Chapter 5: London Marathon 2010: A New Obsession

The London Marathon like many of the big city marathons really starts with the expo when you pick up your running number and chip and get coaxed into spending unnecessary amounts of money on stuff you don't need. I made a fatal error. I listened to the masseuse who explained to me that I should take the first 6 miles easy (10 minute miles) and then step it up. Seemed sensible to me so that strategy stuck in my head.

My first ever Expo and number!!

I dreamt of turning up to the Marathon start line in my crocs and woke up with a start at just past 6am.

My buddy Josh Cohen (who would later run the Loch Ness marathon with me later that year) took me to Stanmore tube for the long journey to Greenwich and fired me up with tales of bravado and marathons he had run over the years.

Lining up on 27th April 2010 in my starting pen, my goal was to achieve a sub-4 hour time. Looking back, how on earth I figured I could do this on my training was beyond imagination but there I was in the red pen getting slowly doused in rain.

Never seen as many runners! Baaaaa (felt like a sheep)

I looked around and everyone was wearing shorts and running vests. I felt smug, in my 2 t-shirts, leggings, waterproof running jacket, rucksack with 2 lucozade sports and 2 bananas. What a novice!
We were off and it took about 2 minutes to cross the start line. The majesty of the inflatables and balloons were very exciting. And we were off! I was running a marathon, still sore from my first ever 20 mile run the week before.

RED Start

I quickly overtook Darth Vader and a bizarre looking giraffe and plodded my way to the Cutty Sark where I decided I should pick up my pace.

I’d left it too late and was already over the 2-hour mark by the time I had reached Tower Bridge. My goal had slipped through my fingers and instead of feeling invigorated that I was over the half way mark I felt dejected and tired.

The London Bridge "Lurch". Game over for sub 4 hour :(

The final 13 miles were the hardest and most unpleasant I have ever run. My leg was killing me. My hips were killing me. I felt sick and wondered how on earth I would make it to the end. But I did not walk thinking if I was to do so it would be game over as I would lose any momentum (partially true).
I spent the last 10 miles looking for my wife and kids but could not see them. The last few miles along the embankment I felt like I was literally dragging my leg but the end did come.

I crossed the line in 4 hours, 14 minutes. Immediately I had pins and needles in my face and hands (through salt depletion and dehydration) and stumbled over the area where you have your timing chip removed and your medal awarded. I met my wife and kids and promptly burst into tears.

PAIN. PAIN. PAIN

Unless you have run a marathon and dealt with your own demons it’s difficult to describe the feeling when you finish. Relief, total exhaustion but pride starts to build and although my experience was marred by a lack of preparation and in my mind a poor time, I had reason to celebrate.

Lying prone on the couch people that evening were calling me and popping by, congratulating me on my time, which was deemed to be respectable. I thought they were all humouring me.

And relax!

And then a strange thing happened. I felt that I had let myself down, that I had not applied myself properly. I knew that I had a runner’s DNA but I was not putting it to use. There was unfinished business that I needed to take care of.