London Marathon: The Morning After
Ouch. I’m walking like I've lost my horse, my hands are covered in blisters, my arms and legs hate me and, despite a mass of lovely people telling me how proud I should feel, I can't help but feel low.
The London Marathon was much much harder than the Brighton Marathon - Having to carry Lambretta no 2 on my shoulders in London was far more difficult than pushing Lambretta no 1 around Brighton.
Ah, Brighton - I’ve not even told you about Brighton yet. Brighton was hot. Very very hot! Here is a video story of the Brighton Marathon as it’s not as fresh in my memory as the events of yesterday.
Back to the London Marathon. A schoolboy error meant I’d only concentrated on Lambretta no 1 for Brighton as I’d had so many injuries in the build up that I was convinced I would not be in a fit state to run the London Marathon at all.
In fact, prior to Brighton, I had managed only four four-mile runs between the beginning of February and race day on 9 April. And, after I’d completed Brighton, recovery time meant I didn’t actually put my running shoes on again until the morning of the London Marathon!
After filling myself with pasta for two days and promising myself an early night on London Marathon Eve, at 11:30pm I found myself sewing the straps that would secure the scooter to my shoulders! Tweet (timed at 23.17) exchanged with Demelza Hospice Care for Children:
So, after a restless night, London Marathon day had arrived. Two slices of toast and a cup of tea downed then we set off. Mrs Mikethemod dropped off me and Lambretta no 2, not forgetting inflatable pillion Modette, at Blackheath early in the morning. As I walked across the heath the scooter felt fine - a little unbalanced, but otherwise fine. I met up with my fellow PWRs for some photos. Not long to go now. Ok, Green Start here I come.
At precisely 10am we were off. When I crossed the start-line and began to run, I immediately realised this was going to be TOUGH. I could see a running tree, a running dinosaur and a running toilet roll disappearing into the distance, and here I was fighting to stop both the sideways and front-to-back movements of Lambretta no 2.
I stopped - which was a disaster as there were runners around and behind me, so already I had caused a small fracas. I tightened the straps, but it didn’t help much as Modette was weighing down the back and my headlight was pointing skywards.
Before I had even reached Woolwich (Mile 3), Modette had fallen off the back three times. The Petts Wood Runners water station at Mile 4 was timely and Paul Kelly helped me to Gorilla Tape her back into the seat. At this point I was already sweating up quite badly so I also needed to discard my Parka and leave it with my fellow PWRs.
Not a great start. To compensate for Modette’s weight at the back, I had to hold down the front end. I told myself I just had to make it to the Odd Mod Squad’s supporters in Greenwich so I could leave Modette with them - but I couldn’t see them in the sea of faces that greeted us as we sailed around the famous Tea Clipper Cutty Sark. My next thought was that maybe I should hang on to Modette for a while longer - just in case I was shown on the camera at the halfway mark on Tower Bridge.
At this point, I must tell you about Mr Bump. Mark Casella, friend and runner from my Bexley Athletic Club days who has since moved up north, promised me a donation of £50 if I had my photo taken with his northerner friend James Wright who was running as Mr Bump.
Now, there were FORTY THOUSAND runners in the London Marathon, so I’m sure that Mark thought his £50 was pretty safe! However… who did I Bump into as I approached Tower Bridge? Yes, you got it, none other than James Wright AKA Mr Bump. Amazing or what?!
After a quick and surprised exchange between us, Mr Bump made a sudden decision to dash ahead onto Tower Bridge to find Ore from the BBC to tell him about our promised donation. And, before we knew it, we were being beamed around the world!
Now, since my unexpected BBC Radio interview before the Brighton Marathon, I had imagined countless times what I would say if a similar scenario arose during the London Marathon. And this is the reason -
We have an ongoing and extremely upsetting situation with our oldest son and I wanted to plead right then, on live TV, for him to make contact with us.
But, as quickly as the opportunity arose, it had gone. I was overcome with sadness and I really started to struggle. That was probably my lowest point during the entire race.
Through the overwhelming fog in my head I spotted the Petts Wood Runners’ flag on the opposite side of the road on Tower Bridge. I had never been so grateful to see those friendly smiling faces. I thought I was becoming dizzy but they kindly reassured me that it was the movement of the bridge I was feeling.
I have no idea how I managed to collect my thoughts but I continued along Westway towards Canary Wharf. I ran in the centre of the road hoping to spot speedier fellow Petts Wood Runners making their way towards the finish, a good eight miles ahead of me. I saw Kevin Chadwick looking very focused and I gave him a shout, willing him on to his first sub three-hour finish (he came very close; three hours and three minutes).
As I reached the welcome haven of peace and quiet that is the underground roundabout at Canary Wharf, Mikethemod decided that he and his Modette should part company. I knew I wouldn’t finish the race with her misbehaving on the back. Plus, Lambretta no 2 was bending worryingly. I stopped in the half-darkness and we said our goodbyes. I took off her parka - that actually belonged to Mrs Mikethemod - and left Modette on top of a dumpster. I couldn’t quite bring myself to put her IN the bin!
