So this is a picture of me at the end surrounded by lots of other elated and exhausted people. And here is a step by step account of how the marathon felt:
AT THE START
There’s 3 starting zones for the marathon: Red, Blue and Green. I was at Blue which consisted of a LOT of fit people that looked kinda like they were just stood about really. And then you realised that was because everyone was queueing. Queuing for info, to put bags on lorries and… The worst of queues… The Female Urinal. There were no ordinary loos at the start, instead women had the pleasure of standing in a cold queue for 20 minutes before being handed a cardboard funnel and told to “attempt it like a man”. With the pre-run nerves and acute consideration that everyone had put into getting their kit right, it was a heightened mix of humour and humiliation to be shoving a piece of cardboard up there in a dire attempt not to piss yourself. Never before have I seen so many women concentrating so hard on looking down. Many gave up and were just squatting at the sides, which was the point I realised that putting my bag in a quiet corner wasn’t the best idea I’d had that day.
IN THE PEN
Each zone is then split into 9 pens in order of estimated speed. I was in pen 9, right at the very very back. Which was fine by me. I made some pen friends (hurrr) including one woman who was sure she should be in a pen in front as she was attempting sub-5 hours, and one very nervous South African who had only got a place and started training 3 weeks ago. I don’t know if he finished or not. It was cold and I was glad of the extra jumper I’d brought. I didn’t hear the gun go at 10:10 but I was surprised at how quickly we started jostling forward and it was only around 10:20 that I found myself tripping over the red ballooned Virgin Giving branded START. As an added touch that nice Richard Branson had brought his hot air balloons too which were firing up as we headed over the line. I do love a hot air balloon.
600m IN
After the trauma of the Female Urinals I wasn’t going very far without visiting a proper loo, which was 600m in. Sadly many others had a similar idea and I had to queue for another 10 mins. By the time I got out I really was at the end of the marathon group with the people hopping the whole way and the big lorry scooping everything up. It was here that I saw the first of cheerers who knew me. They were very encouraging but seemed a little shocked that I be so, so far back already.
1 MILE IN
More nice red balloons and things were feeling good. I wasn’t going too fast, I’d overtaken a T-Rex, I was high-fiving all the little kids cheering us on… “This is going to be great fun” I thought.
2 MILES IN
I’m ignoring my Nike Running App and just going at a steady slow pace and it feels good - if anything I’m going slower than normal. My colleague Mark had told me where he was planning on cheering me on and sure enough there he was with his beautifully bewildered 4 year old son. Just seeing them there gave me a little punch of power and to my surprise I didn’t stop or slow to have a word with them but just sailed by waving “HI MARK HI ZAC” feeling all pleased with myself.
3 MILES IN
This is where the Blue Zone meets the Red Zone and was great fun coming together. The Red Zoners had some class acts amongst them. I overtook two men carrying a bobsleigh and for a short while I was with Karaoke Steve who runs the marathon singing karaoke songs the whole way. It feels brilliant and soon I’m hollering “Keep On Running” and “I Will Survive” with the rest of them.
4 MILES IN
Knee twinge. Uh-oh. Not feeling quite so breezy now.
5 MILES IN
Is the first Lucozade station. Up until this point it’s been little teeny bottles of refreshingly cold Buxton water, which you constantly have to dodge as they litter the edge of the route. I didn’t want to take any Lucozade as I hadn’t trained with it, but as I passed the stand my feet started sticking to the pavement making a Velcro ripping noise with every step. It reminded me of those old man pubs with their old carpets sodden with decades of beer. But of course this isn’t sticky old beer, this is oh-god-please-no-it’s-tough-enough-as-it-is marathon and I’m getting quite concerned. Thankfully as the next water stop comes in the sticking subsides.
6 MILES IN
I have a vague recollection of passing the Cutty Sark and the swell of the crowds but mostly I remember thinking, “oh shit I’m barely a quarter of the way there”
7 MILES IN
I’m going at the same pace as an old lady called Kathryn. Obviously everyone loves an old lady runner and for ages all I hear is “Go Kathryn! Yay Kathryn! You can do it Kathryn!” and I just wish she’d put me out of my misery and overtake me properly.
