16-04-2003, 08:24 AM,
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London Marathon 2003
Andy and others, if you need any motivation to enter another marathon, then this may well help!
Ash had been my training partner for the latter part of my schedule, we'd hook up for the long weekend runs.
He ran for JDRF, Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation - a charity dedicated to finding a cure for diabetes, especially in children. Made all the more personal as his 7 year old daughter suffers from type #1 diabetes.
Here is his story.........................
Well, it's over, and by some miracle I managed to finish the most incredible challenge of my life. Firstly, thank you to the brilliant people who came out in their tens of thousands to cheer us on. Without you this would have been impossible.
And a special thank you to my wonderful family, for unstinting support and for believing that I could do this. To Tim , for hours of support in training and great photography over the last 3 months, and to Andy, my training partner, for putting up with me on our long weekend runs along the coast.
Race Day
This was the day of days. The journey to the race start at Blackheath was a trip on its own. Crammed into a railway carriage with (seemingly) thousands of fellow runners, very little oxygen and various fancy dress components adding to the chaos, the short hop from Charring Cross took an eternity. Once arrived I could not believe the mass of people, all clutching their FLM plastic bags, ambling towards the Red start.
Once at the start area I met up with Andy and Tim and prepared for the start. The first thing I realised was getting cold would not be a problem. By 09:30 the temperature was well on the way to 60 degrees, and the buzz in the paddock was it would be a hot one.
Due to my late application for the race and lack of a previous finish time I was assigned to Pen 9 - the very last block on the starting grid. Over the last few weeks I had realised that I would probably finish somewhere in the middle, and starting in a similar position now seemed a better prospect. I'd have to work through the field from the off. A minutes' silence was observed for Chris Brasher, Father and founder of the modern London Marathon, who sadly died this year. Then the klaxon sounded and . . . we shuffled towards the start!
As the start line approached (some 10 minutes after the official start) I lined up alongside Darth Vadar, Obewon Kanobi and a couple of other Star Wars characters. In keeping with the spirit of the day the already impressive crowd roundly 'booed' the Dark Lord of the Sith at every step. Marvellous!
The first 5 to 6 miles were joyous - endless high fives with children along the route, crowds cheering and music of all kinds from bands and DJs at every Pub and corner. Cutty Sark was amazing - crowds 8 to 10 rows deep cheered us on. By now I'd found a comfortable running rhythm, having overtaken a good few slower starters early on. We ran through Greenwich, the temperature seeming to rise with every step. I took on gallons(?) of water and lucozade from every feed station, and I guess I needed to as I didn't feel the need to stop at any stage. This also explains the apparent expansion of my 'spare tyre' by the end! Believe that . . .
Many runners over did the hydration before the start, and so the early route was marked with hundreds of damp patches along the pavements and walls where people had taken relief. Also frequent along the route were the excellent St Johns Ambulance crews, ready to treat cramp, exhaustion or dispense Vaseline (for the nipples!) on demand, and the Blood Glucose testing stations for the Diabetic runners. JDRF had 4 type one (insulin dependant) runners - three of them finishing in under 3 hours 30. HUGE respect to those guys.
Mile 11 came and went, and there we were on Tower Bridge. If a race like this can have highlights this was certainly one of them. Massive crowds, world class setting, sunshine, people calling out your name, urging you
onwards - I felt on top of the world. At 13 miles I had a reminder of the serious nature of what we were doing. The course briefly 'touches' itself (steady) just after Tower Bridge, and as we entered our 13th mile some of the really fit people were on their 21st. As I looked across the divide and marvelled at these athletes one guy lost his balance and crashed through the barrier in front of me. His eyes rolled up into his head and he started convulsing badly. St Johns were there in no time, and I subsequently learned that this was most likely a heat reaction. Still, it helped to further banish all thoughts about finishing times (which had frankly already been filed in the 'irrelevant' section). Getting through would be victory enough.
The organisers are to be applauded. For our comfort they had installed 4 shower areas along the route. These were simple tunnels fashioned from wooden frames containing banks of water sprinklers. Heaven! I used all four to great effect.
