People had been training extremely hard for this one day; monitoring their diets and following intricately-planned training routines. Not that I don't believe in that sort of thing, but I've just been up to other stuff and didn't really have time for it all. I play football twice a week, run from home to the station (usually because I'm late), and that's about it. So I did have some reason to be slightly anxious the night before the race; the exhibition at Excel where we registered was full of eager beavers stocking up on their name-printed shirts and energy drinks. I bought a pair of South African-made running socks that felt quite padded and comfortable, got my running number and kit bag, then got out of there, passing the stalls where people from various other cities around the world were advertising their marathons.
The morning of the race; with pasta in my belly from the night before, and excitement levels at their highest, watching all the crowds converge from the tubes to marathon start line. My phone charger wasn't plugged in the night before, so I was relying on the half battery I had to take all the photos and make all the calls I needed during the race. Yes, I 'needed' to make calls; running can be that boring sometimes! I met my friend Farhan at the lorry where they take your kit bag to the finish line, so I got changed and gave my red numbered bag to the people at our lorry, before realising I'd left my phone inside, and thus began the frantic search for my bag.
So with my phone finally in my hand, and oyster and bank cards in the zip-up back pocket of my shorts, we started running, taking loads of photos of the wacky and bizarre costumes some runners wore, and witty comments people had written on their signs and vests. Things were going well the first 10 miles; not tired at all and Blackberry Messenger-ing my way through, occasionally grabbing a bottle of water or Lucozade the volunteers were handing out. It was a beautiful sunny day and the crowds of spectators along the route really spurred you on, with people even handing out their household reserves of fruit and sweets. I think this is why they call it the best marathon in the world; the people, the kids sticking their hands out to get as many high-fives as possible; the atmosphere was something I had never experienced before.
After the first 10 miles, I felt a little pain in my right knee, but I would not let this spoil my day. Just one foot in front of the other I thought, and stay with your friend. Look out for other friends running, say hello to them, before politely overtaking and wishing them luck. Halfway through we see the Barts Running Club congregated behind the barriers, cheering on the runners from our university. This stretch of road had two lanes; in one direction people just passing the halfway mark, and in the other direction was the 22 mile sign, with runners in this lane noticably more tired than in ours.
20 miles, and we were in the 'financial district' of London; Canary Wharf and other tall buildings, and where I had volunteered to help the year before. Here I bumped into another friend volunteering, and quickly took a picture of him, before telling him everything was fine, a bit of knee pain but that was it. I wish it had stayed that way! I had given up trying to encourage Farhan to keep up and keep breathing (more a motivation for myself than anything), and I lost him in the crowd behind me. I hadn't yet reached mile 21 and the pain started to kick in; the knowledge that if you stopped running for one second, your legs would cramp up... I had to keep going!
My photo-taking was less frequent now, just focused on reaching that finish line 5 miles away. And then, after passing the Tower of London, it happened. My entire right leg seized up and I was stopped in my tracks; the spectators on the side urging me on with their looks of sympathy. What could I do? I couldn't go on for another four miles in this state, with my leg refusing to continue, throbbing with pain. 'I can't give up now', I thought, so I wrapped my hands around my leg and lifted it, and with a cheer from my newly-formed fan group, I carried on; pain still radiating along my entire leg. For the rest of the run, the only emotions I had were fear; fear that things would get too bad for me to continue, and hope that I would get myself across the finish line. I had wondered how I could ever have gotten this far without the tubes of Lucozade gel people were handing out (of which I took more than one each time), the Red Bull shot I drank at Tower Bridge, and the company of my running companion.
I was alone, and through gritted teeth, clutching onto the Lycra that hugged my painful leg, I carried on. People were slowing down, slowing me down. I couldn't let that happen. I just wanted to push them out of the way, but instead had to squeeze past them with a polite 'excuse me' each time, the pain multiplying. And then came mile 22; and the Barts Running Club again; what a boost of morale they gave! I managed to take a quick picture of the cheering group of familiar faces, before they disappeared into the distance (or rather I did). Then Embankment, nearly there! The memories of all the people being stretchered away earlier served as a motivation to not let that happen to me, but just as I was approaching Westminster, my other leg cramped up. No! I massaged it for a little bit, ignored the burn, and limped laboriously on; the last stretch! And then I heard my name being called from behind the barriers; more friends! I couldn't give up now. I was practically there! The sign said 800 metres to go. That was like, two track lengths... I could do that!
Seeing Buckingham Palace had never been so pleasing, and as I approached the finish line, I ignored the pain and took in the atmosphere. This was amazing. A life moment in the making.
I crossed the finish line, and had a gold 'London Marathon 2011' medal placed around my neck. As I walked along the Mall, leaving the finish line behind me, a sudden overwhelming emotion gripped me. I wanted to cry. I don't know why, but I just wanted to. Now I understand why so many of the great sportspeople are overcome by this emotion. Something they plan and prepare themselves for for so long, and then they achieve it; everything paying off, after all the toil and sweat, they hadn't envisioned or prepared for the moments that came afterwards.
Ten minutes later, Farhan emerged from the crowds, and with medals around our necks, and wearing T-shirts that proclaimed us to be finishers of the London Marathon, we sat down in the radiant sunshine and reminisced, already discussing if we should run another marathon elsewhere.
Willpower played a major part in me finishing, but my legs were the things that carried me through. I don't know why they put up with me sometimes. I love my legs.
