Flm 2005

[Sweder]

Running in the London Marathon is tough.
Understatement that'll bring no argument on this forum I'm sure.

Running any Marathon is tough; the training, the mental preparation, control, control, control. But London offers a unique challenge and brings a variety of obstacles and challenges that only a Big City Marathon can. Of particular note yesterday was the sheer volume of people on the circuit. Somewhere close to 33,000 eager runners lined up in Greenwich Park, each with his or her own agenda for the day. The resulting melee at the off shouldn't come as a surprise yet I was amazed that, in my group at least, no one lost their footing in the first frantic mile.

My mental preparation for London started the night before. That may seem late to some, but with the distraction of the JDRF Pasta Party to keep me fully occupied I honestly hadn't thought about the race or how I'd run it. I lay awake in my hotel room on Saturday night waiting for Messrs Lineker and Hansen to send me off to sleep, when the unthinkable happened: I nodded off before MotD had even started. I'd underestimated the amount of mindspace the JDRF function had occupied, not to mention the anxiety. I spent the evening pacing about like an anxious party-host, meeting, greeting, introducing and generally fussing like an old mother hen. This was all entirely superfluous, as Adele Claase had organised everything to perfection, but being Chairman of the Running Events committee I needed to justify my position, and did my best to upset the applecart at every turn.

The evening, a great success by all accounts, ended at around 8.30 pm when, grateful thanks distributed, I dashed off into the London night. A quick pit stop in the hotel bar for a single Guinness (medicinal purposes only; I was still mentally fizzing at this point) and so to bed.

I awoke just after 7, my first thought to reach for the curtains. Hmm. Clear skies. But the forecast had confidently predicted a 'fresh' start with cloud and rain later. I prepared my pre-race meal; granary bread, butter, banana and maple syrup, downed a coffee and set off for Greenwich.

And it's here that the logistical nightmare that is the London Marathon begins. Staying in Docklands had opened the door to a relatively trouble-free, 6 stop journey on the DLR (Dockland Light Railway) to Cutty Sark, leaving a brisk ¾ mile walk to the start. Except that, in these health & safety conscious times, the authorities felt obliged to close Cutty Sark due to crowd congestion. Hearing the announcement I bailed out at Island Gardens and took the foot tunnel to Greenwich. It fascinates me that educated, informed Marathon runners can, at times like this, resort to the herding instinct. As I left the train, heading boldly for the exit, I saw any number of runners clutching their FLM kit bags umming and arring about what to do. Around 30 dismounted and followed me, blindly trusting this total stranger. A 'don't follow me: I'm lost too' T-shirt would have been appropriate. The rest stayed on board in the apparent belief that a) Cutty Sark would be open by the time they arrived or b) the next stop would be available and closer to the park.

I emerged from the station, for the first time appreciating what a truly beautiful day this was. A few wispy white clouds trailed on the edge of a pale blue sky, the morning sun even now warming my face. This could be a hot one, I thought as I strode off towards the tunnel.

By the time I emerged alongside that famous tall ship I could have sworn the temperature had risen a couple of degrees. Small beads of sweat broke on my forehead as I marched on towards the park. Bloody hell! My mobile was going off. It was Niguel, wishing me all the best. I'm sure I detected more than a hint of envy in his voice. I appreciated his thoughtful message. Several texts from friends followed and I allowed myself a grin; I'm a lucky chap.

To the chaos of Greenwich Park, the kaleidoscope of human business, a chattering, bustling running rainbow collectively stripping off and applying vast quantities of petroleum jelly to the most vulnerable areas of their bodies. I found my designated trailer and followed suit, determined not to repeat the painful dose of Joggers' Nipple I'd suffered two weeks before.

I met up with a few JDRF runners. Tension was evident in all but a seasoned few and I marvelled at my own sense of calm. There's something about having covered the distance before that takes that edge off this moment; you know you're going to get 'round. These poor people had no idea, either of just exactly how tough it would be, or if they would fulfil their dream at all. I offered advice, mostly based on 'take it easy' and 'enjoy the day - it'll be one of the best of your life'. I'm not sure this made a jot of difference; it certainly hadn't to me two years ago as I stood, quaking on this very spot, exchanging macho bravado with SP.

to be continued