And I would do anything for love,
I'd run right into hell and back
I would do anything for love,
I'll never lie to you and that's a fact....

I knew I wasn't going to sleep well before the race.

I live in an ex-local council flat in Tower Hamlets, and the fusion of a muffled Meatloaf song with the painful vocals my mentally unstable neighbour was regrettably adding to the noise pollution seeping through my wall and keeping me up. I was tempted to knock on her door and tell her to shut up (or smash her CD collection to bits and give her a Ramones album as a peace offering), but instead I calmly sat and read all the last minute articles available from running magazines and web sites. "How to last the second half of the race", "How to avoid The Wall", the list goes on. This was my first ever marathon, and my nerves were a bit tense, but I still managed to remain relatively calm. I'm a light sleeper in any case, so I couldn't blame the Bat Out of Hell next door entirely from the 4 hours sleep I had, so I awoke with a spring in my step, and focussed on the task at hand.

I began to pack my bag for my fiancée Lopa to take with her. She was going to meet me at the finish line, as well as offer some support with a mate Paul, from the balcony at his place near the Rotherhithe section of the track. I also had a little bum bag strapped around my waist, containing my phone, my iPod, and some Vaseline.

What was my approach going to be today? I wasn't going for a time, but I was aiming for about the 5 hour mark nevertheless. I was going to try and run slow at the start, and try and reserve my energy for the second half of the race. And most of all, I wanted to keep a smile on my face the whole way. I had been looking forward to this day for some time, and I figured if I tried to have some fun along the way and keep positive, it would keep my mind off the running. And if I needed some motivation, it would be the friends and family waiting at the finish line for me, as well as the charitable cause I was running for - the YMCA. I had surpassed my target and reached £1400 in donations, which was great.

I left home about 7am, hopping on the Docklands Light Rail at Bow Church, disembarking at Greenwich. You could tell which commuters were runners. Many were sporting garbage bags over their running gear. It's a practical move ( to keep warm before the race, and to easily throw away before running), but I still couldn't help feel that we were all part of one of those weird fashion parades, where the latest rave was wearing black garbage bags, with an ensemble of high cut shorts, hairy legs and fluffy white socks.

The weather was as I expected - overcast and wet. I had feared this, a real shame as the forecast for the weekend was fine and sunny, except for Sunday! I had worn a long sleeve t-shirt under my YMCA singlet, and had taken a old blue raincoat along, that I was going to ditch at the start.

Lucky I did. It was freezing at the starting point. In my desire to avoid the rush on public transport, I had arrived nearly two hours early to the start! So I walked around, keeping warm, and out of the rain until 9:45am. I was to begin on Zone 8, which was towards to end of the pack. There were all sorts of runners milling around my area. Some guy was dressed as a power drill, and a brave chap was wearing nothing but green g-string briefs, with his entire body covered in green and black paint!


As we all sat huddled in our Zone, we heard a cheer towards the front, signifying the start of the race. We slowly shuffled for at least 15 minutes towards the start line. By the time we got there I was itching to start running, but I kept it slow as I crossed the timing mats. Off I trot ....

And what a reception. Despite the conditions Londoners came out in their droves to support the runners. I was well chuffed and amazed at their enthusiasm. Those runners who had decided to place names on their shirts were constantly greeted with well wishes "Go Pete!", "Come on Linda!". Every pub along the way had their speakers pointed trackside, with DJs and bands playing for the runners and spectators alike. It really helped me at the start, as it made one relax a bit. As we turned around the Woolwich circus and headed towards the Cutty Sark, I spotted the YMCA cheering point on Trafalgar Road. As promised, they were playing the Village People song "YMCA". I ran past and tried to do the moves, but only managed a "Y" and an "M". Damn!

My first major milestone was to maintain a steady pace and get to Paul's place. He was roughly just past the 15km mark, and lives on Salter Road, near Rotherhithe Station. As I headed towards his house it started to pour down from the heavens, and it became a bit dodgy as I tried to avoid all the bottles of water and Lucozade scattered around the drinks stops. But despite this the feeling I got when I saw them from a distance negated any discomfort I was experiencing. They were sitting on the balcony, sipping champagne, and screaming loudly at me. I could hardly speak to them, I just waved and blew them a kiss.

Running over Tower Bridge was another highlight. The bridge was packed with people, and to see the London skyline as the backdrop to the Thames, full of boats letting their sirens off , was great. As you turned right off the bridge, and about 5 minutes eastwards, I reached the half-way mark. I checked my watch - 2hrs 29mins. This was good, I had expected to reach here about this time, I just needed to keep focussed, and keep it going.

