Marathon Goals
1. Don't shit myself
2. Finish the race
(in that order)
I arrive at the race village with plenty of time to relax, pee and eat another banana.
There are so many people,
too many people. I find a spot on the grass, put my headphones in, stretch out and enjoy the sunshine. I find a quiet space in my own head and try to find a sense of calm. I'm ready. I've been ready for this for weeks.
Waiting to start. Ant and Dec are commentating the beginning of the race, "There are some good looking ladies running today, let's have a big cheer for them!" Every man, woman and child near me eye-rolls. I've never been prouder of the human race. Absolute jokers.
It takes forever to get out of the starting pens. I knew this would happen but it doesn't do anything to dampen the frustration and excitement. A few messages trickle in on my phone from important people in my life as I wait. Their words are essential to my success, and I savour ever last one of them. I cross the start line at about 10:20am, and that's it. I am doing it. I am running the fucking London marathon!
The first mile slips past so quickly as I settle into my stride, but it's not long before I detour to the portaloos for a quick nervous wee.
It's lovely and sunny today. The showers en route make for the nicest surprise. I run through each and every single one and the cool water makes me feel brand new, for all of about thirty seconds. I find joy in the littlest things: smiling and saying a meaningful 'thank you' to the volunteers handing out water; hi-fiving a small child as I run past;
Jungle Boogie coming on shuffle.
There are so many people here and trying to spot people I know is like Where's Wally. I know Mum and Ali will be roughly at mile 8, mile 13 and mile 23 but I'll keep my eyes open just in case. I haven't written my name on my running bib this time. As lonely as this makes me feel during the many other miles, it makes it so much easier to find them when they're near by. I miss them at mile 13 and this really upsets me. My brain gets weird and for a solid two miles I reeeaaalllllly miss my Mum, on the brink of tears like a homesick child.
Hey Mama by Kanye West comes on, and I remember that it's not really so bad. I'll see her in a couple of hours!
I drift in and out of the miles mentally in a bizarre day dream. One mile passes, then another. I focus on my breathing, fleeting thoughts, the people. The first TorQ gel is delicious, black forest fruits. The second one, less so. After five I want to vomit. But if I don't eat them I'll definitely hit the wall. I pretend it's medicine to shut my mouth up from complaining because
'A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...'
When I hit mile 20 I am acutely aware that I have never
ever run further than this. No mans land. Who knows what my body will do here? I certainly don't know. I see a sign that makes me laugh, but it's also sound advice, 'NEVER TRUST A FART AFTER MILE 20'. I keep going slowly and steadily, smiling as I run through the pain because Chrissie Wellington (four-time Ironman Triathlon World Champion) told me so in her book. It works a treat up to a point.
Mile 21 and 22 are the hardest by far. I'm so tired. Everything hurts, especially my right hip, and I really want to walk for a bit. I manage to convince myself to keep running, just for one more song. Six or seven 'one more songs' happen before I relent and let myself walk for a bit to stretch out my legs a little.
Hard Times by Paramore comes on, and I can't do anything but start running again. It's like when you're in a club and hear a song you know, and can't do anything but run to the dance floor to enjoy it. The sun in shining, everything still hurts, I don't have control over my body, but I do have control over my head. I just have to keep going. One more song.
Nothing in my life has ever felt sweeter, than when I hear my Mum shout my name at mile twenty-four. Her kisses and kindness push me faster and further. Only seconds later I see my old housemates, "Only two more to go Immy!" Josh shouts. This stays with me. This helps. I
can do this. Only two more? Easy! I feel totally invincible.
I turn the corner of The Mall towards the final stretch for the last 1000m and one of my favourite songs of all time comes on: Langhorne Slim,
The Way We Move. It takes me back to 2013; a party in France. It's the middle of the night. Stars overheard, drinks a plenty. Toby and I are dancing like absolute lunatics in an orange bedouin tent, family and old friends around us celebrating my cousin's marriage. I'm overcome by love. And though we aren't together anymore I feel the weight of that memory like he's there cheering me on. We're dancing and laughing, and nothing beats the encouragement from one of my best friends. I finish with a smile. (I think I am smiling but I can't tell any more. My body feels like it's totally detached from me.)
Five hours, sixteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds, and I'm done.
I catch the tube back towards Greenwich where I'm staying. I climb the stairs slowly, painfully. Every step feels heavy but I've never felt stronger than I do right now, mentally, emotionally or physically. I have to keep saying the words in my head to really believe them. "I ran a marathon. I ran the London marathon!" For days it still won't have sunk in, and even now three weeks later I feel far removed from it. I didn't run the London Marathon; it was someone I knew or knew of, a friend of a friend.
Walking back through the streets of London and I'm smiling like a twat. Like when you find out the boy you fancy likes you back. A big goony grin from ear to ear. The city feels smaller today, a different place to be. Kind strangers come up to me to ask me how I am, shake my hand and congratulate me. I feel a part of this big, mad place and it's wonderful.
Home. I lift each leg into the bath with great effort. I've never heard my knees click so loudly. My pants have chafed a sore red line into my arse. But I know I'll sleep well tonight... because I just ran the fucking London marathon!
