Tara runs 8 in 8
8 marathons. 8 days.
Day 1: The London Marathon
Date: Sunday 26th April 2015
Miles: 26.2
Time: 3:37:31
Although London was by far the most spectator friendly of the 8 marathons ahead, it was the only one which required no logistical support. This meant my support team could stay at home and prepare themselves for The Week Ahead, while I tootled up to London on my own. Except I wasn’t really on my own – apart from the mere 40,000 (!!) other runners, not to mention the legions of supporters lining the streets - there were 10,000 sole sisters on my side, and the Run Mummy Runs were out in force!
Before: Just some of Run Mummy Run mafia who met up at the Blue Start
From the moment I stepped onto the platform at Haywards Heath station, I was among friends. Standing there clutching my ticket, I noticed a lady eyeing up my stripy compression socks. She sidled up to me ‘RMR?’ she whispered, one eyebrow raised. ‘Yes!’ I might have squealed a little bit, but I hope I kept it under my breath. Run Mummy Run is a wonderful network of women who juggle life, work, children and running. We connect primarily online – the idea being that that is the easiest way to fit that sort of support and encouragement into a busy daily routine. The lively warmth and positivity that emanates from Run Mummy Run can be motivating and confidence building for everyone, from ladies who are just starting their running journey to seasoned elites. It also feels a bit like belonging to a secret society, where friendly sock-clad ladies smile knowingly as you pass.
My new friend and I boarded the train, discovered we were both travelling to the same start area, and got chatting while I devoured a pot of porridge and two of my mother-in-law’s legendary muffins. I had been very relaxed about the weather forecast of wind and heavy rain, scoffing at anyone who expressed concern, I mean, how cold could it be at the end of April? We got off the train. It was cold. It was windy. It was very, very wet. It turned out that April could be very cold indeed!
We shivered our way over the heath to the start area, queued for the loos, and met up with the other members of our secret RM R society, where, clad in compression socks, colourful buffs and bin bags, we chatted and shivered, and shivered and chatted. I had a beetroot shot and successfully held back the vomit. It was then time to prise our jumpers off with numb fingers, then shiver over to the start line. It was at this point that a very kind lady took pity on me and offered me her spare bin bag. That act of kindness meant a lot. It was quite overwhelming. It was that kind of day.
As we stood, shaking on the start line, we watched on big screens as the legendary Paula Radcliffe dissolved in tears on the – same – start line of her final competitive marathon. Aware of the proximity of such marathon royalty, I and the rest of the sea of (mostly serious-looking male club) runners engaged in a little collective sob. As I say, it was that kind of day.
And we were off! I didn’t have a race plan. Well, I did. It was to not race and save my legs for The Week Ahead. So I set off ploddily, obediently staying behind the crowds as we slowed right down to a 10 minute mile. Someone behind me shouted ‘Go on Lewes!’, remembering my club (not my name) and I turned round to spy one of my fellow club members came running by! He was looking for a much quicker time than I was so after a brief exchange of good luck, he went on his way through the crowds, while I continue to plod. Actually that first mile was my slowest by a long way. As the crowds began to thin out I found my pace and then pretty much stuck at it, running completely even splits right to the end of the race.
.
During: Me, socks and habitual grin.
The race passed without significant incident. At one of the aid stations, I can’t even remember where it was in the race, I trod on a discarded Lucozade bottle and slightly twisted my ankle. It didn't particularly hurt so I didn’t really think anything of it, but later in the race my right foot started to ache. It didn’t bother me much until I had finished, but looking back, I think this was the start of all my troubles. Sob.
I spotted Suzanne with jelly babies at mile 17, and was excited to see (and hear!) Dayle at mile 21 - both gave me a massive boost. The Run Mummy Run support crew were out in force at mile 19, and I could hear them from a mile away! As I ran past they gave me and the socks a huge roar, I felt like a celebrity!
The closing miles passed surprisingly quickly and painlessly, and before I knew it I was racing, gazelle-like (nothing wrong with a poetic licence) down the Mall towards the finish line, concentrating very, very hard on not forgetting to accost a complete stranger so that we could obediently finish the race hand in hand. I didn’t forget. Box ticked. I crossed the line with the hand of a man called Ben, and a chip time of 3.37:31. I was very happy with that - it was quicker than I'd expected but I ran it steadily and felt comfortable all the way round. It was also only a week after running a PB in Manchester (3.23) so I was pleased with how my legs were coping when tired, a good sign!
London is a race like no other – words of encouragement screamed by passionate strangers are far more powerful than you’d think. There is something about that – willing on others in hardship – which is exhilarating to experience, and heart-warming to witness. The London Marathon is good for the soul.
So, with one marathon down and seven to go, I did my best to push the aching right foot to the back of my mind, bought myself a giant cup of tea and carb-loaded all the way home. I got back just in time to put Leo to bed... and hop in an ice bath.