It’s not like im afraid of the marathon. I’ve ran marathons before. I’ve only raced one, but i’ve taken myself out on a weekend and done them as a one off. I’ve also done an Ultra marathon and long distance triathlons, so my endurance and mental strength threshold is pretty strong.
However, all us runners know that a marathon is completely different everytime you do one. New challenges, new injuries, new stories and new emotional journeys.
I remember the first one I ever did. I’d taken a large break from running and had come into some new found freedom. I’d begun running what I thought was 16-20 mile routes (turns out they were 8-12) and thought to myself – ‘man, i’m an adonis. fittest man on earth’, and so entered the Carver Wolverhampton Marathon.
I remember the day clearly. I woke up and beasted a huge bowl of pasta and then headed to Wolverhampton in my 1.1 X Reg Citroen Saxo. I pulled up about half a mile from the start and waited in my car with that nervousness you get when wondering if you’re in the right place or not. Not long after arriving other runners started turning up. I got out of my car and began stretching, trying to catch eyes with the obvious seasoned marathoners, in order for them to reassure me that everything was going to be fine. It worked. A guy who must have been in his mid 50’s looked at me and saw my desperation. “Looking forward to it” he said. This is the staple question like when you ask a taxi driver what time he’s on til. I responded with doubt in my voice “bit nervous to be honest but just want to get started, is this your first” I asked, hoping that this man was in the same boat as me and way out of his depth. “First one? noooo, this will be my 254th”. So we parted ways. Nothing in common except we both had 26.2 miles to run.
I headed to the start line and got in my position. Here I struck up conversation with a bloke who obviously hit the gym massively. We got talking about how much we’d trained and he mentioned that he was doing the marathon because somebody in his rugby club had dared him a few months ago and he wanted to prove them wrong. He then asked me the question I was dreading….. “what did you do to prepare last night?”
Now here’s the thing. I didn’t prepare last night at all. I had intended to fully. My plan was to have a bath, eat pasta til it came out my ears and get an early night. But no…. this was not to be. I’d been asked by a friend if I fancied a couple of pints. I saw this as opportunity to talk him to death about the impending marathon.
So to the pub I went.
Now i’ll cut a long story short here and just get straight to the bit where it’s 4am on race day and i’m being dragged out of a nightclub in Birmingham city centre by a bouncer because I couldn’t stand up. Now lets leave that there.
No sooner had we got over the shock of my preparation, the gun had gone and we had started on our epic pilgrimage to the finish line. The first half of the race was fine and I absolutely breezed it. Think i came through 13.1 in about 1:34 which for me is quick.
The second 13.1 however was to be a different story.
I’d prepared myself for one large circular route to trundle around but I was about to receive my first mental strength test. At 13.1 miles I ran past the finish line. It was only at this moment that I realised I was now also running with the half marathoners, and seeing them jog off to the finish to cheers and a good bag full of food was demoralising to say the least. I wanted crisps, I wanted a snickers and I didn’t wan’t to run up this long painful hill for a second time.
I gathered together my next installment of strength and got to about 16 miles before my body decided it had no blood sugar left, I had no energy and without a miracle I was not going to be finishing this marathon.
The Miracle happened!
A lady offered a hand… a glorious hand, a hand of an angel, the only hand that mattered. The hand opened and in that hand were magnificent babies of jelly. I scoffed them like a pizza on a hangover and within minutes I felt like popeye when he’s had his spinach. I was now Paula Radcliffe. Only I wasn’t a woman, didn’t have blonde hair and wasn’t anywhere near as good as her. But from that moment on I was Paula Radcliffe.
Theres always 1 person, anywhere you go that causes sever annoyance. I had this at mile 21. I slowed to a walk for a minute and a loud bellowing voice behind me shouted “COME ON MATE, KEEP RUNNING, NO WALKING”. As he passed I noticed him. A mid 20’s lad with not even a 6 pack, it was more a 112 pack of muscles, ripped, toned and wearing nothing but Speedo’s.
When you’re on the brink and one of these characters run by making it look as easy as smashing a crisp with a sledgehammer, it really can grate on you. At this stage of the race I wanted someone shattered and broken just like me. I wanted someone to tell me it was horrible and a stupid idea.
The miles slowly teetered out and before I knew it I was climbing the last hill (everest) and heading to the finish. At the final straight I saw my dad…..”COME ON SON, SPRINT FINISH” he shouted. I’m not sure what drugs he was on, but he was on something. There would be no sprinting from me for at least two weeks after this. Infact the only speed right now was the speed at which my big toe nail was removing itself from left foot.
I crumpled to the ground just after the finish line, I’d done it. my first ever marathon. It didn’t deter me.
The pain has since become a drug. Part of me wants my toenails to come off, my feet to bleed, my joints to ache. Lets face it….if there’s no pain, then it’s not far enough.
So on that note…………….Lets do London Marathon!
Here’s to sleepless nights, aching joints, lost toenails, too much pasta and dodgy stomachs. Lets have it.
Emma and Sam Share The World 