That time I acidentally enjoyed another marathon.
Not just enjoyed it in the usual “I’ve survived and therefore I’m pleased” kind of way.
Not in a “There were free snacks and I've eaten more than my entry fee” way either. There were no free snacks except melty jelly babies from the sweaty hands of small children at the edge of the road and I'm not that brave.
I REALLY enjoyed it.
That job opportunity has never come up unfortunately
There was, however, one small incident during taper.
I pulled a muscle trying to do a chin-up in a children’s playground.
Nothing says Sarah's Marathon Preparation quite like injuring yourself on playground equipment.
AND THEN the weather forecast started creeping upwards.
22°C was being forecast. In April.
Marvellous.
I’d spent months training in British winter and now apparently I was going to get a nice tan instead of a PB.
Well. A nice tan in the shape of running kit anyway.
London, here I come.
For London Marathon, you pick up your number and kit bag the day before in a shameless attempt by the London Marathon company to get you to walk around an expo and buy overpriced kit. There seemed to be less free snack samples every year too. BOO.
However, getting to London the day before was slightly more eventful than necessary.
It was FA Cup semi-final weekend, which meant the trains were rammed with football fans (UGH). I eventually found myself standing among mostly family groups and a trio of tweens sitting on the floor trying to start a football chant.
It didn’t catch on but good to see singing is still being kept up in schools.
I was desperate for a wee by the time I arrived (of COURSE the train toilets were out of order) so I legged it over to Earls Court to drop my bags at the hotel and get to the expo ...
Except just as I arrived at Earl’s Court, a recorded announcement informed us that the station was being evacuated. MARVELLOUS.
However, nobody appeared to be on fire. Nobody was running.
So I went and caught the Tube. Fine. It'll be fine.
I’ve learned over the years that sometimes the best way to deal with London is simply to assume that whatever is happening is normal.
The Expo was very different to the one I remembered from eight years ago.
Back then, I’d wandered around trying every flavour of Torq gel possible (a bit like Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans) and eating so many Clif samples that I was carb-loaded before I’d even started considering pasta.
This time nothing was free and everything was eye-wateringly expensive.
£30 for a COTTON T-shirt. Not even a tech one.
£14 for the cheapest pair of socks I could find.
I did manage to win a couple of things in a game where you had to catch a bar, so at least I left with a shoe deodoriser.
The real prize, though, was the finishers’ T-shirt.
Cherry red with gold writing.
My favourite combination. Obviously I couldn’t wear it until after the race because that would be tempting fate. No one is as superstitious as a pre-race runner.
I didn’t see the giant board with all the names on it either, but I found a perfectly acceptable London Marathon/New Balance backdrop and had my photograph taken there instead. With bonus fire extinguisher in the background.
I wasn’t going to queue for half an hour just to prove I had been to London.
I had photographic evidence. That would do.
The hotel was only about three minutes from Earl’s Court Tube, cost £190 for two nights and was surprisingly pleasant.
Compact and perfectly adequate.
The only problem was that they had supplied one sachet of coffee.
ONE SACHET.
Luckily, I had brought emergency coffee in my suitcase because while I may be prepared to run 26.2 miles in one day ,I’m not prepared to start that day without adequate caffeine.
RACE MORNING
I woke up every few hours, but the rattle and hum of the trains outside were actually quite soothing and I woke feeling surprisingly rested.
I’d allowed myself 90 minutes in the morning, so there was no mad rush. Just get ready, eat my breakfast of 3 boiled eggs, dress and poop.
There was, however, some concern about the Poo Fairy who apparently didn't read the schedule and didn’t arrive until gone 6am. I was beginning to think I’d miss the start of the race ..!
MARATHON START
Even at 8am, you could feel the heat. It was pleasant to sit on the grass, not worry about wearing a bin bag and relax in the sunshine. However, the temps were still rising.
I met The Other Sarah walking towards the Yellow Start and we got chatting. Our start pen and times were identical, so we stuck together. Nice to have company and good chat and then we found her friend Roger.