8 MILES IN
It’s starting to get hard. And the queues for the loos haven’t got any smaller so whenever we hit a quiet spot the route is lined with squatting runners. I’m level pegging with a man in a giant testicles outfit and get overtaken by several rhinos and an ostrich.
9 MILES IN
All along the route music suddenly bursts out like confetti canons of sound. From pop songs blaring out of pubs to Jamaican drums and brass bands and there’s crooners and women with umbrellas dancing a jig. The marathon is a party and although my legs are starting to tire (Shit! Already!) I can’t stop smiling and applauding every act we pass. These guys are brilliant. What seems to be a hallucination of my mum and dad pop up but I can’t really fathom if it’s them and just wave around hysterically like a delirious Royal.
10 MILES IN
Feels like a real milestone, more than the 10k in a way. 10 miles is a good chunk, it’s nearly halfway really. That’s what I kid myself with anyways.
11 MILES IN
I pass Bermondsey tube and think “oh, so that’s where Bermondsey tube is”. I refuse the sweets of what seem to be hundreds of sticky children. But every time I see a “TOUCH TO POWER UP” sign I oblige. Other signs that got me laughing were “SHUT UP LEGS” and “I’M PROUD OF YOU RANDOM STRANGER”.
12 MILES IN
I’m getting baffled by the “Run With Your Loved One” Buxton water chute and I hear my name being yelled out - more earnestly than the general public encouragement anyways. I look round and see my partner Tom and his mates giving me a loud cheer from the far side of the road. It feels like ages since I’ve seen anyone I knew and as I give them a wave I turn the corner to Tower Bridge and start to get teary. Nearly halfway. I’m nearly halfway.
20km IN
I realise I don’t know how many kilometres are in a marathon, but I’m hoping it’s 40.
13 MILES IN
I’ve made it to Shadwell, and I’m on the lookout for my homies who should be nicely bunched together somewhere. I can see the 3hr15min pacer go by on the other side of the road and the runners with him look… Well, they look fast… but they don’t look fresh. In fact some of them look positively grey. I decide to not look at them and concentrate on the gazillions of people out cheering. And then from across the road I get an almighty “CAAAAAT!” and there’s my bunch of supporters and they’re going bonkers and there’s a huge banner of my face (oh god) and they’re making such a racket that the other runners are looking at me in amazement and patting me on the back. I was hot and sweaty and feeling a million dollars. And then suddenly I got another cheer and it’s my housemates, and they’re on this side of the road separate to the others for some reason but they’re going mad too and I’m getting totes emosh again and can’t believe it. And THEN I get ANOTHER cheer from my old schoolfriends and its like everyone here is actually cheering for me and I kinda think I must be pissing off the other runners by now. But I’m also shedding a little tear and feeling so incredibly loved and trying not to think about my legs hurting.
14 MILES IN
Oh god my legs are really hurting.
15 MILES IN
That was only one mile since 14?! Everything is slowing down and feeling much harder. The thought I might not be able to do this crosses my mind like a vulture beginning to circle. We head into a tunnel and I notice many people are walking and stretching and the ostrich is rearranging his tights in a haunting way that will probably stay with me forever. I take a moment to stretch out my burning thighs for a second and then try to get going again. I shouldn’t have stopped.
16 MILES IN
I’ve started to walk a bit, just the bits uphill I promise, just the hard bits I console myself with. It’s now the afternoon and there’s drunks about too - pleasant enough but a bit spontaneous in their movements. I’m starting to lose the will and I see Tom’s sister and brother-in-law ahead and think “I can’t let them see me walking” and do my best attempt at a jog past them smiling. They seem super pleased to see me, but as soon as I’m round the corner I start to walk a bit again.
17 MILES
I’m feeling awful. I’m in Canary Wharf and I’m having a bleak moment. Probably not the first person in fairness. It feels like I’ll never get to that bit where the 3hr15min runners were passing us. The St John Ambulance stops are now brimming with injured people in various extents of pain and agony. I see a lady at the side of the road peeling of her bloodied socks and I think this sure ain’t glamorous.
