Here it is at last the definitive report on my
marathon. Best thing I have ever
done. So far of course. Never say never and all that.
Wow what can I say?
Words fail me. Though not for
long of course, I have got a blog to write after all. As you know the marathon training was long
and torturous. It involved many long
runs of just me and my iPod (many thanks to Radio 4 at this point – Woman’s
Hour and many comedies just about kept me distracted) and several circuits of
the local villages including multiple passes of the nice but bemused man in the
signalbox. It involved monthly muscular
pounding by Mick the Marmaliser and his ever helpful exercise suggestions. Also many thanks to Mr Shotblok and Mr Powerade,
my two staples. And of course the help,
support and camaraderie of Caistor Running Club who are the very reason I was
even able to contemplate doing a marathon in the first place.
I must say that the final week before a marathon is a very
strange place to be. Strange aches and
pains start up where none used to be. You find yourself getting paranoid about
illness or the possibility of tripping up and injuring yourself. The thought of being unable to take part in
something which has been such a focus for so many weeks is intolerable. So of course I suddenly develop a painful
back. I’ve never had problems with my
back so why on earth should this be so? Unbelievable. Still, I reasoned, there were still a few
days to go so plenty of chance for it to improve. Just to be on the safe side I bought a tube
of Ibuleve and packed a load of Ibuprofen. Let’s hear it for 2-(4-isobutylphenyl)
propanoic acid!
Anyway, so to Paris…
We arrive on the Saturday and head off to the Expo to pick
up my bib number. You have to provide
your passport, your convocation (a downloaded document that states your name,
date of birth, bib no. etc.) and most
importantly your medical certificate. In France you are not allowed to run in a
race without a certificate stating there is no reason you should not run. This
has to be signed by a doctor and stamped by the medical practice and dated no
more than 12 months before the date of the race. No medical certificate no race –
simples. So imagine my horror when the
lady at the Expo desk pointed out that it was dated 2013 instead of
14. I nearly fainted clean away on the spot. The doctor's handwriting was so bad I hadn't
spotted it, nor my husband nor my daughter who photocopied it for me two days
before. It was done in February and I know how important it is so I still
cannot believe it happened. I needed a stiff drink after that scare I can tell
you. Thank goodness she took pity on me; goodness knows what my face looked
like. Probably if you looked it up on a paint chart it would be somewhere
between ‘Foolscap White’ and ‘Filing Cabinet Grey’.
That evening we met L and A from the running club at a pasta
chain called Pasta Papa. Talk about eat
your own weight in pasta. The servings
were phenomenal. You choose the type of
pasta you want and then you choose the sauce you want to go with it. Naturally
I didn’t choose the seafood sauce – a scoopful of dodgy mussels would soon put
paid to three months of training! Brilliant.
Well and truly carbloaded we opted for an early night. The marathon was due to start at 8.45am. Having lost an hour when the clocks changed
the previous week we then lost another hour by crossing into France so I was
not overly happy at the lack of sleep situation. I retired to bed well and
truly basted in Ibuleve because, yes you’ve guessed it the back had not eased
after all. I’d also like to point out that it’s a well known fact that you
should rest and stay off your legs as much as possible the day before a
marathon. Maybe tanking all around Paris
from the airport to the hotel to the Expo and back via the Metro was not such a
good idea. Unavoidable, but all the same
my feet felt completely flat and I hadn’t even done the marathon!
The morning of the
marathon.
How early?!! About 5.30am I think. I was relatively calm which is not like me at
all. I had a pot of porridge I had
brought from the UK. Not quite the same
as my usual but what’s a girl to do? Plus I had also brought my squeezy bottle
of golden syrup! And I also had a luxury
M&S hot cross bun plus a fruit smoothie.
Oh yes I had been paying great attention to Runners’ World on
pre-marathon fuelling. For once my
children had realised the enormity of what lay ahead for me and were being
uncharacteristically reasonable about getting up early and out of the hotel by
7.15am. Yes I said 7.15am. Madness.
And so off on the Metro to the Arc de Triomphe. The train was full of runners everyone
looking a little nervous. Then as we
exited the Metro at Charles de Gaulle Etoile – whoa! It was incredible. The amount of people!
