Ape-ril

[marathondan]

3. Funky gibbon

As well as crowd support, runners would often give me a pat on the back or a well-done as they overtook me. I tried to return the favour whenever I encountered a fellow fancy dress enthusiast. I variously chatted with a banana (his running partner got a picture of us together), a dog (guiding a partially sighted runner) and another gorilla (with his head off for a break - shameful). Also a man who'd had his colon removed, and sundry other runners who were happy to fulfill the mutual need for a chat.

Mile 11 and I stopped for more high fives with super-supporters Chris and Rebekah (half of the Brighton Rock support team). I'd thought (wrongly) they were going to be a bit later on, but I passed a station... Rotherhithe, that sounds familiar, didn't someone mention that on the phone this week? Oh! There they are. Completely serendipitous that I was on the right side for a quick - if bemused, on both sides - meet and greet. It seems so wrong to only stop for a couple of seconds after they've been waiting for so long, but... well, I guess keeping going is the whole point.

Visibility in the mask is poor of course. Peripheral vision is almost non-existent, and, being quite tall, it was common for me to find a shorter, overtaking runner unexpectedly appearing around my armpit region. That, or to come very close to punching someone in the face as I waved to the crowd. This is well illustrated by my official photos at Tower Bridge. First, Gus invades the personal body space of an unfortunate lady. Nonplussed, she valiantly fights off the hairy invader. Finally, he towards towards the inter-species interloper with a quizzical look. I basically ruined this photo for her.

Tower Bridge is a glorious point in the course. It's super-iconic, landmarks are all around, it's nearly halfway, and once over the bridge you get to run against athletes who are an hour or so ahead of you. As I was running below my normal pace, the quality of runners on the other side wasn't quite as high as in my previous Londons. Fast, yes, but the true whippets were already gone, and there was the odd charity wig speeding by.

At this point I knew that the JDRF stand would soon be on both sides, with Sweder and MLCMM on the other side of the carriageway. Once the blue banners were in range it was easy to spot them, and they certainly made themselves well heard from 10m or so away. I let rip with my best King Louie dance and moved on, spirits lifted.

13.1 miles is a significant milestone, but then it starts to drag a bit. There are still wonderful crowds, bands, singers, fellow runners. But at this point, you really want to get to the infamous mile 20. And at this pace that's a long slog, an hour and a quarter of not much happening, except you getting more and more tired. It was all about the legs, for sure. The slow pace meant that I was heel striking on straight legs, each step jolting 200 pounds straight through the quads. At times I remembered to straighten up and roll my foot through, but you can only maintain that for a while.

Three more encounters with supporters - lingering for slightly longer greetings each time - and a good cheer at the Scope stand kept me going. Jelly babies were becoming unpalatable to say the least, and the Garmin mile markers now bore little relation to the actual mile posts. But 20 finally came around. The beginning of the end.