Jon runs London 2009

Saturday 25th April
The big day (or at least, the weekend) is finally upon me! Met Daniel at the station in the morning to catch the train to London, and we met Anthony and some of his friends from South Wales on the train. When we arrived in London we made our way over to the expo at Docklands and swiftly completed the registration process - the organisation at FLM is faultless.

Anthony and I then headed over to the pasta party for our meal and then spent an hour or two looking round the stands. I resisted any temptation to spend lots of money, but did grab a few pairs of running socks at the sweatshop stand.

Afterwards, I made my way to Kennington to pick up the key for the guest room at my Uncle Eddie's retirement home there. True to form, he offered me alcohol as soon as he saw me but I managed to resist. I had come too far to mess up my chances over a few rum and cokes.

In the evening, I met up with Anthony, Daniel, Martin, Claire and other members of the Swindon Striders for dinner near their hotel at Vauxhall. It was a really nice meal and incredibly cheap - £5.50 for a huge plate of lasagne and chips!

There was a slight scare for me in that I seemed to have developed blisters on both heels; my new shoes weren't as comfortable as I at first thought. Fortunately Claire gave me some blister plasters to out on in the morning so all I could do was get to bed and hope for the best in the morning.

Sunday 26th April - THE 2009 FLORA LONDON MARATHON
Good news. My feet were less sore than the previous evening and with the blister plasters on I was able to walk normally again. Packed my bag, had my pre-race breakfast of rice pudding and made my way to the tube station. Somewhat serendipitously I met Anthony et al there, and teamed up with Martin and Claire, who was in the same pen as me at the blue start. If I had wasted energy the previous day by spending too much time on my feet I wasted more energy this morning sprinting between trains and getting stressed - a result of platform alterations and delays at London Bridge. Fortunately we still got to the start with a few minutes to spare. No time for a stretch but the first few miles were going to be my warm-up anyway.

Before long we were off and I was noticeably closer to the start this year - it only took 5 minutes or so to cross the line, unlike 10 two years ago. Whilst the pace was slightly faster, the streets were equally crowded and it was hard to get any sort of speed up. The first mile took 9 and a half minutes, and as my plan was to run 9 minute miles all the way round I was already behind schedule.

Not to worry, or so it appeared; I managed a few faster miles and by 5 miles was ahead of schedule. The mood of the runners was very positive and good-humoured; cries of 'Oggy Oggy Oggy' at the start and boos and hisses for the runners from the red start when the race converged at mile three!

On a more sombre note I will always remember passing a young man with an artificial leg in the first few miles wearing a 'Help for Heroes' t-shirt. I mused that he had possibly lost a leg fighting for his country in Iraq and Afghanistan, so I vowed at that point I wasn't going to whinge during the race, no matter how much it hurts.

I was still going strong at mile 10 and by now was starting to count down the miles. 16 to go, how many times have I done that in training?

Like I say, it was very crowded and there were plenty of near misses, and already I was getting sick and tired of people's elbows bashing into me as I tried to pass them.

The first major collision took place on Tower Bridge. Some TV or radio presenter, in his wisdom, decided to stop a lady right in my path. I couldn't stop and went straight into her. I'm guessing it hurt her more but it knocked the wind out of me. That notwithstanding, I felt reasonably strong at halfway, which I passed in about 1:56 so sub four hours was still a possibility at that stage.

I think it would have been at about mile 16 that things started to go wrong. I suddenly felt tired, my legs were heavy, and I was increasingly annoyed at having to avoid collisions. By now people were stopping in front of me, and it was as much as I could do not to crash into them. I didn't realise it at the time, but it was also now getting pretty warm.

I very nearly had a nasty accident in docklands when a bottle of lucozade rolled under my foot (whose idea was it to have bottles this year instead of pouches?!) and I could have ended up flat on my back. Fortunately I was still alert enough to realise what I had stepped on and roll my foot over it.

By miles 20-21 I was really starting to suffer and as much as I tried to tell myself it was only another 10k, it still seemed like a hell of a long way. My stopwatch had been stopped in another collision but I knew I was slowing down and hopes of finishing in under four hours were disappearing fast. I had to have a few walk breaks, usually at the drinks stations so I could regain my composure (I was feeling faint and dizzy) and take some fluid on board, which I badly needed. Truth be told, I can't recall ever wanting a pint of beer so badly in my life!

The signs saying Lucozade station in 500m were cruel by mile 23, as 500m seemed a very long way by that stage. I remember the crowd cheering me on and all I wanted to shout in return was 'Where's the f***ing lucozade station?!' I'm glad I can remember the humorous aspect of this painful passage.

By now I was just trying to hang in there and whilst I was moving slowly and really wanted to just stop I tried to remember the words of one of my true sporting heroes, the legendary Shane Warne: 'Never give up. Never, ever, give up.'

I tried to focus on the sights of London and the cheers of the crowd as I edged towards the finish. It was nearly over; soon I was passing the Houses of Parliament and beginning the final passage along Birdcage walk. By the time I got to the 600m to go sign I was in all kinds of pain; among other things my spine was hurting and so a sprint finish was out of the question. I did manage to raise my arms aloft as I crossed the line. I didn't know exactly what my time was, it was about 4hrs 6 minutes so I hadn't managed four hours but it was a lot faster than two years ago. A good 25 minutes, roughly speaking. Despite still being in agony I still managed the broadest smile possible as I had my finisher's photo taken.

Still wheezing I made a phone call to my Dad to let him know I had finished. When I told him how much I had suffered in the last six miles but kept going, he told me that was 'true grit'.

Yes, you could say that I guess.

After the race

Met up with Anthony et al in the meet and greet area, but when they made their way home my day wasn't over as I was very lucky to have an old mate, Roger, come to London to spend a few hours having a celebration drink with me. It was great to see him and a fantastic atmosphere in London. People were randomly shaking my hand, high-fiving me and saying well done when they found out I had done the race. In fact, it was easy to pick out anyone who had run as they were the ones hobbling...

We had a nice thai meal in Covent Garden (a cheap restaurant opposite The Salisbury, one of my favourite watering holes) and a few beers and generally caught up. Later I headed back to Eddie's but wasn't able to have a drink with him - I was well and truly whacked and a well-earned good night's sleep beckoned.

I treated myself to an overdue day out in London the next day before catching the last train home. In the morning I spent some time with Eddie and checked my result on his computer. My exact time was 4:05:52 and I came 11,808th overall, so well within the top third I guess. Again I was unlucky not to meet any celebs as Gordon Ramsay had finished just fifty seconds ahead of me and Ronan Keating 10 minutes later! Not sure if Matt Dawson was running though...

The weather was a bit rubbish which was a shame. I had anticipated relaxing in St James' Park but it was too wet for that so I bought my theatre ticket for the evening, had some lunch, spent a long time browsing in Waterstone's, bought a paper and had perhaps a few too many rum and cokes and pints of Stella in some of my favourite pubs. The play was Three Days of Rain starring James McAvoy (who I would love to play the lead character if my novel Ashes Summer ever gets made into a film) and I wish I could tell you all about it but my memories start getting hazy after dinner in Chandos...but to be fair, even Ali O'Hara told me to have a few beers after the race so if he thinks I deserved it then I guess I did.