18 MILES IN
I get a surprise cheer. It’s Tom’s sister and brother-in-law again, they’d moved to a new spot. The sneaks! I was sad and I was walking. They saw my pain. “GO ON CAT, KEEP JOGGING!” shouted Clara. “YOU CAN DO IT CAT!” shouted David. I’m not sure either of us were convinced. But I’m a sucker for an audience and I got my legs to work, even though they’d positioned themselves at the bottom of a hill (they knew what they were doing) and I pushed on up with nothing but raging expletives in my mind.
19 MILES IN
The crowds were starting to increase again and I saw a “RUN CAT RUN” banner, which initially I thought was for someone else until I realised my own mum was holding it. It was so lovely to have them there I nearly cried again. But I kept on jogging and even managed a weak smile again.
20 MILES IN
I’m tucking into my fourth gel and I’m getting by purely on the cheers and the “DIG DEEP” signs.
21 MILES IN
I decide to get my playlist on and suddenly I’m in the zone. I don’t know if it’s muscle memory but my feet are pumping down in time to the Sia rhythms like I’ve done in training so many times before. I can do this now, whatever happens I’m crossing that finish line.
22 MILES IN
I see my schoolfriends again and one is blessed with an extremely sweaty and smelly hug. I look out for the big group that were there before with my face banner but don’t see them. They must have gone already. I’m a little deflated not to see them close up but I’m pushing through. We’re coming up to Embankment and that’s going to be fun.
23 MILES IN
Embankment is teeming with people and I’m loving it. My colleague Chloe made me a playlist of Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Cornershop and its feeling great. I overtake Jesus who is barefoot carrying a crucifixion cross and am back on par with the ostrich and the testicles. George the lighthouse is also in sight. People are super happy and I see Tom and his friends again and give them a high five, trying to make myself smell better by thinking alone.
24 MILES IN
My housemates see me again and go wild and even start jogging alongside me like loonies. The Cancer Research UK cheering points, which have all been incredible so far, have an especially big team and its like I’m a superhero or something. I click onto Laura Wright on my playlist, who I’ve always started my runs with, and her familiar soprano voice kicks in as I try to muster up the last bits of energy.
25 MILES IN
I’m looking for PT Kate but there’s crowds on so many levels here - bridges, upper streets, lower streets, stairwells - that it’s hard to see anyone. Another charity cheers loudly for me and I see my uni friend Lara in the middle of them going mad for me. To add to the surreality I see someone I lived with at uni going “CAAAAT! CAAAAT!” and for a second I think he’s going to stop me like we were on the street and go “oh my gosh I’ve not seen you for ages, how’ve you been?” but thankfully I trudge on by. I do worry I’m dying cos it’s starting to feel like that bit at the end of the Titanic when Jack sees all his random friends cheering him in the grand entrance hall and then I see a sign for 385 yards.
385 YARDS TO GO
How far is 385 yards? I’ll be damned if I know. Further than 40km as I’d passed that at what felt like an eternity ago. But I could see Big Ben and Westminster and that felt pretty good.
400m TO GO
And I’m hitting down the mall with hundreds of people and Union Jack flags and still those giant testicles in sight. Video evidence would later show that it looked like I was running in super slow motion but at the time I felt like a Paula Radcliffe Gazelle because I could actually see the Finish Line. Please god let that be the finish line.
FINISH
It is the finish line and I have DONE IT. I’m grinning from ear to ear and in a complete state of shock. A heavy medal is loaded round my neck and an even heavier goody bag is placed in my hand. I waddle through the back posing for photos and seeing the ostrich getting interviewed for TV. Then I pick up my own bag from the lorry and make my way to Horse Guards where the grounds are signposted with letters of the alphabet.
MEETING POINT H
I’ve fished out the foil blanket, because when am I going to ever wear foil again, and as I wander over to the big H it’s Tom who sees me first and he looks delighted. My schoolfriends Milly Willy and Chezza are there (aka Fun House Twin) shortly followed by my housemates Terri and Lynz. They take pictures and say I look great even though I’m convinced I smell like tupperwared chicken and look somewhat worse. Tom is lovely and feeds me chocolate from my goody bag. Eventually my parents arrive (tourists) and are all really excited too and then we all leave and get a burger.
Well... A productive day I guess!
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