Marathon Eve

Tomorrow sees the London Marathon and J will be running. It's his 24th marathon or something like that. He is excited by the weather forecast: mild with showers. I am less excited, remembering a marathon three or four years ago when it poured and the green dye from my raincoat soaked through to my skin. Umbrellas are too hazardous in such dense crowds.

I will be perched on my shooting stick in the elite runners' drinks station at 35k, opposite St Paul's Church at Shadwell church. It's a great spot because I get to see the runners twice, on both sides of the road. I'll be trying to spot the members of the Orion Harriers, John's running club, to take pictures as they whizz by.

I was reminded of an amusing story that I heard when I was working at BT International a few years ago. It was at a time when mobile phones were new, rare, and the size of bricks. Their battery life was about an hour. BT Cellnet, as they were called then, decided to give every London Marathon runner the opportunity to make a call to a loved one after finishing the race.

The problem was, they built a bank of kiosks housing the mobile phones which involved climbing some steps. Unfortunately most of the runners were too exhausted to make  it, and gave up before scaling all the steps.

It's a far cry from nowadays when many of the runners are speaking on their phone as they rush by, or taking pictures of the crowd.

43/365: Medal Man

J will be running  in the London Marathon soon for the eighth time. It will be his 21st marathon.
In a strange phenomenon, he gets faster as he gets older. He ran the Great Bentley half marathon last weekend and achieved another Personal Best. If he runs London at the same pace, he could achieve 3 hours 30 which would put him in the top 30% of finishers and very high for his age.
He keeps wondering where the speed is coming from, but I think it's two things. Firstly, he's been watching his diet very carefully after losing a stone last year. I try to ensure he's getting enough protein and not just carbs, but it's a challenge because he's in Edinburgh Monday to Friday each week. Secondly, his running in Edinburgh involves a lot of hill work, so he's been building up his strength without consciously trying.

He also has the support of his running club, the Orion Harriers, and a lot of camaraderie. While it's sometimes a pain that raining takes priority over everything, I am very proud of his achievements. It takes serious dedication to be a marathon runner. He trains six days a week, whatever the weather and wherever he is.

On another note - comments - they may disappear again. I have signed up for the replacement to Haloscan and the old comments are being merged into the new Echo platform (I hope!.)

A great time and a great day

London Marathon, the aftermath

Firstly, J has told me to 'fess up and report that he was right, the elite runners' drinks station manned by his running club IS a brilliant vantage point.

I found it with no problems this year thanks to Google Street Map.

There were just a few elite runners' drinks to deal with, and they're simply laid out on the table, not handed to the runners (phew). Some of them have all manner of decoration to make them stand out to their gasping owner. This extravagant tinsel number unfortunately went unclaimed.

Sorting out the drinks
I was able to see J twice from this position and because he knew where I was, he waved and danced around, looking slightly unhinged in some of the photos.

He did a great time considering it was hot and he'd been injured a few weeks ago, and even managed to beat his brother-in-law Don, below, a hot shot runner, by a minute.

After seeing J the second time, at 35km, we then set off for Horseguards and the "family repatriation area". J had already finished before we got there and was leaving me breathless voicemails giving me different locations for his whereabouts. But eventually we were reunited and the final picture taken with the medal.

J said (somewhat inscrutably): "I was in a great pen and we had a fast start. I kept my pace and finished higher in the field than I ever have before. The pressure's off now that I've done my four hours and the world's top 10, so I just wanted to enjoy it".

He's now having a snooze before hitting the Royal Forest tonight for a few well earned beers with the other finishers. Well done to everyone who crossed the finish line!

London Marathon day

It's the big day! J has been gorging on pasta for several days like a goose being fattened up for foie gras. I've just dropped him off at the running club where they're getting a coach to the start.

His bag is packed, he's got his number, and I've activated the SMS runner tracking service on my phone.

I'm pretty confident that this year R and I will find the elite runners' drinks station where we will see him at 14 and 21 miles. I followed the actual route from Shadwell DLR station via Google Street Map. So that's one reason why it's useful.

