THE END

After a few glasses of wine, I agreed to run the London Marathon in October. I was charmed by the energy of a new friend who was looking for a runner for her charity. Having barely exercised in my life I am not a conventional runner. I favour a pint over a push-up. As a recovering smoker of fifteen years I am also a quitter. I’m not built for running, but on Sunday I completed the 26.2 mile London Marathon in 5 hours and 31 minutes.

This time surpassed my personal goal of finishing before dark. The day was very emotional and the end of a seven month ordeal where for the first time in my life I had to consider diet, running and self-discipline. I turned 31 the day before the Marathon and celebrated a year of not smoking with the most soba Birthday I have had since I was 12 in preparation for race day. It was a great Birthday however as my calorie intake was off the scale. The average Marathon runner consumes 3000 calories in a marathon. I had these on Saturday. Cake, pasta, bagels, more cake, garlic bread, cake, pasta, cake. In addition to my pre-race diet I’d entered the final phase of my training, watching Rocky. This became somewhat of a marathon for my family and friends who had set up base camp at BEAST HQ. After relaxing with Run Fatboy Run to end the night I was tucked up by 10:30pm and surprisingly slept like a baby.

The cock crowed 6am, I got up at 6:30. Porridge and bananas and trying to keep calm. Easier said than done when you know you have to run further than you can see. However I kept the faith and watched Rocky 4 before setting off to Greenwich from where I was eager to make a mean time. I’ve never seen so many bananas in my life. Greenwich must grow them. A long walk up to the starting line made me out of breath which did not bode well. I arrived at the red start and joined elite athletes at the back of the race, such as the Scunny Bunny, The Jamaican bobsled team (in a bobsled), a lighthouse and a Rhino. It was at this moment I realised that I had not been very optimistic about my estimated race time when I filled out my form. However starting from the back of the 33,000 runners at the red start had its advantages. I had time to do my weird stretching and was only caught by one guy with my hands in my pants vaselining up my meat and two veg, undercarriage and cheeks. It’s a great way to introduce yourself. Then the nipples and it is time to run. Pumped and adrenaline pumping I took off my jacket and tossed it aside ready for the starting pistol. Then it took half an hour to get to the starting line. I was freezing.

Nearly there. Nervous I looked down at the floor to gather my thoughts and focus. I realised the man in front of me had one leg. I knew then I was running this race and I was finishing!

The first few miles were a delight. All the waiting around was over and finally I could just run. Already I was blown away by the support outside at 10:30am on a Sunday. Pubs were open and bands were playing. You have to love being British when you see that most of the people who have turned out to support the Marathon are having a booze.

The race itself was electric. On this day London feels like a community and you can imagine the spirit of the Blitz. Especially as you run through some areas which look like they are still recovering from it, cider in hand shouting your name or high fiving you. One bloke was just on his high-rise balcony with his own sound system and microphone, shirt off, shouting encouragement and pumping out reggae. Hero! My favourite banner however was one which read ‘this is the worst parade I’ve ever seen’.

After 4 miles I was settling down but needed my nervous wee. The wait for the toilet was really going to hinder my world record attempt so I chose an off piste location. Wee number one was strong. Although a phantom widdle arrived at mile 7, 8 and 9. Strange stuff. Keep running. Once I was into Bermondsey I was nearly there. Not there. But closer, closer to that halfway point that all Marathon runners look forward to…The Draft House, where my best man was waiting for me with a pint! As I approached the corner of Tower Bridge Road I hoped that my supporters had made it and that I would spot them in the crowd. I didn’t have to wait long as I spotted the little face of my fiancée from a mile away. It is so lovely to see people you know. The BEAST team had also made me a banner which gave me a new nickname I liked a lot. The BEAST became the Scunthorpe Stallion! Big hugs for Chloe, Fitz, Claire, Mother and Greg. I was pumped! There was also someone else there I was pleased to see. Mr. Pint. Having absconded from alcohol this beer tasted better than any other. 

A few quick questions and smiles and I had to keep going. 

Over Tower Bridge I went. This is the famous bit, the bit I had imagined during my training as I ran over the bridge on a busy Sunday tutting as I ran into tourists. It felt really great. I’d made it. It was Marathon Day and I had already ran half of it. This is easy.

