My Experience

Last summer, enjoying sunny morning runs along the towpath, I decided, naively, to enter the London Marathon. A beginner to the art of endurance running, I had given no thought to the preparation involved, training through the winter, whatever the weather, over longer and longer distances. My application brought forth a Gold Bond place, I duly subscribed to the magazines, bought the gear, steeled myself with a weekend course, and entered into the spirit of the marathon determined to prove I could do it.

As I joined 35000 other runners in Greenwich Park on 17 April I discovered what I'd got myself into. Most people looked younger than me, and surely fitter. People were declaring their aim of finishing in ultra fast times and beating personal bests. I had one thing to cling to: at least I didn't have a PB to beat.

At 8.30am I was warm enough in shorts and a sleeveless vest. It was going to be a hot day. Training runs through sleet and cold had not prepared me for this. I recalculated my anticipated finish time while handing out sunscreen to other runners.

The jostling first ten miles or so were a breeze, running through an excited crowd, touching the outstretched hands of the supporting kids. Some while before I got to Tower Bridge it was announced that Paula Radcliffe had won, and I was beginning to envy those who would finish in the morning. The glorious midday sun was great for the crowds, now bigger and noisier, but for the runners it was a different story. The effects of the temperature were eased somewhat by the many smiling faces who had thoughtfully brought along sweets, oranges and bananas to fuel the competitors. Bands were playing, song lyrics comically altered to fit the location or distance remaining. I was spurred on by total strangers calling out my name. I could ignore the endlessness of Canary Wharf, the water bottles littering the ground, the Lucozade-sticky pavements.

I was enjoying the atmosphere: my legs felt fine, my feet felt fine, the weather was fine… and so it continued up to mile18. Then a shooting pain. Marathons hurt, I remembered, enduring the pain is part of the experience. So I ran on, getting slower. As the pain increased, the crowd's support seemed to diminish. Easy for them to say 'You can do it!' sitting there with their Sunday afternoon beer. It was hot and it hurt and I'd already run a long way. But giving up was not an option – nearly 100 people had sponsored me, and my family had tolerated my training for several months. I couldn't let them down. I jogged/ walked (mostly the latter) up to Birdcage Walk, and with a final burst of speed I ran again past Buckingham Palace and down the Mall. One thought kept me going: just get past the last arch of those green and yellow balloons. And I did, and successfully raised over £3000 for the charity for the homeless and badly housed, Shelter.

So the marathon is over, the soreness has gone, the goal has been reached. Do I feel different? Well, it was very special to be part of such a huge spectacle, an endeavour to run 26.2 miles shared with thousands of others, in aid of many different charities. I have the personal satisfaction of setting myself a goal and achieving it. The marathon posters declared "Impossible is nothing". It was possible for me, and achieving this made me realise what else I might be able to do.