You might catch a glimpse of me if you're watching the race on TV because the elite runners' drinks stations are separate to the normal drinks stations and if the TV cameras are focusing on the elite runners, they're usually out in the lead (the nature of the beast). I will be wearing a bright pink coat and jumper.

The weather is good for spectating - it's a sunny but cold start, with temps forecast to reach 17 to 19. A bit too warm for the runners though. Better than last year, when it rained quite heavily and I couldn't put my umbrella up.

Time now to make the sandwiches.

Back with photos later.

Marathon Madness

This time next Sunday I will not be sat complacently at the PC in my dressing gown. Oh no. I will be fearlessly traversing the Docklands Light Railway to find my vantage point for J's 19th marathon here in London.

Of all the marathons he's done - and they include the world's top 10 - London ranks as My Worst One.

Last year he attempted to install me and R (his daughter) at an elite runners' drinks station, courtesy of his running club. The logic was that we'd only have to hand out a few elite drinks at the start of the marathon and then we'd get to see him twice and have a great vantage point for pictures.

Problem was, I was vaguely pointed in the direction of the drinks station and I never found it. We found many other drinks stations but not this particular one. And by then it was time for the marathon so it was too late. From my POV we had an excellent situation near a pub, which meant there were Quavers and Facilities on tap.

But J was furious and still brings it up to this day. So next week I fear we will set off at 5am just so he can deposit us at the drinks station. And then I will be terrified that I'll drop the special drink for Paula Radcliff or the other elite runners.

After we've done the elite drinks bit, we're under strict instructions to make our way to the finish, where we've very little chance of seeing anything, and then to meet him in the "family reunion area," which you can find easily because of a strong prevailing smell of embrocation.

We go through a curious ritual where I have to wrest his clothes off and force feed him bananas and Gatorade, and depending on his time, he will either smile and do a little dance or bark at me "hurry up! Stop messing around!" when I take the traditional photo of him with his medal.

I've often contemplated doing the marathon myself just to get revenge. Let J find out how tiring it is skimming thousands of runners to identify him as he trundles by for a fleeting second! And then to make sure he takes a perfectly focused picture. And not just once, but in several locations!

But after two jogging sorties in the past fortnight, I am now nursing Runner's Knee (which made J snort with laughter) so I'm unlikely to be challenging him in the marathon stakes.

Relief of the Fleece

The postman delivered two identical parcels this week, one for me and one for my partner. As I felt the large soft package, I beamed with relief. The loser's fleece! J applies for the London Marathon ballot every year and it's in early October that you either get the "congratulations you have secured a place" letter, or what we call the loser's fleece.

In a moment of madness back in April, I actually applied for the ballot as well, although my running is very sporadic. I am not a gifted runner and have been told I have a peculiar gait, which doesn't inspire me to be the next Paula Radcliffe although I quite like buying the latest running gear.

Anyway, I know the form by now, so I was pretty relieved when I received the loser's fleece. Phew. I rang J and said "we're both losers," to which he said "oh no, not the fleece." He then tried it on when he got home and declared it a great asset to his wardrobe.

He will still probably be able to run in the London marathon next year as a member of a running club. He's spent countless hours on marshalling duty at races and taking and uploading photos. Next weekend we will both be in Chicago where he will run his 18th marathon, and the last in the world's top 10 that he hasn't done. Honolulu, London, Berlin, Paris, Rotterdam, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Boston, Chicago, New York. It's been quite an oddyssey.

Some more of the old random

Went to Swindon yesterday (and another visit tomorrow, Holy God!) and the random thoughts were whirling round my head like those of Julie Christie's character in Away From Her (quite good BTW but a very rose tinted view of Altzheimer's).
Firstly there was the excitement of seeing a Norbert Dentressangle lorry, even if it did cut me up in a piece of thoughtless driving on the M25 (would not have happened with Bailey's equine horse feeds, I fancy). Pictured is the very gent himself, Monsieur Dentressangle. Doesn't he look twinkly? Not your usual old haulier, methinks.