Sarah was going through chemotherapy and had had a mastectomy.
And she was running a marathon between rounds of chemo.
Proper badass.
Suddenly my playground injury seemed considerably less dramatic.
We chilled out on the grass in the sunshine and watched people warming up by jogging up and down the field and looked at them like they were lunatics.
Surely you could use one of the 26.2 miles as your warm-up? Chill out people.
And just like that it was time to get onto the road for the start of the race.
No time to think and we were off
I started with the usual combination of excitement and mild disbelief. I was running the London Marathon. Such a BLOODY COOL THING to do!
The church bells were ringing out on the Sunday morning and they were playing running songs!! Chariots of Fire was playing as we went past. Love this. The whole city and community gets involved. I felt so privileged to be here, to do this. Proper In The Moment stuff.
Parakeets were squawking overhead around mile two. Green parakeets. In London. Cheering us onwards.
And London was absolutely bathed in sunshine.
It was beautiful.
I saw a tall tower around mile three, which brought back memories of the 2016 marathon when Ann, Simon and I had met Alex and Mike there after our starts came together.
Around Cutty Sark I had a brief pain in the top of my right knee and my left ankle. Enough to change my running style slightly.
I decided it was maranoia. Kept telling myself that, like a persistent ghost – you're NOT REAL.
It disappeared about a mile later and never came back.
So that was nice.
And then I saw Simon and Lily … or I thought I did just after Cutty Sark. The crowds were insane. 4 people deep … like we were running celebs. They were all here supporting us. I thought I'd heard Lily shout but I wasn't sure. I turned and caught a quick glimpse of a face but I wasn't sure.
Tower Bridge was incredible. The crowds were ridiculous. The atmosphere was AMAZING. So I did a little mini video of running across it! Just like Ann and I did 8 years ago.
And for the first time I really thought: “I’m doing this again!” Eight years after my last London Marathon.
Here I was. LOVING IT!
I was a little concerned about the rising temperatures, but I was still feeling good and feeling strong.
I'd spent months training in 14-15°C temperatures and driving rain and suddenly I was racing in around 20°C and rising. But I felt strong.
The only thing I could think of that might have helped with the heat was my regular sauna sessions after gym workouts. Maybe all those 15-minute sauna sweat-fests had been useful.
There were also extra showers out on the run course, which were very welcome, although they created enormous puddles.
Wet trainers and 26.2 miles aren’t exactly best friends, so I tried to stay to the edges.
The felt-tip writing on my name signs ran during one of the showers. Apparently I'm now called 'SSSSRRRRRHHH'. I really should have laminated them. Ah well. Next time, Ssssrrrrrrhhh.
I was glad of my visor shading my eyes and also started using ice whenever I could and around mile 20 I shoved some ice down my bra.
It was surprisingly effective at cooling me down, but it was also surprisingly mobile and kept falling out while I was running, which was distracting but also quite funny. I was like a moving ice machine dispensing ice out of my sports bra.
Somewhere around halfway, I realised I was having fun
This was the weird bit.
I felt good.
Really good.
I had to keep reminding myself not to get carried away and stay on pace instead of going quicker.
I'd decided no music until at least halfway but it was so brilliant with the crowds that I waited and at around mile 17 I finally put my music on.
And it was like someone had plugged me into a wall socket.
My legs suddenly wanted to GO.
I had to actively tell myself to slow down.
The marathon is not won at mile 17, Booker.
The Bloodhound Gang came on.
Then Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny, which is an excellent running song for several reasons, not least because it is inappropriate enough to take your mind off running.
I was having the time of my life.
Every mile became my new favourite.
This is my favourite 18-mile run ever.
This is my favourite 19-mile run ever.
This is my favourite 20-mile run ever.
It was ridiculous.
I kept thinking about all the training I’d done.
The marathon wasn’t really the training anymore.
The training was finished.
This was the victory lap.