I had filled Modette with helium but losing her made the scooter much lighter, so that was good. I then decided it would be of benefit to lose the weight of Mrs Mikethemod’s parka too. Sorry Dawn! The scooter was now balanced but I still couldn’t take my hands off the sides as it was whipping about from side-to-side with each step.
As I passed the Tooke Arms pub I got a massive Reevesie shout. I turned around and saw a group of supporters that included scootering face Bob Downs. It was such a shame they hadn’t got to meet the now discarded Modette!
By the time I reached Canary Wharf my hands were bleeding and my feet felt like I had stones in my shoes. The crowd noise was overwhelming and it was difficult for me to focus on faces.
Every water stop, gel stop and Lucozade stop was an excuse to, well - stop. At the next water stop was my lovely friend Christine Oliver. She gave me a big hug and I was slightly embarrassed that I was in such a sweaty state. Christine’s restorative hug could not have come at a better time.
As I left Canary Wharf, I knew I was heading for the finish line - at last. Every painful step was a step towards sitting down. It was here that I finally accepted refreshment. Throughout the entire course, children and adults alike had screamed encouragement while holding out all manner of sweets - from tiny hands holding a single jelly baby to adults offering large plastic bowls full of goodies.
I took a piece of orange. It was so fresh. Once I had taken one treat though, it was difficult to stop and at the next bowl I took a jelly snake, then a Haribo, then a milk bottle. Heaven. Just after that I was asked for a selfie with a woman running in an East Kilbride Scooter Club shirt… two fellow scooterists meeting in the middle of a marathon.
Then there were more hugs, this time from Julie and Tom Medhurst both telling me how proud I should feel - but all I wanted was for it to finish. Then an ex-colleague watching with his family gave me a big shout - thanks Keval.
Just as I was passing the Tower of London a girl in front of me looked like she was on the point of collapse. As I asked if she was ok, she said “Yes, have we finished?”, her legs gave way. I just managed to catch her and a marshal and a fellow runner rushed over to help. I hope you made it Vicki.
Next, the underpass near Blackfriars Bridge. This tunnel is another place of calm and relative quietness. Although for me, this was the point where I lost my headlight (painstakingly created by Mrs Mikethemod) AND my steering. Bloody Lambrettas!
As I made my way through the tunnel the beat of the music became progressively louder. Then I emerged into the sunlight and into an awesome cacophony of sound. It was astounding. It was the most exhilarating part of the race.
I could hear cheering and, at the last second, glimpsed my brother, sisters, their partners and friends waving down at me from Waterloo Bridge. Fantastic! Just what I needed. My brother Paul told me afterwards that it was very emotional watching the runners’ expressions at the moment they exited the tunnel.
There were more emotional moments to come - meeting with PWRs Paul Whelan and Ian Noad who ran alongside me for a while and supported the scooter after seeing my legs ‘wobble’, then supporters Auntie Maureen, Uncle Phil and cousin Andrew with his wife Becky who are expecting twin boys in June. Then I saw PWR members Eadaoin Sacha and Nicola. And then my old friend John Askew at the Bexley Athletic Club water station at 25 miles. I hoped I would make it now.
In my head I was telling myself there’s only 1k to go, that’s just two and a half laps of the track. Simple enough but I was in agony and I slowed to a walk in Great George Street by the Institution of Civil Engineers (where our youngest son worked as Chef de Partie for a time).
Just then there was a roar from the Teenage Cancer Trust supporters outside their hospitality area. They were shouting “Go Mikethemod!”. This made me feel tearful. I knew that somewhere along this stretch were also the Demelza Hospice Care for Children supporters - but sadly I couldn’t see them. What I could see, however, was the 600 metres sign. C’mon, jog again. Walk again. Then the 200 metres sign. Phew.
Crossing that line was SUCH a relief. I’d made it.
I felt incredibly sick and my hands and lips were purple as I tried to find my fellow Petts Wood Runners. Then I couldn’t walk any more. I sat down then lay down on the grass at the side of The Mall. Every time I tried to stand up I thought I was going to be ill. I lay there for what seemed like ages.
Then my anxious sister phoned to ask me where I was. She sent her fiancé John to find me. He helped me, and what was left of Lambretta no 2, back to the rest of my family. My brother Paul accompanied me to Charing Cross Station then Mrs Mikethemod and youngest son Scott met us at Orpington Station. Me and my battle-scarred scooter were both carefully folded into the car and I was nearly home.
There was no time to sit down though, groan! A quick shower, a cursory assessment of my injuries, some clean clothes, my medal around my neck - and then I was gently encouraged back into the car and I was on my way to meet my lovely family for a post-marathon meal at the Harvester.
More celebratory hugs ensued, the biggest from my mum. And then - at last - FOOD. Never before had I felt such an overwhelming need to overdose on protein. A ‘Harvester 83 Combo’ sorted me out good and proper.
And, to finish off an utterly mind-blowing day, I got a text from my dad (who was in hospital post-op and sadly unable to be with us) saying how proud he was of me.
I had done it. Mikethemod, Two Marathons in Two Weeks.
Total raised so far: £8,439.05
www.virginmoneygiving.com/mikethemod
www.mikethemod.com
Below is a fabulous video made by Teenage Cancer Trust including mikethemod’s #ReasontoRun.
