Well, I wasn't very good at keeping on top of the blog. However, there are a number of reasons for posting one more entry, whch will become apparent.
The last week has been torture. I hate dealing with 'what ifs', and I.m the kind of person who will think and think and think about 'what ifs' until the cows come home. I don't embrace the unknown, I pick it apart in the vain hope of understanding it, but probably cause myself more heart (and brain) ache in the process.
So, Sunday was D-Day. I'd trained. I had an army of well-wishers behind me who had demonstrated an overwhelming faith in my ability to rise to the challenge. I just wanted to get going. Not because I was desperate to do it, but because then I would no longer be dealing with those God-awful 'what ifs'. The sun was shining, it was warm (no one had anticipated this). My husband escorted me to the start and I took my place in Trap 9 Red (right at the back of the mass start). I remember seeing Vinny the Rhino, and I took a photograph of two brilliant blokes dressed as Mr Men ; there was a tall guy in front of me who's t-shirt said 'Running for my dad.' That made me cry. There was a chirpy South Walean commentating to the croud and as we moved toward the start two blokes behind me were chatting away. One of them had a little boy who had said 'Good luck dada, make sure you win.' and he didn't have the heart to tell him it was unlikely. I turned around at that point and said 'Never say never', because actually that's the very thing that got us all there in the first place: not writing yourself off but at least giving it a go.
Kudos to iphone: I remember that Tiny Tempah's INTRO was playing as I crossed the line, and that song has fired me up so many times on my training runs. It's probably part of the reason why I was off like greased lightening. The first mile went so quick I started to think if I blinked I might miss the whole race. There is nothing like running down some of those hills and seeing nothing but runners ahead of you. The first half went really, really well: I was quick and I felt fantastic. It's a scrum because there's just so many people, but you don't care. Cutty Sark, fully restored, was beautiful, but I was expecrting her exactly where she was. I saw the NSPCC cheering squad who absolutely roared as I passed them and it made all the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Tower Bridge took me completely by surprise: I looked up and it was directly ahead of me and I think that was one of my highlights. The photogrphers have picked me up there too and I'm actually smiling which has never happened in a race photo before. There was a guy from Just Giving who gave me a huge cheer. I'm just sorry I didn't see my husband who had gone to see me at that point (though in fairness if HMS Belfast had been open I think he would have been trying to sail her off down the Thames instead).
I've not got a clue what happened after Tower Bridge. I ran my fasted 5k split of the whole race at that point, then hit The Wall at Mile 16. I'd somehow managed to miss the 14 and 15 Mile markers so didn't have a clue where I was. I didn't recognise The Wall either: my body felt fine but I still wanted to curl up at the side of the road and sleep. I felt like I'd slowed so much I was going nowhere and I wish I'd known what I was dealing with because I probably could have dealt with it quicker. Instead I walked and ran to the next Lucozade station, cramping for the first time ever in a run which was though lack of salt because of the heat, threw caution to the wind and took one of their drinks. My toes had curled under on my left foot and everytime my foot hit the floor it was incredibly painful. The hit of sugar and other crap in that drink gave me a kickstart though and I was off again.
I've no idea where Isle of Dogs is on the route, so forgive me if this is out of synch, but this was one of my absolute highlights. The street were lined with people who had dragged sofas out to watch and were having BBQs at the side of the road; there were kids who had clearly gone and spent their pocket money on sweets in little white paper bags to give to the runners, and people outside their homes with stacks of sports drinks to give to anyone who needed it. I know there are cynics out there but these people had nothing to gain and were just doing it from the goodness of their hearts. I remember the lady and her rather bemused boyfriend standing on the roundabout handing out jaffa cakes, the woman holding out a tin of Roses chocolates, and people with boxes of Jelly Babies. It's THOSE people that make it so, so special: pefect strangers giving the most wonderful, warm genuine support to people who, at that point, really really need it.
The Wall returned at Mile 21 and from 21.5 to 23 I was counting lamposts: run three, walk one. I was running at 23 and was willing myself to run to 24. It seemed to take forever but then I was willing myself to 25. We came out of a tunnel and we'd left the sun on the other side: it was really overcast and much cooler and them's my kind of conditions. I looked up and thought 'Oh, Westminster!' then turned the corner and saw '800m to go', then that big place the Queen lives, then '400m to go, then a policeman absolutely screaming at runners to 'Keep going you have nearly done it' and virtually wetting himself with encouragement, then '385 yards to go'. Then I saw it. A bloody rhino. There was a bloke on my right shoulder. I turned to him and said 'That sodding rhino is not crossing the line before me' and I managed an absolutely pathetic turn of speed. I've not seen my photo finish yet, but that bloody rhino was on my left shoulder. Just me and him. And my dad heard me telling the rhino he was amazing because I struggled and I wasn't a rhino for the day, and my dad had pressed the red button and stayed glued to the tv until he knew I was 'home' safe.
Some people don't get home safe. Claire Squires died just before the finish line. I didn't know her, and thank God I don't really know what she went through before she died. But I know she was just trying to do something good for other people. Her desperately sad death has triggered a wave of donations to The Samarians for whom she was running and I'm glad some good will come from it; but I wish Claire's mum still had her little girl instead if I'm honest.
Through training I had an idea I wanted to run sub-five hours and said I would be gutted if I didn't. On the other side of it I don't care about time*. The London Marathon is a 26.2 mile love-in. £50m+ is raised for charity, even when times are hard. It's a fucking hard run. It hurts. But most people that start it finish it because of their own drivers (running in memory of mum, dad, babies lost, or because they've suvived something terrible or won't survive something terrible and their time is running out - they are just some of the reasons I saw), and because of that phenomenal crowd. It is such a powerful, humbling experience and I wouldn't change a minute of it. I was most concerned about reaching my fundraising target and I am really pleased to say that I raised just over £1,500 for the NSPCC. I am so, so proud of everyone that donated money beccause you have made a real difference to someone else's life. Hopefully I have already thanked you for your donation, but if not THANK YOU from the very bottom of my heart.
I promise to shut up about the marathon now!
Cath xx
*I have, however, registered for the Berlin Marathon on 30th September 2012 where I fully intend to stick to my game plan and run 4.48.
