My thighs are screaming everytime I try to walk down stairs, one stair at a time. Downstairs is worse than going upstairs. And I am content; I earned this!
Is it real gold?
I achieved my goal and ran 26.2 miles along the roads of London in under four hours. My friends, family, and even strangers have most generously contributed to the YMCA and helped me to smash my fundraising target. It is a worthy cause, the YMCA helps with young people who don’t get the support that the vast majority of us can take for granted, those who have led a life in care, who have been homeless, imprisoned, and come from fragmented families. Many of my donations came from the staff of YMCAs around the country who give young people a home, a place to call their own, and the chances they need to take to help themselves, to learn, to work, to thrive. It is a fantastic testament to the charity that its staff are willing to raise the money and do the work for this, a cause they understand and utterly believe in.
Running the London marathon was something that I’d dreamt about since I watched it on TV each year before-, and then racing back after- Church. I could see it was a real and significant achievement. Since Christmas (and a little before) I had put in the miles in practice. I almost peaked too early in my eagerness and so sought to elongate my running plan to make the most of this opportunity – to actually run the London marathon myself. I am so glad that I put in that extra effort. Rather than simply building up my fitness over 16 weeks, I had an opportunity to consolidate and build up reserves that I could draw upon.
As the day came closer, I allowed myself the occasional moment of optimism, I may even get a good time. Having aimed for four hours for so long, I began to nudge my target closer to three hours thirty minutes – for which I would need an absolutely perfect run, or more realistically three hours forty minutes. However, I knew the chances of a perfect run happening once would be slim. I knew that on the day my performance would most likely depend on how well I felt. I had experienced what is commonly called ‘runners tummy’ on several of my long practice runs, so this was what I feared may happen and ruin the day. I wouldn’t be the first nor the last to be ill whilst running a marathon and in recent years we have seen runners drop out because of illness, and memorably the great British runner, Paula Radcliffe, has been waylaid with ‘upsets’ along the 26.2 miles of the course, sometimes with exhaustion.
It was supposed to be a hot day, so finally I relented and put on the YMCA vest I had been given for the Great North Run, but never worn. I really should support the charity who gave me a place in the marathon. Never mind how my shoulders look (I really don’t have the physique for a vest – neither tall and strangely, not thickset and muscular) there would be plenty of people dressed up in worse outfits than mine. Nevertheless, it rained at the start as we lined up. Would I look silly wearing my sunglasses instead?
There is a scene from the WestWing just before President Bartlet takes part in the Televised debate with Senator Richie. He had lost his lucky ‘game’ tie. Mrs Bartlet in wishing him good luck, apologises to him for not doing enough to help him prepare, before cutting off his tie. His adrenalin level shoots up like a car revving before the startline as he grabs another tie from his support staff whilst marching to the auditorium. As I sought for the marathon course that I had downloaded onto my watch, with the pre-set time of just under 8:3 minutes per mile, I couldn’t find it, and instead managed to start a workout that would last 26.2 miles if I was cycling on a bike at a much faster pace than I could run. As we walked forward to the starting line, the gun had already gone off, I was trying to cancel that programme, change back into a runner, and set a pace I could achieve. I managed it just as we turned the corner and I saw the start.
And then we were off. I was very pleased that I had ‘trialled’ the course when I ran my longest practice run, from Blackheath to Bank. The familiarity, and the extra speed, helped the distance to slip by. However, I was held up by runners in front of me. There was little room to get past. Where I really needed to I did call out ‘excuse me’, drop my arms and slip through a small gap. I was careful not to push people, and certainly didn’t want to cause anyone to stumble and fall, so I didn’t dart about from side to side. Neither did I want to set off too fast, nor sprint forward to get past the crowds, and quite frankly there were a lot of people to get past if I had started sprinting. As we turned to go past the Woolwich Dockyard I really struggled to get past the Runner’s World 9 minute per mile pace group. That was a big crowd. Why were they ahead of me?
Looking back at my split times for every five kilometers I held a good steady pace, a speed which turned out to be able to take me around and get in for under four hours. Since this was the time I was aiming for, they had put me in the right speed group at the start. But this was no longer my natural pace. I was comfortable, although I knew there was a fair distance still to go.
My fuel and hydration strategy was working perfectly. I hadn’t crossed the line and dashed for the nearest toilet as I have done on previous half-marathons. This time the course designers had very wisely put the toilets just before the start line, rather than just afterwards, but I didn’t need to stop. I had followed the advice given to me by Joel from Lucozade Sport and ensured I was fully hydrated three hours before the race, and then I wouldn’t need to drink just before starting. I had taken a gel just before starting, and then another at mile 7 having just passed the Cutty Sark, another landmark of my childhood. But by mile eight I was feeling unwell. There was no queue for the toilet, but I decided I could press on and the feeling might just pass. Into Rotherhithe where I had not gone before, the unfamilarity of this part of the course stretched the distance for me. However, I came across a fellow runner from St Alban’s Striders who was keeping up a good pace. I overtook him, but wasn’t sure that I would lose him. At this stage, I was spending less time looking to overtake.
I saw him again as we crossed Tower Bridge, and then I caught up with him again at the halfway point, just after mile 13. However, as we turned towards Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs I was hit by stomach cramps. I needed to stop, so I did, just before mile 15.
My friends were lined up at mile 15 and shouting “Stephen Matthews” so I wouldn’t miss them! This gave me a much needed boost, and once again I was moving on, overtaking people where I could. I know various people who said they would be on the Isle of Dogs looking out for me, but I didn’t know exactly where. Amongst the fantastic crowds of people lining both sides of the road, I may well have seen them, but I didn’t notice them as I ‘sped past’ (their words not mine). Then weaving through Canary Wharf at mile 19 I wasn’t looking for friends, I was trying to spot the next toilet block.
I had lost some good time. A number of other runners had passed me. But now, at least, I was well again. I picked up the pace and gained a spring in my step. For the next couple of miles, in particular, the walkers were the biggest hurdle. I was passing people once again, and felt so much better than I had. I did wonder if it wasn’t that I was going faster so much as other people were going much slower, but I felt like I was moving along nicely. Breaks aside, this could be a negative split. If this were correct, it would have become my habit! Looking back on my times for each 5 kilometers I was actually going slower, but by less than a minute. Without toilet breaks, I was running a very steady race.
I was confident after my 22 mile practice run (admittedly a slow run) that when I got to Tower Hill for the second time, I would be fine. I was looking forward to running along the embankment. I passed several more members of St Alban’s Striders, cheering both them and the crowd from the club as I passed. The last three miles, three hundred and eighty five yards (for the Queen) were great. I felt like I was bouncing along. I kept up the pace knowing I’d prefer this to having kept a sprint finish in the tank when I finished. Then, along Birdcage Walk I spotted ahead of me, the St Alban’s Strider I had last overtaken at mile 13, and had long given up on the chance of catching. But I did overtake him once again. I had done enough to overcome the delay caused by my breaks. (At this stage, I like to assume that he hadn’t needed to stop).
Ymca, everyone's doing the 'Y'
Then, turning past Buckingham Palace to the finish I saw the clock was only marginally over four hours, and I calculated that it had taken me longer than this to cross the start line. I had done it. I didn’t need a sprint finish, so I settled for a quick finish. And I achieved a time of 03:56:13!
I later learned that of the New Balance Team, Tina achieved her target and ran under three hours. Harnish, Laura and Barbara were marginally outside their target times and all very pleased with their results. Chris was just slightly ahead of me until halfway, when cramp got the better of him and he did an amazing job to finish with dogged determination and a combination of walking and jogging.