I was wrong. The Marathon is hard. I never saw a ‘wall’ but I did hit the ‘tunnel’ around mile 18 which is a dark underpass on the track where there were no crowds. This was a low point. That and perhaps the pint I had kicked in! Thinking of the great work Solace Women’s Aid do really helped me to keep my very confused legs trotting. Music also came into play here and my iPod shuffle treated me to the Rocky theme tune as soon as I turned it on. Two miles flew by as what followed was Oasis and The Hives. Once round the Isle of Dogs the crowds came back and at mile 21 I met up with my supporters once more, who looked very surprised to still see a smile on my face. As I approached the last few miles I thought of all of the people who had helped me get to this point. My Dad who cycled alongside me in my first ten mile run, my expert training team of my fiancée and best man who kept my feet, stomach and body in check. My Mum and family who had supported me from home with messages of encouragement and on race day braving the crowds and all the inspiring messages of support I had received from friends. Without them I would not have been able to run and this is why it is so important to support Solace Women’s Aid to provide a support network for those who need it to find their feet.

Once I could see Westminster the swearing had stopped and a permanent smile was fixed across my silly head-banded face. I was close. Really close. As I ran past Big Ben the noise from the crowds was overwhelming and three pissed up lads shouted “You got this Burkitt!!!” As I ran towards the mall another voice shouted my name and to my surprise it was an old mucker from Leeds. 

It was so nice to see him and he looked as shocked as I was that it was nearly over. As I approached Buckingham Palace I made sure I overtook the bare footed Jesus on the cross and strode it out pass the queen’s gaff. The crowd roared and I turned the corner with 365 yards to go. The home straight. I’ve never ran like that in my life. I didn’t take my eyes off the finish line as they began to fill. I did it. There was no way in hell I was being covered in tin foil like a chicken, so I bounced past to collect my medal.

From there I wondered tired and confused to my friends and family in Trafalgar Square where I felt very proud. I am an idiot. But I am a lucky idiot. I have lovely friends and family. I ran for Solace who support people who are not so lucky. Please donate, it’s not too late. Click here.

After a few beers in my favorite pub I limped home. I stripped ready for my ice bath and realised I now had hobbit feet with a few less healthy toe nails then I remembered. But London had been BEASTED!

Monday everything but my smile hurt but today I’m on the mend. If you have donated thank you for your generosity and support, if you have yet to donate please do, it only takes a few minutes but could save someone’s life. Thank you for everything. NEVER AGAIN!

 http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/beastinglondon

3 DAYS TO GO! DONATE!

April's Fool

Following my last post in mid-January on the next run I did I pulled up after only a mile and a half. My calf went tight and my knee was really hurting. I’d powered through and ignored my body for the 6 miles previously. But this time I had to listen. I was broken. I found it really annoying that this has been the fittest I have ever been and I couldn’t walk down stairs anymore without wincing and yelping like a pup. I had a moment at Hoxton station where an old lady asked me if I was alright as I clung to the handrail, that encouraged me to go to hospital to have it looked at. Having provided a little entertainment at the reception desk of Guy’s NHS Drop-in centre on a Saturday afternoon I had my pants down and a nurse had a poke and a rub. I was told to rest and do some exercises. Funny that, more exercise. Apparently my legs, the same legs that had just run six miles a few days earlier, were weak.

I didn’t like that one bit. So I had two weeks doing nothing and then got back to it. After two weeks the same problem. Two more weeks rest and only a mile and a half I pulled up again. This was a low point.

I pulled this face as I looked out over the Thames worrying that blind stubbornness might not actually get me to the finish line. Then I limped home.

At the right time, when I needed it, both my fiancée and my best man, put their heads together to get me an early birthday present. New legs. Seriously these trainers or running shoes are the most uncool things I have ever had on my feet, but it feels like I’m walking on air. Just like nothing at all! These ugly little beauties came into my life after the public humiliation of having to run on a machine in the shop and having my feet filmed in slow motion. Imagine how slow that video was. Anyway after being told off for flirting with the lady in the shop, who had gone into a self-satisfied coma induced by the distant memory of her last marathon, I was walking out of the shop with bionic legs. Nothing could stop me now. The Marathon was back on!

