Every year, one Sunday morning in April, many are drawn to their TVs as over 30,000 people take to the streets of London to run 26.2 miles. I’m no different. It’s become a bit of annual thing for me to sit and admire those who put their bodies on the line for various causes and personal challenges. I always make sure I track the few people I know who have been lucky enough to get a place. This year has been particularly poignant and has personally invoked some quite strong emotions after events last week unfolded in Boston. The running community is strong and in the face of adversity this bond becomes more apparent. The tragedy in Boston only served to galvanise the indomitable spirit and unite the running world. London 2013 proved that. There was a genuine feeling amongst runners who were only more determined to go out and complete the marathon for their counterparts in Boston. Spectators were not perturbed and lined the streets in what appeared to be record numbers, sending out a message to the world that embodies the indefatigable spirit within running.

Watching all those courageous (some might say foolish) people yesterday taking part in the London Marathon got me reflecting on my own experience back in 2009. What follows is an honest if not brutal account of my experience. I’m sure many of you that have run a half marathon or marathon will be able to relate your own experiences in some way.

Training

I’d applied several times through the ballot since the age of 19 without success. Other runners reading this will know London is notoriously difficult to secure a place and we all dread getting the ‘Sorry’ Magazine. Then in the autumn of 2008 i got a different kind of magazine. Success! I’d gained a place in the 2009 London Marathon.

This was going to be a challenge. I’d recently started a new job on a Graduate Development Programme at Hull City Council, which included undertaking a part time, two-year MSc in Public Management at the University of Birmingham. Added to that was my commitment to maintaining my ties with Sheffield by continuing to play for local football club, Hunters Bar FC, which involved a lot of travelling on Saturdays between Hull and Sheffield.

Finding the time to fit all this in was going to be the challenge but I thought it was possible. I thought my general fitness from playing football would give me a good base to start from. The biggest challenge I thought would be to fit in the training around writing assignments and travel between Birmingham once a month. However, it became apparent that playing football matches on Saturdays was the biggest obstacle to effectively following a training plan. It is generally recommended to run your long run on the day of the race; usually a Sunday. But, after 90 minutes of football the day before this proved difficult as I needed recovery time. This left me doing longer runs during the week and without much structure.

I have to admit in the autumn i underestimated what I needed to do and I didn’t begin to step up the training until the new year. However, late in January disaster struck. During the opening minutes of a match I turned my ankle whilst moving sideways and heard a massive pop. Our home pitch is on quite a steep sideways slope and I’d twisted my ankle sideways down the slope. I thought the worst but managed to carry on as it stiffened up. It ballooned and a trip to A&E yielded a diagnosis of severely bruised but not broken, but not to run for at least 6 weeks and even then slowly build it up. I ignored the advice and the following Saturday I was back on the football pitch, admittedly taking it very tentatively whilst trying to disguise the limp from the Gaffer.

Despite the injury I managed to bank 10 weeks of training with some long runs in February and March. I must have completed 3 or 4 half marathons, a couple of 17/18 milers and a 20 miler with a few shorter runs interspersed. I was also banking 90 minutes of football every week although it was becoming apparent to both myself and my teammates that I was struggling with the changes in movement from straight lines to fast turns. Football and long distance running utilise opposite muscle groups. Fast and slow twitch muscles were competing with each other, which meant a halfway house in terms of performance.

The Build Up

The week leading up to the marathon was particularly busy. I was due down in Birmingham from Wednesday to Friday for all day lectures. I also had a football match on the Wednesday evening in Chesterfield. On the Friday I was to head down to London from Birmingham to meet my best mate Andy who was my support team for the weekend. This meant travelling down to Birmingham on the train from Hull with a suitcase packed to the rafters with books, clothes for the week, kit for football and kit for the marathon.

Experienced runners would be thinking, “Why on earth would you play football 3 days before running 26.2 miles?” My answer was simple; I thought I could do both. In my mind I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible and I felt compromised missing football matches. A mistake I made was not to enter any races prior to the marathon. London was my first ever race which meant the lead up was all new and I was inexperienced in dealing with nervous tension. I tried to limit the tension by concentrating on football. Once I headed down to London the focus shifted and I became anxious. On the Saturday I was as relaxed as I could be but there was an air of trepidation and I lost my appetite. It was difficult to stick to homemade meals whilst in Birmingham so I resorted to cold pastas from M&S and Tesco in the lead up to the race; a break from the norm and not ideal. I’m fairly certain I did too much walking on the Saturday to expend the nervous energy.