The Isle of Dogs proved to be gruelling, with crowds a little more sparse, until we neared Canary Wharf. We rounded a corner at around 17 miles and BAM! - we were greeted by a sea of humanity, waving, cheering and clapping. What a boost! On we ran, and I still felt fine - then after the 18 mile mark I lost contact with my engine room. My legs and arms still pumped away, yet I was being swallowed up by the following pack. One by one all the runners I has passed in the last 30 minutes came gently by. I felt like I was going backwards - then the
penny dropped: I'd reached the infamous 'Wall'.
I eased up and slowed down to little more than a gentle jog, controlling my breathing and lengthening my stride - two 'tricks' I had read about to keep going whilst 'recovering'. This worked, and after another mile and a half began to feel better. More Lucozade Sport and a shower at 19 miles got me back up to speed and I set off for the 20 mile marker with renewed enthusiasm.
By now I had seen many runners in distress. Some collapsed, some in agony with cramp, others pushing against walls and lamp-posts trying to coax locked muscles into action. I learned late on Sunday night that a runner from the Blue Start (those who obtained places through the Marathon Ballot) had collapsed and died at the 2.5 mile mark - before the three starts joined at around 3 miles. Rest in peace, and thoughts go to family and friends........................................
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16-04-2003, 08:24 AM,
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London Marathon 2003
............................Into the 20's then, and hopefully down hill all the way . . .
. . . well, not quite. Despite my recovery from the Wall effect (my glycogen reserves had run out basically) my legs were suffering now. I felt inflammation building behind both knees, both calves were moaning constantly (although my previously damaged right calf no more so than the apparently fine left) and my lower back was chipping in to the general chorus of complaint.
I elected to take a couple of walk breaks, just before we again reached Tower Bridge, and as we entered the Embankment. Despite being extremely painful when I started jogging again ('running' would be an exaggeration) I think this was a wise move. By the time Westminster Bridge hove into view I was convinced I would finish, if not in lung-bursting style, at least on my own two feet.
The crowds were again superb, and instrumental in getting us home. Like many runners I had my name marked clearly on my shirt, and the sound of hundreds of strangers calling for you to keep going was inspirational. You daren't stop at this point - you'd probably get lynched!
In those final few miles I passed 3 Elvis Presleys (one with a guitar, one with a CD player belting out the Kings' tunes), 2 Mister Men and a Rhino. Into the Mall and the last mile. All I could think of was this was a lot shorter than most of my mid week warms up runs, so stop whining and get on with it! Past Buckingham Palace and into the last corner . . . and there was the finish line.
What a sight - large yellow numbers ticking over, crowds on both sides applauding, photographers snapping the finishers, most of whom had arms thrust aloft and heads thrown back in personal triumph. I was no exception. My family was there, just off to the right, but I didn't see them. Through the archway and almost into the arms of the marshals, and there was an official offering me my medal. 'Well done mate' she said. 'Its all over, well done'.
I could have wept. Many did weep, others slumped to the ground, exhausted, whimpering in the dust.
I ambled forward in a trance as another official removed my timing chip from my laces and another thrust a bag of goodies into my hand. I kept shuffling and realised that I had the most ridiculous grin spread across my face. I stopped grinning and located my kit bag, and there was Humphrey Waters - Humph - JDRF team captain, stretching for all he was worth against the railing.
'Well done old boy' he said. 'Have a couple of these and for Gods' sake, stretch your bloody legs'. He handed me a bottle of Nurofen and grinned in a slightly mad fashion. 'Bloody great wasn't it'. Too right, Humph, too right.
As I forced my battered limbs to stretch I glanced down at a woman beside me.
Clutching her mobile to her ear, she was sobbing uncontrollably. I thought how moving this was, to be so affected by the occasion. Then I read her T-shirt.
It showed a photograph of a young boy (about 3 years old) and read
'In Memory Of Chris - Lost to Cancer'.
Most people will tell you that humility is not my strong suit, but I can honestly say I felt humble just then.
Afterward
I took my gear and contacted Shayne by 'phone. We met up in the repatriation area near Admiralty Arch where hugs and kisses were exchanged all round. Tim and Andy and my good mate Robin all arrived and plaudits were offered and accepted.
A brief visit to the JDRF recovery venue at the Crypt in St Martins in the Field - where the JDRF support team of Adele Claase and Jon Henderson were doing sterling work, aided by a small army of masseurs, and it was on to O'Neils for pint of the black stuff.
And so now the question - would you go through that again?
Too right mate, too right!
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