I just had to collect the medal.
Then I fell over
Mile 19.5.
I went down.
Dramatically. VERY DRAMATICALLY.
I even rolled.
Honestly, if you’re going to fall over during a marathon, you might as well commit to it.
I surprised myself by springing straight back up.
The bloke nearby asked if I was okay.
“Yeah. Is it even a marathon without a stunt fall?”
The more pressing issue was my water bottle.
I’d dropped it.
And it was full.
I normally hold a bottle in my right hand during road marathons like some sort of emotional support water bottle.
There were no more water stations for about three miles.
So I was suddenly without water.
I’d clunked my hip, leg, elbow and hands, but nothing seemed seriously injured.
So I carried on.
Because that’s what we do. Get on with it. Because no bugger else is going to collect that medal for me.
Having people scattered around the course made such a difference. Lily and Simon out on the course. Rich at Millwall. Northbrook AC by Tower Bridge. ASICS buddies around the course
But there was one person I kept thinking about.
Julian. My Father in Law who had started running at 60 years old but had passed away a few years earlier.
Mile 22, as usual is always for Julian.
Mile 22 is always my tough mile. Which is why it is his mile.
And afterwards it is easier. After Mile 22 it is all downhill to the finish, right?
London signs and spectators are always brilliant and this year they did not disappoint
“You run better than the government.”
“Therapy was also an option.”
“Run if you hate Tottenham.”
“Lost a toenail, gained a medal.”
“Now pain, later wine.”
“Never again. Until next year.”
“Hurts like hell, feels like heaven.”
And my personal favourite:
“This is bloody tough but so are you.”
There were plenty of runners walking, particularly later on, and quite a few people sitting at the side of the road. I tried not to look too closely Maybe walking was their strategy. Maybe they’d been injured. Maybe the heat had got to them. Just run your own race.
The 3:25 pacer had been around for a couple of miles, although the congestion made it difficult to get past the clump of runners around them and then later I found another 3:25 pacer from a different start. No idea which one was from MY start.
I wasn’t struggling to hold the pace. The main thing holding me back was congestion. There were people running at wildly different speeds, and I think that cost me more than anything else.
But I felt strong.
I felt like I could have gone quicker.
And that was a very nice feeling to have in the final few miles of a marathon.
Then 'Monster;, one of my favourite running songs came on.
Perfect timing.
Whatever the reason, I was very grateful that my legs were still doing what I was asking them to do, in these, the final miles
I passed the giant white building on Birdcage Walk and was all “YASSSS! Buckingham House!”
Excellent. Nearly there.
It wasn’t Buckingham Palace.
I was not nearly there.
I also somehow completely missed the Tower of London on the way back despite having specifically reminded myself to look for it.
I’ve run 26.2 miles around London and apparently seen approximately six buildings.
But I was having a brilliant time.
I knew I was close.
And there, the finish gantries lining the road. And GO!!
C'mon legs. It always feels SUCH a long way from seeing those gantries to crossing beneath them but what a privilege to run those final metres of the London Marathon.
I crossed the finish line knowing I’d had a brilliant day.
Not an easy day.
It had been hot.
I’d fallen over.
I’d lost my water bottle.
I’d had ice fall out of my bra like some kind of Abominable Snowman.
I’d missed the Tower of London.
I’d mistaken a building for Buckingham Palace. Meh.
But I’d loved it.
And then came the bit I hadn’t quite allowed myself to think about too much.
The time: 3:21:30.
I’d knocked two minutes off my marathon PB.
TWO MINUTES.
And it was my first marathon PB in around 12 years.
After eight years away from London. After everything that had happened in between.
That felt pretty bloody special.
I had gone into London hoping for a good day and I'd come away with a PB.
And, more importantly, I came away thinking:
I really, REALLY enjoyed that.
I may simply have been delirious.
Either way.
London, I’ll be back.
Probably.
Definitely.
Actually, yes.
Never again.
Until next year.










