London Calling ......

Imagine Phil Mitchell fresh from the set of Eastenders shouting at the top of his voice “Gooooo on my son”. Imagine a roar as loud as you can on either side of you on Tower Bridge. Imagine turning in front of Buckinham Palace to run along the same bit of road that Paula Radcliffe ran along (albeit about two and a half hours previously) and you can start to imagine what taking part in the London Marathon was like.

Shortly following the aftermath of last year Loch Ness marathon, Rosco came into work with application forms for London. We decided to maximise the chances of a place by both “bequesting” the entrance fee (i.e. in the event of not getting in … the money is lost anyway) – there is an additional 1000 places available for those choosing this route. A few months went by and I got a text from Nicola saying she had got a place. A few days later I got an acceptance with a wee yellow sticker indicating the decision to donate the money had been a good one … for me anyway. Rosco on the other hand heard nothing ... until he got a rejection letter. After complaining bitterly about the irony of them sending an energy gel “whit feckin good is that tae me noo” and a comment along the lines of “where is Willie Wallace when you need him”, Rosco seemed to calm down a little. Maybe the wee jacket they also sent helped.

Training for London was challenging. Marathon training always is but working a bad series of nightshifts when the long runs were due didn’t help. Having said that, when I look back to the diary for Loch Ness - I had done more preparation for London. A good sign surely ?

Sadly Moira was still sick and was not able to come down to London. It must of been hard for her being left behind. Farewells and good wishes noted and I was soon sitting in Glasgow Airport. It was great – loads of folks sitting reading about where to register, discussing pace and chuggin water hoping to stay hydrated. It was funny watching one poor guy whose girlfriend was trying to plan what to do on the romantic city break – including what they were going to see & do after the poor guy had run 26.2 miles. I am fairly sure she was going to be disappointed.

Arriving in Luton is was good to see Annie again. We had run in the 2003 LAMM together and last met up at the 2004 Rat Race in Edinburgh. After coffee and a read through the most comprehensive set of directions to her place in High Wycombe possible and I headed off to registration. This went very smoothly and it was then time to wander amongst the marathon expo. I left a couple of hours later with a large bag of leaflets, a Science in Sport “carbo” kit (energy drinks, bars and gels), legs feeling great after a massage, a new pair of shorts etc ….

Race morning was as perfect – clear skies and just a tad on the cold side. The journey down to London from Annie’s was spent on a range of soapbox style discussions (subjects to varied to list here). With the world at rights – Adrian, Annie and I walked down to Charing Cross where we joined the masses heading over to Blackheath Common and the starts. I was in “blue” start and Ade was in “red”. With similar half marathon times we made a rough plan to look out for each other … amongst the other 30,000 !

It only took about 4 minutes from the gun going off to getting over the start line. Running for the first 2-3 miles was slow but fairly steady which was pleasantly surprising. Heading out past Woolwich the pace was upped a little closer to the pre-race target– it was nice to be making progress as planned. It was also nice to just enjoy the crowds who even at this early stage, were making a difference to morale. Rounding Cutty Sark was fantastic. Having watched it on TV for years … being part of it is kinda hard to describe. As each mile passed it got hotter. Every so often there was a shower over the road – for us Jocks on the course the drizzle made it feel like home (even if the salty sweat running into the eyes was sore). The water stations were well managed and there was every opportunity to take on fluids. Some time around 7 miles I met Nicola - she looked to be having a tough time with the heat. I don’t remember a great deal about the next ten miles or so other than the ongoing support from thousands of people who didn’t know the majority of people they were cheering for. Every so often I would see a fitba top I would recognise and a “up the celts” or “up the gers” shout would incite an even louder roar from whoever was wearing it. At one point there was a guy with a huge Saltire at the side of the road – it made me smile. As we were heading out towards Docklands the elite men passed in the opposite direction – very impressive. It is hard to imagine how fast these guys go. I doubt that by the time I was at that stage folks were thinking the same however. As usual, some time around 21-22 miles it got sore with the only relief from the pain and nagging in the head being when hamstring cramp threatened – at least that gave me something new to worry about and divert the wee demon telling me to jack the running and walk a while. It was a struggle to remember that not only would walking mean the end of a new PB … but it wouldn’t actually help the pain. Dr Mike Stroud in the book “Survival of the Fittest” commented that the most important quality for endurance is not fitness or strength but a defective short term memory. Maybe that was the only thing which differentiated those still struggling to maintain a pace and those who were walking with heads hung low. I went through 40km at just under 3:30 – the math was easy … maintain under 5min/km and I would be finished in under 3:40. Delivering that proved impossible no matter what and I crossed the line dizzy but over the moon in 3:41:19. A new personal best by about 14 minutes.

Turns out Ade had a better first half marathon than me but also suffered with the heat and we passed somewhere in the last couple of miles to finish only a couple of minutes apart. Nicola got a new personal best finishing in 3:51.

Post races good wishes and coffee completed it was time for the long train journey back north.