Being in the Pink
Pen (that’s Pink not Pig) I was at the back and we were all penned in down the
Champs Elysees. I couldn’t even see the
start line and the sea of bodies seemed to extend for miles. There was loud music blaring from the
speakers and copious announcements which were incomprehensible. Partly because they were through a PA system
but mainly because they were in French! On our bibs were printed our name and
also our nationality so that was quite interesting. Of course my Union Jack leggings and buff
spoke volumes and seemed to be attracting quite a lot of attention so I
listened out for mutterings of ‘Le Rosbif!’ but didn’t hear any. At this point I ran into L and A and also La
which was quite miraculous considering the amount of people there. So we had a little Caistor Running Club
moment and a few photos at which point A left us to go to the Yellow pen. I doubt whether there were any fun runners up
there.
The race started at
8.45am but I didn’t even realise it had started. We just moved down the road en masse like a
massive buffet queue. I was with L so we
chatted away and agreed that we could hardly believe where we were. The atmosphere was electric. Of course you had to be very careful where
you were putting your feet. Discarded
bottle, clothing, bin liners and other things far too unmentionable but if I
were to say to you 2 portaloos per pen and each pen probably had a few thousand
in it… And off we went under the green arch and we were on our way. It was amazing. Running along with loads of spectators
cheering you on and everyone around you just running down the Champs Elysees –
what a feeling! Someone called my name and we wondered who they were until I
remembered that I had my name on my Stroke Association top. Of course that meant I was due to run 26.2
miles round Paris with Stroke Katy across my chest so maybe it was a good job
they speak another language! Actually, having people shout out your name is
very encouraging and motivating as I was soon to find out. So there we were trotting along pointing out
buildings and generally marvelling at how wonderful it all was. Then I noticed a whole load of red caps on
the floor. They looked like counters. It turned out that they were bottle tops but
all the water had gone and the water station was being packed away! There were still a couple of tables a bit
further on though so all was well. It was great, we spotted my husband and
children waving the Lincolnshire flag frantically and shouting for us. Then we came out into a large square which
was pretty impressive. There were bands
and entertainers almost nonstop along the route. As soon as you had run out of earshot of one
thing you could hear the strains of the next thing in the distance. Percussion bands, rock and roll, jazz, folk
music, cheerleaders you name it, it was on the route. I can’t possibly describe it all but we headed
off into the Bois de Vincennes which was very lovely and had a wonderful palace
and also a zoo. At some point I went
past the 10k mark so that was good. Then
the next milestone was the half marathon point which was marked with a huge
inflatable arch and plenty of celebration.
Then the route headed down along the Seine which was very scenic with
pleasure boats heading down river and everyone waving at us crazy runners. At this point the route went down under
several underpasses under the bridges.
As we entered the longest tunnel (1 km of tunnel in fact) I could hear
disco music. Appropriately enough - ‘Le
Freak’. There were disco lights and
strobes also disco dancers. I had a
little shoulder shimmy with one lady as I passed. How bizarre.
The tunnel was pitch black and there were THREE discos in total. It was like a nightclub down there. I nearly
danced round my handbag. As I exited
that tunnel it was 17 miles and my family were there to cheer me on. I stopped for a few moments; it would seem
churlish to go straight past when they were spending all day hanging around for
me! My daughter said ‘Mum! What are you smiling for? Nobody is smiling. You’re doing a marathon for goodness sake’.
Hah!
It was a moment of
reprieve. I had spent since the
half-marathon moment waiting to get to the 17 mile point because I knew my
family would be there. You need these incentives. After I had left them things started to feel
a lot tougher. My next milestone was the
20 mile point but all of a sudden the miles were starting to drag. It seems that the tunnels play havoc with
your Garmin and so my watch was saying that I had run further than I had. I thought I was at 18 miles but I
wasn’t. For the first time I started to
feel a little bit concerned. Then the
next thing I knew I started to feel a bit sick.
I had been eating Shotbloks every 25 mins or so but I had got confused
about when I had taken the last one so it may be that I had been having them a
bit more frequently. That coupled with
the Powerade I was sipping all the way suddenly made me feel that I had taken
on an awful lot of sweet things and I would still be doing so. And then I needed the toilet. Typically the area was very built up at that
point and all cafes were shut. I got increasingly more desperate and then
I suddenly spotted a marshal, asked if there were any toilets soon and he
pointed out two Portaloos on a neighbouring building site! I had to squeeze
through some wire fencing, opened the first door and recoiled in horror.