It was after here I reached my first major problem. I was heading eastwards along the Highway, from Tower Bridge towards Poplar and the Isle of Dogs. This road had competitors running in the other direction, westwards towards the bridge and on the finish at Green Park. I began to feel a bit sluggish, because mentally I began to picture the distance around the Isle of Dogs I would have to run to reach the same stage of the runners heading the other way. It's amazing how that realisation can drag you down, and I had to keep aiming for smaller goals, looking for the markers every mile to keep me motivated.

I also began to hit "The Wall" much sooner as I expected. I had previously run the first 20 miles of the track in 3 hours 45mins, and felt I could achieve the same time today. But it wasn't to be, as it began to get tougher through Canary Wharf and towards the Mudchute Farm. I started to feel the strain on my ankles in particular, and because I wasn't completing the distance in the same, it started to get me down.

So out came the iPod. I hit play, and Slayer's "Here come the Pain" came on at high volume. Probably the kind of song I didn't need to hear at the time! I changed it to a playlist I had compiled the night before, containing some Pearl Jam, Travis, and Scissor Sisters. It immediately helped me as I rounded the Westferry Circus and through the tunnel towards Narrow Street and Limehouse.

One of the other factors pushing me towards the finish line was knowing that my fiancee and friends would be waiting at the finish line. I had told them I was to finish around the 5 hour mark, but as I passed the 20 mile mark I was going to be at least another hour. I called Lopa and told her I was literally "running late", and told her to wait in a pub nearby if she had to, as the skies opened up again and poured down upon the helpless runners. Most of the runners around me ( including myself ) were hobbling away at a slow pace at this stage, and breaking out into a couple of walks when required.

There was one runner who came and went through the pack I was running with who I shall never forget. "The Mobile Karaoke Unit" was an inspiration to me. Running with a microphone (connected to a mobile speaker ) in his left hand, and a plastic folder containing song lyric sheets in his right, he ran and sang whole way. Non-stop. If it wasn't Crowded House's "Don't Dream it's over", it was "Jailhouse Rock" or other party classics.

I was running 10 minutes, and walking 5 mins by this stage. The pain was becoming unbearable, and the difficulty in maintaining a constant pace began to dip my emotions yet again. The runners around me were starting to suffer as well, some bent over on the side, others stopped by the road stretching or tending to injuries. I kept going. I didn't want to stop, I had to keep going, even if it meant walking a little.

I managed to get to the cobblestone road under Tower Bridge, and after nearly spraining my ankle running over the uneven surface, I started to feel upbeat again and put some more music on. I was on the Thames Street, and slowly heading towards towards the finish. Whoo Hoo !

Then the hail came down.

Not light rain, hail. And it came down hard. I cussed under my breath and continued on, my head down and feet shuffling as fast as they could. The marathon had already taken many casualties, and this wasn't helping. As Karaoke Man cranked out "Layla" in an unintentional staccato heavy breathing style, I check my watch. 5 hours 30 minutes. I had just passed Blackfriars Bridge, and swore I was going to finish before 6 hours. I had to. As I turned and looked beyond the London Eye, I could see Westminster Palace and Big Ben. My armpits were starting to chafe, and my water-logged clothes were starting to become extremely uncomfortable. Keep going.

I had been reading an article in the New Scientist about The Wall, and spoke about how much of it is controlled more by one's mental impression of how long there was left to run, rather than how long one's muscles felt there was left. As I reached Westminster and turned towards Buckingham Palace, I realised what they were talking about.

I could see the finish. I could picture it. I could feel it. My slow shuffle/walk combo suddenly became a sprint. My pace amazingly picked up, and started to feel stronger, and more confident. I ran past a group of cheering supporters, and I screamed to myself "COME ON!!!" They all fell silent and stared at me, like I was like a man possessed. A woman running next to me looked at me in horror and started running faster, probably to get away from me.

I could hear the announcer at the finish line as I approached Buckingham Palace, as I then stepped it up a notch and sprinted for my life towards the end. I had finally done it. I nearly cried my eyes out as I crossed the line in 5 hours 45 mins.

As I hobbled towards the Repatriation Area to meet my friends, the rain still came down, but I didn't care. All those little battles with my self-confidence and drive during the race were handled and conquered accordingly. I set out to finish it, and I did!

Any regrets? I wanted to finish around the 5 hour mark, and my training could of been more extensive, with more long distance runs. I felt my legs were not prepared for the race, and would like to think that next time I could do it non-stop. I probably should have altered my diet more as well and kept my weight down. But all that paled into insignificance as I hobbled towards Lopa and my friends, who I all gave a big hug, and went home to attack a bottle of Moet & Chandon and a nice hot bath :-)


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