I finished my tenth marathon, the London marathon in 5:01:05. This is my worst time for London, and I have even run the much tougher Beachy Head course in faster times. On the other hand, I have now run ten marathons and, as I am not getting faster, I am going to stop at ten. I shall continue to enter shorter races, half-marathons, 10ks, ten milers and maybe the odd twenty, the next fixture being the glorious Seaford half.
The complete record, from fastest to slowest, looks like this:
| Isle of Wight | 2006 | 04:10:40 |
| Neolithic | 2007 | 04:17:33 |
| London | 2008 | 04:28:12 |
| London | 2005 | 04:32:11 |
| Beachy Head | 2005 | 04:51:54 |
| Beachy Head | 2006 | 04:54:00 |
| London | 2009 | 05:01:05 |
| Beachy Head | 2007 | 05:01:18 |
| Beachy Head | 2008 | 05:18:00 |
| Beachy Head | 2004 | 05:21:00 |
Rather than give a linear, Blackheath-To-The-Mall account, let me go by theme:
Pain: marathons are supposed to hurt. For this one the toe, which had been giving me trouble during half-marathons and in training and which I am now convinced must be arthritic, was very painful from around mile 7 to 14. After that it was my left hip that hurt, to the extent that I was reduced to walk-running from mile 16 to 17, and at intervals for the rest of the course. That's where I lost the time, as the pace graph shows. Why? I don't know, but possible explanations include:
- insufficient training: while I managed my weekend long runs, I usually only had time to supplement these with two or at most three other runs in the week; by contrast, when I could run at lunchtime at work, I could manage four runs in the week, as well as one or two at the week
- heat: the weather forecast was inaccurate. Everyone was expecting good marathon conditions: cool temperatures, cloud cover, the odd shower. Instead we had a clear sky and temperatures five or six degrees more than those predicted. This was the hottest marathon I have run
- weight: when I achieved my best marathon time I weighed around 11.5 stone. For this one I weighed 12 and before training started was as high as 12.5. I'm clearly faster when I'm lighter
- age: I'm five years older than when I started running marathons; then I was 49, now I'm 54. Deterioration with age is inevitable
The crowd support all the way round is so impressive. That strangers should stand there and shout encouragement at me never ceases to surprise me...and the bad pub rock bands playing covers, the people in deck chairs and picnics, the pubs packed to the rafters with supporters, all contribute to an atmosphere I have never experienced anywhere else. I was more conscious of the cheers when walking than when running, but maybe that's because I'm moving more slowly. They are prone to hyperbole of course: the man who yelled at me 'Tom, you're a hero' was possibly overstating the case.
I tried repeating to myself some of the incantations that the motivational speakers suggested at the marathon expo. I fear they failed, but I'm not much of a man for motivation.
I caught the Seaford Striders coach at 6 in the morning at the station. The organisers, Bill and Glynis Young , did a splendid job, decorating the coach with posters wishing us good luck and, on our return, congratulating us on our achievement, And there were some achievements: when I came upon the striders outside the South Bank, several could boast of personal bests. Our best result was Geoff Gray who managed 2:49:47, followed by Philip Carr and Dave Dunstall at 3:07:22 and 3:07:26 respectively. First woman Strider home was Natalie McCreath at 3:43:35 followed by Fern Ketley at 3:55:26 and June Streeter at 5:17:59.
We reached Blackheath with plenty of time to spare, so I took my time, drinking some water and a gel, changing in the changing tent with the scent of Vaseline and Ralgex in my nostrils and negotiating the complicated queue for the urinals twice. But I think there was some underlying panic: I carefully packed all my clothes away in my kit bag and handed it in to the baggage lorry, then realised I had left the timing chip in its envelope in the bag. I rushed back to the lorry and pleaded to have my bag back , which they kindly gave me. I put my glasses on to fasten the chip to my shoe with the adhesive strip provided, packed my bag again and handed it in. I walked away and discovered I was still wearing my spectacles, which I never wear while running. I didn't dare ask for my bag back again, so ran with my specs stuffed down my shorts.
Afterwards, I made my way across the Thames to the South Bank. There I lay in the sun outside the Royal Festival Hall. There were half-naked runners, skaters making the most of the South Bank ramps and, in the midst of this disorder, a red carpet, security men, journalists and a scattering of fans waiting for minor celebrities to arrive at the Royal Festival Hall for the television BAFTAs.
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