London Marathon 2009

London 2009 was my fourth attempt at the marathon, and I went into it with the belief and confidence that three months of hard training, worn out shoes and many miles under my belt gives you. I’d run more miles in the build up than all my other previous years, so achieving another sub three hour marathon should be do-able – shouldn’t it!?

Up until the night before, I felt I’d done pretty well in the build up since Christmas. It wasn’t perfect, but sometimes juggling work, life and running can be a tricky balancing act. I’d put in quantity more than quality (races and speedwork were a little light). I tapered properly for the last two weeks. I ate carbs, carbs and more carbs in the week leading up to the big day. I felt I did everything in my control to have a good run. Sometimes, though, the biggest obstacles in your way are the things you have no control over.

As usual on marathon morning, I woke up around 5:30, showered, ate, dressed and checked all my stuff about eight times. I stayed in a travel inn, on the edge of London as my fan base (soon to be “the missus” Debbie and daughter Kerry) came down Saturday afternoon in the car and didn’t need the hassle or expense of driving into the centre of London. The plan was to get the train into Liverpool Street from Enfield; easy enough, the first train leaving a 07.06hrs. What I didn’t count on was over-running engineering works and an unmanned station with a lying information board. This was the type of lying matrix board that could make a nun give out a load of expletives that would embarrass even Gordon Ramsey. It was one of those that would lead you into a false sense of security and then last minute land you a stomach churning blow.

The first train was promised for 7:30, but at 7:25 the matrix sign mysteriously went dead, any info very conspicuous by its absence. Unsurprisingly no train appeared. With no one around to ask, stress levels were beginning to rise. The “game” continued with a promise of a train at 8:05. This was cutting things very fine if it turned up, which I had less than full confidence in. So you can guess what happened at 8:00 then.

“Apparently, there is no train until this afternoon, at the earliest” said a woman on the platform after making a call on her mobile. There is a time and a place for swearing, and this was it. The 2009 Marathon was on the line big time. “Come on, there is another station about a mile away” said a big guy. It was a long shot, but at that moment in time was all I had. I calculated the odds of making the start and it wasn’t good. The run to the station was a good warm up however, and a bit more exercise than D&K were expecting. Even the big guy was running for the train. Next train in at 8:35, due into Liverpool Street for 9:00. I checked my marathon guide. Last train from London Bridge 9:16. With two tube journeys between the stations, making the start, (never mind the finish), would be coming right down to the wire.

Well, I can tell you I got on the 9:16 train the Greenwich with about 30 seconds to spare. I hadn’t been this relived since – well, last night after United came back from a 2-0 deficit against Spurs. I’d given Debbie my bag, because I knew even if I made it I wouldn’t have time to drop my bag off. After leaving the train I still had to run up to the start, a hill climb I didn’t want or need. After a quick tinkle, I looked at my watch – 9:43, 2 minutes before the start. I jumped into the nearest pen, (8 minute mileing), not wishing to push my luck any further by trying to get to pen 1 which I was assigned to.

I’m afraid the race to the finish was not quite as exiting as the race to the start. I felt great once I started running, and although it took me 2 ½ minutes to pass the start, I did the first mile in 7:30, which wasn’t too bad. I started, (for the first time), on the red start, which has a slight dip and climb in the second mile. I got a slight stitch, and put it down to drinking a can of red bull before the start. It soon went, and I started making my way through the field. I passed Tanya, Simon, Graham, Carmel and Joanne, chatted and swapped encouragement in the first half. I ran and chatted with ‘Blind Dave’ who runs for guide dogs for the blind, (the charity I ran for last year). Last year he ran 7 marathons on 7 days and 7 continents. This year he’s just doing one, so taking it easy, obviously!

At halfway I was 1:31, and I still felt good. Pick up the pace slightly and another sub three is there for the taking. My fan base was cheering with the Children’s Trust at the 13½ mile point. Debbie had not seen me since leaving for the tube at Liverpool Street, so she was not certain if I’d made the start or not, so I got a massive cheer as I waved to her as I went past. Kerry held up a sign she had spent half the night preparing which read ‘COME ON STEVE’, so I did.

It was now time for business. I passed George at 14. “I can’t take this heat!” He was right. It was getting warm. The beautiful warm spring weather of the past week was supposed to subside today, to give cooler temperatures in the low teens. The forecast was a day out. Monday would be cool and wet and perfect for running, but right now the temperature was rising fast in the high teens. 18C was the hottest day yet this year I’d been running in. How I would have liked a few days like that back in cold February. It would have been tolerable for a 10K, a 10 miler or maybe even a half marathon, but not for a full one. Things started to get harder.

I was still running well. I checked my watch at 18 and 19 miles and I was still less than a minute down to make 3 hours. The heat was starting to take its toll and the good, confidant feeling I had 10 miles ago was fading away. My right foot felt like it was cramping up at times making me run awkwardly. After Canary Wharf, I took a gel to keep me going. With just 10K to go, now was time to kick it. Ha – if only I could! I remember looking at my watch at 21 miles, and still being less than a minute down, still keeping my place. Somewhere along the line, I started to be overtaken, at first by just the odd one or two, then clumps of two or three runners. I checked my watch at 22 miles, and I’d gone nearly two minutes down. I‘d well and truly it the wall, and it felt more defined than any marathon previously. I needed to pick up my pace but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t make three hours.

Everyone knows how horrible the last four or five miles of a marathon are. The legs you knew are gone, your muscles are screaming at you and your mind wishes you were anywhere other than here. Four miles, a distance of what I would call an easy run, seems like forty. The legs stiffen and cramp is ever more probable. To counteract this you have a frantic crowd pushing you on and the thought that soon, very soon, you will pass that final bend and run that glorious last 200m down the Mall you have been dreaming about for so long, and then put it all behind you – for another year.

So I plodded on through gritted teeth, head down, into the pain, the end so near yet too far. Time was still slipping away, and I must have topped 8minute mileing approaching Westminster. Down Birdcage Walk I waited for the countdown signs – 800m, 600m, and 400m……before at last making that glorious finish. How I would love to get up to a sprint when I see that finish line! No chance.

I went under the clock at 3:09 ish, but stopped my watch at 3:06:30 something. Not what I set out for, but what the hell, I’d got my medal – anyway, more importantly I’d finished, at last!

Written by: Steve Myerscough

Submitted: 19^th May 2009

Edited by: Brenda J Earnshaw WRR Editor