Seems to be a landmark week for wimmin's rights. Just when I was thinking there were no more rights to be won, I hear that an MP is tabling a Commons motion to get the constitution changed so that the monarch's first born becomes the heir, regardless of sex. When you think about it, it is absolutely preposterous that a woman would have to stand aside, as first born, in this day and age!

Then I heard that some stuffy old "Real Tennis" club has finally agreed to accept women after a long battle, on the grounds that the wretched sport will die out unless they can encourage younger players - which includes women. Amazing.

I was thinking about the London Marathon too. For several years I have stood in wind, rain and boiling sunshine watching J run his many international marathons (and some less glamorous, like the Grunty Fen half marathon). Well, on an impulse, I have entered the ballot for next year's marathon. Another Holy God is called for here. I am not a natural runner; I have a strange gait (I somehow tiptoe), but after watching the marathon last weekend, I noticed that even some of the fast runners have a strange gait. Plus, I want to get fit; losing weight becomes harder as you get older and I want to live to a ripe old age, whizzing around with no need of a zimmer. So this week alone, I have hauled my weary carcass out three times and have nearly reached the 5k milestone.

The Apprentice tonight. Yippee. It's still hard at this stage to separate the field, although I do know that the despicable Claire, upon whose hefty arms a family of four could easily be fed for a week, for a week, needs to go, as does the treacherous Alex. Alex with a chip on his shoulder about nowt being posh, who thinks he's playing such a clever game by refusing to be no 2 last week, lest he end up getting the blame if the task was lost. Tsk, so transparent. The only two who seem to have any ounce of business sense about them are regrettably Rafe, although he's surely too posh and smooth for Sir Alan, and the bloke with the stubble and piercing blue eyes who took the photos last week for the winning team.

And then finally there was my dream. Ken Livingstone called at our house, canvassing! Well Ken, you'd be on a hiding to nothing where I live (as Boris friendly a place as you could get), though you can count on my vote because in my view Boris is Bonkers. Anyway, in my dream, being the true scrapbooker that I am, I called for J to take a photo of me and Ken together so that I could scrap the momentous moment!

Heart warming achievements

Well done to everyone who took part in the London Marathon, from the supreme elite athletes at the front to the fun runners/walkers at the back. John did well, finishing within his four hour window, and his "posse," a group of ladies from the Orion Harriers he has been coaching, all did extremely well, one of them steaming past him in the final mile. The posse were kind enough to give me a bunch of flowers later, but it was them who did all the hard work. I've had a lot of fun hearing about the training from John and some of the exchanges:
- "Can we start at 8.30am instead of 8 and can we do 14 miles instead of 18?"
- "Who's going to tell John?"
During the downpour, as I anxiously scanned the thousands of runners to spot John, a mile from Tower Bridge, I expatiated on the nature of running. Running creates special people. We all know the health benefits; we read about it everyday as the fat idle journalists lambast Britain for obese teenagers, transfats, drinking wine in pregnancy, large measures of wine and type 2 diabetes. But what I have discovered is that once running gets into the pysche, people not only become fitter but they become more well rounded; more advanced as people.
I got talking to a 75 year old veteran member of the Orion Harriers, Ken, who has run all 27 London Marathons. I asked him if he would be having a rest period now (even J does) but he laughed and said no, he would be doing a swimming marathon for charity later this week.
And then you consider Buster, the 101 year old, running a marathon at his age. Amazing when most teenagers could not even contemplate it.
I suddenly started to feel guilty, that I've always been half hearted when I've tried running, and decided that I should try again. With that in mind, I'm now signed up for the Adidas women's challenge 5k in September. Three miles is hardly anything, and I could probably do it now, albeit very slowly, but I hope the race experience will spur me on to better things. It would be very cool to run London next year and have John enduring the misery of being a spectator for once!