The Race

My sleep on Saturday was probably like every other runners. The night before I told myself to eat something as soon as i woke up before I could think too much about the race and then get too nervous to eat. I woke at 5am and nailed a couple of cereal bars. I felt tired and a little bit stuffy so went for a walk around Kings Cross. It was that early there were several ‘late night stragglers’ from the night before making their way home. I felt like them; hungover and shivering but preferred it to the stuffy hotel room. It was the nerves. I found it debilitating and I could barely draw breath. After an hour of walking and sipping water I went back to the hotel and vomited a few times. All I wanted to do was to get to the start but the Underground wasn’t even open yet. I wasn’t the only one waiting.

Eventually we made our way to Greenwich Park. Still I was feeling slightly nauseous and kept a carrier bag on me. I had no hesitation in being ill in front of lots of people on the train so long as I didn’t make a mess. The DLR was cramped and I perked up a little as the banter started. One guy was joking with his mates that the most he’d run was 8 miles. I felt a little better as we all chuckled about that.

The day was beautiful and we had clear skies. The forecast was good and the temperature was expected to hit the 20s by noon. Generally my pace in training was around the 8 minute mile mark but my target was to finish just inside 4 hours which meant a rough average of 9 minute miles. I’d completed many half marathon distances comfortably well under 1:50 so felt confident.

Despite not feeling well I was ready to get going. I was in good company sat in the blue area waiting for the race start, sipping as much fluid as I could and then dashing to the toilets. This became a 5 minute cycle not only for me but 90% of the runners. It helped me relax. Getting into my designated pen I was the most relaxed I’d felt for about a week.

Runners lined up and were all shapes, sizes and abilities. I started to look forward to getting going. It was about 15 minutes before I crossed the start line and it was fairly slow going with many darting off to the side for quick relief. I took the more dangerous parts of the course on the kerbs but inside the barriers being careful to avoid the legs of the temporary fencing. This helped me navigate through the crowd. I looked for gaps where I could and ended up on the right hand pavement. Then there was a sudden left turn. About a dozen of us made the same mistake and we were trapped by the rails. We hit a dead end. REVERSE!

I spent quite a lot of time trying to navigate past a lot of the slower runners which I was to regret later. My pace was steady and I was keeping good time around 8:45-9:00 mins/mile. Bunching was proving quite tricky though and I continued to be slowed in the bottleneck sections of the course, particularly around the Cutty Sark and Mile 7 at which point the whole crowd came to a standstill. It was the earlier part of the race I’d smacked my shoulder into a traffic light and also caught an elbow to the face. Welcome to London i thought!

However, the crowds were unbelievable and it was impossible not to get swept up in the moment. People cheered your name every couple of hundred metres and were dishing out sweets for energy. Kids were sticking their hands out looking for hi-fives. I couldn’t resist joining in. Bands were playing at the side of the road. The atmosphere was second to none. It was tricky to keep the adrenaline in check. I was feeding off a crowd of complete strangers but I loved it.

I reached Tower Bridge and I was feeling pretty good. Tower Bridge is misleading though. It’s often confused with the halfway point and this can be dangerous mentally as you have another kilometre before you reach that point. There’s also a slight gradient which can be a little draining after nearly 13 miles of running. Still it’s a great landmark to cross. Runners then bear right and head towards the Isle of Dogs and landmark of Canary Wharf. I hit the half marathon mark well under 2 hours. Still on track. Some narrow roads follow but it gave me the chance to refocus, away from the crowds, for the harder second part of the race. I’m sure the majority of runners would agree that going through the Isle of Dogs is an all together different challenge. This is where runners begin to hit the dreaded wall.

After 16 miles I was starting to feel the fatigue creeping in. Negotiating the drinks stations became more difficult. The crowds weren’t there to cheer you on as much. As you head between the tall skyscrapers you feel lost in the avenues and it’s difficult to tell what direction you’re facing. The crowds were still there but it sounded different as the sound bounced off the buildings. It was beginning to get hot and the cold showers at the side of the road looked tempting but I feared they’d be too much of a shock to the system. I was tiring but I got my head down trying to take on as much fluid as I could. I could now taste the salt from my sweat and feel my skin burn but carried on trying to maintain my pace.

Miles 17,18 and 19 passed by slowly. I couldn’t wait to see the back of Canary Wharf as I knew I’d be on the home stretch. It seemed to last forever though. Every straight was followed by a 90 degree corner. By mile 20 my hamstrings were really tight. Was this a hangover from the 90 minutes on Wednesday? Was I hitting the wall? I checked my time. Was I still on for under 4 hours? Just! However, over the next mile my pace slowed dramatically. With every step my hamstrings were screaming at me to stop. I could see the 21 mile mark in the distance but I wasn’t getting any faster and i was about to miss my split. It looked like my chance to come in under 4 hours had passed.