Now I had to make up for lost time, but before I went back to sweating, I met the mayor of Southwark who invited me for tea. I joked with her about hoping to finish the marathon. Her face dropped and she said: "You'd better! You are running for one of my charities". So I stole a few cookies and got out of there before she could scare me anymore.

That week my doctor’s appointment came around. The one I had booked before my new shoes. I shall not name my doctor, but let’s just say he is a very shrewd man. I sat across from him at his desk and he took one look at me and said: “whatever I tell you, you are going to run this marathon aren’t you?!” to which I smiled and nodded. He did the doctor scary story bit and then saw that I didn’t flinch so he agreed to give me a pain killer a week before if I need it. That’s my kind of doctor. He laughed at me and told me to get out of his office.

Further assistance in my rehabilitation came from a combination of Lidl, colleagues at Lambeth College and the lovely Nadine. Lidl had a running week where they palmed off some kit in the isles of crap, so my dutiful fiancée bought me energy gels. They live in my pocket every time I run now and have an incredible effect. In so much as I’m so sure they will taste horrific every time I feel tired and that I can’t go on I threaten myself with the promise of actually opening one and I soon feel as though the next few hundred yards will be fine. She also bought me some brightly coloured Kinesiology tape, which apparently will support my muscles. Another placebo that I’m happy to humour as long as I keep kidding myself that everything will be alright on the night; even if I end up running the marathon looking like a raving mummy. My enemies at work kept the pressure on my training too. I would call them friends, however they made me get a foam roller, for which I cannot and will not forgive them. Such a simple looking thing that causes so much pain. Although without it I would not be running. 

A massive boost to my training has been doing Yoga with Nadine. She gets all my bits in a happy place. For someone who cannot touch my toes I have been surprised how much I have enjoyed these sessions and particularly like it when I'm folded into shapes Nadine suggests for idiot runners like me. 

Having taken on too many jobs recently I found making time to train increasingly became more difficult and so I took the drastic decision to run home from work. Once I had ensured my students had gone home I snuck into my running gear in the gents toilet and then crept out of the building, stretched very publicly like a PE teacher and then ran home. It turns out running has another use other than exercise. It can actually get you to places. As in, it is a mode of transport. Who knew?

Further to this bombshell I am pleased to announce that I successfully hit double figures and ran for ten miles without stopping.

I was spurred on by a running companion, my 67 year old Dad, who cycled the entire distance at a very steady 5 miles an hour. Me not him. He was struggling to balance at times because of my tardiness, however we finished 30 seconds over 2 hours. Which means that if I can maintain that pace for two and a half times more, and a bit, I will finish in about 5 hours and 15 mins. Although I have to be honest there was something left in the tank, but two and a half that distance? Seems like a long way. However my Grandma the infamous ‘Babba’ is so dismissive of my distances I’m motivated to silence her, as in my opinion she is a bit overly trivialising of my fitness for someone who has just moved in to a bungalow.

In the last week I moved house and so today I went on my first run around Hampstead Heath. Heath doesn’t mean gently undulating pastures. HEATH MEANS HILLS. Running up hill is like urinating into the wind. I hope there are no hills in the London Marathon. Catching an old lady having a widdle in the bush with her dog cheered me up tremendously though. As a gentleman I thought I should ease the tension of this uncomfortable moment as she hastily pulled up her pants so I trumped loudly as I ran by. What a guy! A lap complete though and feeling fit. I couldn’t help but get a twinge of excitement in my stomach when looking back at London on the Heath as it’s April now which means only 23 days until race day and I beast this town.

I have realised that I was wrong when I thought this marathon was just about me and running. It’s not. It’s us and running. All the support, advice and encouragement I have been given by everyone has helped me get to this point and will carry me on race day. However without it I would struggle, with that in mind it’s time to get your debit card out and get online to support the wonderful work Solace Women’s Aid do. They give support, advice and encouragement to those who need it most. Remember this money isn’t funding my ridiculous kit, but the lifesaving work done by this ground-breaking institution that helps brave people who need it. Fun though it is watching me sweat like a BEAST this only becomes worthwhile if you dig deep and give money today. Please do not wait. Donate!