Well after all the training the day finally arrived.  However, before I could do anything I needed to register for the race and collect my number.  This involved a trip to London on Friday.  For those that are ever crazy enough to take on the London Marathon this is where the atmosphere really starts to build.

Situated in Docklands, the ExCel Arena hosts numerous conferences, International exhibitions etc but for this week it is hosting running.  Packed with numerous stall holders, you are able to purchase absolutely any type of running regalia.  I noted a number of runners purchasing running shoes which given the race was on Sunday, it was a little late in the day if they wanted to break the shoes in.  All the various charities that benefit hugely from the event were also represented and provide runners with free gifts.  You leave the event laden with freebies, uncertain of what to consume and what to rub on your legs and left with the question would either make any difference anyway.

For me a sports massage was a must.  I had been suffering from a niggling injury following the ankle brusing I sustained whilst playing football which in hindsight was not one of my better decisions.  The massage would resolve these issues, or so I had hoped.  What a painful experience, but felt much better.

I was so tempted to go out for a short run on Saturday but wisely chose to rest.

An early start on Sunday morning took me to the start line.

Typically the British weather could not make its mind up which left me in a dilemma, what do I wear?  There is no option to change halfway round, what you wear at the start is generally what you end up wearing at the finish.  Decision made, my remaining wordly goods placed in a plastic kitbag with my number attached.

Whilst awaiting the start you are held in an area that is surrounded by trucks that carry the kitbags to the finish line where hopefully I will retrieve mine later on in the day.

As I sit and wait to be called forward to the start line, it is only then that you realise the amount of work that goes in to organising an event such as this.  Air balloons act as advertising, everything seems to run like clockwork.

My first doubt begins to creep in, will my leg hold out, have to wait and see.  The atmosphere on the start line is immeasurable, we’re off.  Seems to take an age before I cross the start line, but the roar from the crowd makes if all worthwhile.

The whole of East London appears to be in party mood, as you run by, the different cultures, the different foods offered are amazing.  A I run past the Cutty Sark, I feel a twinge in my leg, it’s far too early for this.  I need to dumb down my expectations and ensure I complete the course.  As I approach Tower Bridge, I could not help myself, a running selfie was the order of the day.

The run takes you further in to the city, the crowds increase. The noise is simlar to what Premiership football players experience weekly (I imagine).  I was grateful to be a footballer, just for the day. The constant call out of your name encouraging you to keep going definetely inspires you and is exactly what you need particularly as the 20 mile marker approaches.

My left leg starts to cramp, so following a stop and numerous stretches I continue on.  They say there is always someone worse off than you.  During this event I witnessed so many, some continued running when perhaps they shouldn’t , others in tears and distraught knowing they had run their race and would not reach the end.  I took my hat off to those that dressed in all sorts of fancy dress and made it to the end.

With the end approaching I dreamt of doing a sprint finish with 300 yards to go, whilst my head was willing me on, it clearly was not talking to my legs, who seem to have a mind of their own and were insistent on one pace ‘plod’ which I reluctantly agreed to.

To cross the finish line is extremely difficult to describe, a number of emotions hit you all at once, but once I went through these I was in receipt of a medal.

Strangely putting one foot in front of the other begins to become a chore, the soles of your feet seem very tender and you just want to sit down.  However before I could contemplate such a luxury I needed to meet up with my kitbag.  Unsurprisingly having experienced how organised the event is, I strolled up to the allotted truck, a volunteer handed my kitbagand said ‘well done’.  With my kitbag in one hand and goody bag in the other, time for a sit down and something to eat, hunger had taken over.

Sitting in a park surrounded by thousands of other runners and their families and supporters, I considered my next move, which at the time was extremely difficult because my legs had fallen out wth my head, they were definitely not for moving.

Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed the day, the training is relentless and very time consuming.  However, the consolation is that our residents have benefitted by the tune of £1,300 so that alone makes it all worthwhile.

Until the next challenge!