I was faced with a dilemma. Do I push it in the hope that I somehow make it in under 4 hours but risk long-term damage to my hamstrings or should I be sensible and take it easy for the last stretch without risking any long-term effects? Time was a factor. My target looked beyond me. Would there be a difference between 4:01 or 4:29? The sensible yet shamed part of my brain won through. It was all or nothing. I justified to myself that any time over 4 hours would be a good time to beat next time. If i didn’t get under 4 hours then i wasn’t bothered what time i got. At mile 21 i began to walk.

The next 4 miles were the longest 4 miles of walking I have ever done. Walking the embankment all sorts of thoughts ran through my mind. I felt an overwhelming sense of failure. Then I tried to reconcile it with where I was back in January and told myself I would learn from the experience and come back stronger. It was difficult listening to the crowd trying to get me going again. I kept my head down and occasionally grabbed a couple of sweets. I felt rotten. A girl who was also walking struck up a conversation for about ten minutes before she cracked on ahead. I was raising money for UNICEF and knew their base was up ahead so tried to run for a couple hundred metres but I was back to a decent paced walk afterwards. I saw the 25 mile mark and realised that if I walked I wouldn’t even make the finish in under 4:30. Whilst not hitting sub 4 hours was unpalatable, missing 4:30 became unfathomable. I set off running again. I found it surprisingly easy. Had I given up too easily? I don’t know. I was running the last stretch back at the pace I’d started and overtaking again. This last stretch wasn’t about me though and felt more like a spectator with a front row seat. I was more bothered about pushing those around me to the finish. I’d had a rest. The runners around me were still going. If I saw someone coming to a halt I gave them some encouragement. We were nearly there.

I turned right onto the Mall with 200m to go little realising Buckingham Palace was to my left. I crossed the line in 04:26:28 feeling burnt but in half decent condition which only added to my disappointment. A lot of finishers looked in more discomfort than me with some vomiting at the side. I checked to see if they were ok whilst in awe of the way they had pushed themselves where I had fallen short.

I picked up my medal but didn’t feel much like celebrating that night as I felt flat mentally and physically off with the nausea returning. Over the next few weeks I analysed the positives, negatives and lessons learned. There was no doubt that it was a positive experience despite the disappointment of not running the whole distance. Looking back to the ankle injury in January and the less than ideal preparation I had to be slightly satisfied. I ended up having problems with my ankle later on which needed physio. I don’t really regret the decisions I made in the lead up to the race but I probably wouldn’t make them again. The important thing was that I learned from my mistakes.

The Future

I’d learned a lot. I learned some valuable lessons in terms of training, preparation and the race. I learned that for a marathon you need to put in the mileage. A structured plan is essential with a mix of distances and speed. Short runs are just as important as the long runs whilst mixing in steady state, intervals and fartlek. Most runners can get away with it for shorter distances but that’s where the marathon is different. Fundamentally I underestimated this.

In terms of preparation I learned that race experience regardless of distance is key. The more you become familiar with preparing for a race the easier it becomes to manage nerves. I suffer quite badly with nerves. Those that know me well say that I’m too self-critical. I disagree. The only way you can improve is to be self-critical. However, to a certain extent I’m aware that I perhaps put a little bit too much pressure on myself, which affects how I prepare for an event.

The biggest lesson I learned from the race is patience at the start. The temptation to overtake is huge but it only hurts you later on. You expend too much energy with little real progress. I still suffer from this now but in shorter races it doesn’t catch you out as easily.

I’ve entered the Amsterdam Marathon in October and i’ve already got the miles in the bank and my 2013 mile challenge will see me through barring injury. By the time October comes around ill also have more race experience. One thing is certain; I won’t be making the same mistakes. I’ll be making all new ones!

My experience in 2009 left me craving to do it all over again. I’ve applied through the ballot every year since unsuccessfully. My application for 2014 will be by fifth in a row and this year’s marathon has only whetted my appetite further to take on the distance that beat me. Whilst i’ve entered the Amsterdam Marathon, watching London only confirms that this is the best marathon in the world. This year has stirred more of a reaction than previous years perhaps because of a combination of my challenge and the events in Boston. Of course there are other marathons out there and maybe I should have committed myself to at least one since 2009 but I lost momentum… another rookie mistake.

I’ve been reluctant in the past to enter more races because running historically has a pretentious reputation. This is completely untrue. Having started to compete in more events as part of the challenge I’m learning more and more that there’s a warm yet determined spirit within the running community which appeals to me. Yes we compete for better times and positions but we do it together. Like many I do a lot of a miles alone but we come together at races to take on the same challenge and the camaraderie is great. It’s an elite club which anyone can join.

What sets marathons apart is that everyone has a compelling story which started with a decision to take on the distance; whether that’s simply for the thrill of running, the challenge or taking on the distance to fundraise for a cause close to their heart. All that sweat and effort that follows seems to bond everyone and there’s a healthy respect for the journey even before we cross the start line.