Put it this way - some poor builder must have turned up to work on Monday morn
and got quite a shock. The second one was OK. Miraculous. Anyway it was such a hot day
that being in a plastic box with the door shut caused me to boil up. It
occurred to me that I might never be found. Fortunately I felt a lot
better and also slightly smug as I had found a toilet haven of my own. I took
the opportunity to adjust my belt bags which kept riding up on to my skin and
take off my buff and wrap it round my wrist. When I came out I felt much livelier
and merrily joined the throng again.
Did I mention that
there were fuel stations at frequent intervals but they had vast quantities of
half bananas and quarters of oranges, sugar cubes, raisins and dried banana
chips? It was like a huge market stall.
The downside was that there was slippy peel EVERYWHERE. You had to really watch where you were going
and I’m sure there must have been a few casualties. Talk about Dancing on Ice.
Also there were plenty of sponge
stations. Without sponges. The sponge was in our bags we had picked up
at the Expo but we had no idea you were supposed to bring them with you! Had to
be satisfied with chucking water over my face and neck. It was a very warm day. I saw the strangest
sights. A man running in sandals. Yes flip flops. A woman bending down to pick a leaf from a
bush … then blowing her nose on it and throwing it away! A runner nearly being
knocked down by a motorcycle who started threading through the runners in the
Bois de Boulogne. Another runner running
into a parked car’s wing mirror. Spongebob Squarepants. A rhino (who I managed to overtake at the
end). The Macmillan Coffee morning mug
who L managed to finish with. A strange
flamingo-thing.
The scenery along
the route was spectacular. Going along
the Seine I could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Then at one point there was a sign saying –
Look! It’s the Eiffel Tower! and as you looked to the right there it was in all
its magnificence. It was quite a
sobering experience to go though the tunnel of the Pont d’Alma which is where
Diana Princess of Wales died.
All along the route
I was getting plenty of support from the crowds. The Union Jack leggings meant that any
English speaking nation’s supporters would roar enthusiastically as I went
past. Even a little French boy shouting
‘Team GB!’ There were plenty of shouts
of ‘Allez! Allez!’ too. The last 6 miles were weird and wonderful. I
vacillated (good word) between despair and euphoria and sometimes moments of
madness. At one point I remember thinking 'I think I could be an
ultramarathoner'. What the heck?! I think it's because I was feeling alright
for most of the race. I had a really steady start and I really wanted to
finish. I couldn't risk anything getting in the way of that so no grand
gestures and silly faster pacing that would leave me unable to drag myself the
last couple of miles. During those last
6 miles there were loads of people walking.
Plus a man in tears at the side of the road, wrapped in a gold blanket,
draped over his wife. Lots of people
with cramp too. I ran past a couple and
the man was complaining ‘My shoulders are absolutely killing me’. I found myself running from mile to mile,
still enjoying all the bands and drummers.
As we left the Bois
de Boulogne I spotted the gay cheerleaders. I had heard about them so when I
saw them I was so pleased that I rushed towards them blowing kisses to which
they high-fived me. The leader in the leopard print leotard grabbed my
hand and we highstepped down the road together for a few metres.
Fabulous! If only someone had been there to take a photo. He was saying ‘Come on, shall we finish this
together?’. I wish that had been possible, what a way to cross the finish line
with him in his long pink wig, beard and pink stilettos! As it was he wished me
‘Bon courage!’ and let me go. Not long
after that I came across a whole host of clowns representing the Marathon de
Medoc (well known for its eating and drinking en route) and they gave me a tot
of red wine in a shot glass.
Congratulating me and wishing me well to the finish line. What a country eh?
And then finally the
26 mile marker was in sight. Wow what a
feeling! Nearly there. But not quite and
oh boy does that 0.2 miles make a difference.
I spotted my husband ‘You’ve done it’ he shouted, ‘it’s just around the
corner! A bit further on, there were my
children ‘Go Mum!’ they shrieked and I just felt like bursting into tears. I could see the Finish and I was running
towards it thinking about all that had gone into it. All that was going through
my head was “YOU’ll never run a marathon” and I was running to the finish
thinking “Is that right?!”
I enjoyed the whole
race from beginning to end; I wouldn't have swapped my experience for the
world. Bring on the next one!
