A marathon journey

Braving blisters, hail-storms and men dressed as rhinos, Helen Thompson discovers the determination it takes to run a marathon

The marathon is so called due to the myth that an Athenian messenger ran the 25-mile distance from Marathon to Athens to give warning of the imminent invasion of the Persians, and then promptly died.

Due to the 100% fatality rate of that run, 2,500 years ago, it would seem a masochistic sport to take up as a hobby. However, the marathon is now not only the longest professional track race, but also tests the endurance of thousands of amateur road-runners worldwide.

Since its mythical beginnings, the number of casualties incurred in the race has dropped considerably, with just eight fatalities from 430,000 runners in London’s Marathon history.

Quiet Saturdays in Talybont halls are a dangerous thing – you never know what could happen; through lack of other entertainment, my housemate decided to enter the London marathon in order to raise money for Cancer Research. He asked if anyone wanted to be his training buddy, and, being the suggestible person that I am, I applied online with him. A couple of months later, our post-box harboured an acceptance and a rejection: I was in, and running on my own.

Due to usual first year activities such as sleeping and drinking, I didn’t do enough training and deferred my place until 2006. Returning to Cardiff after summer, a year wiser and with strengthened resolve, I began my training.

Training Diary

October

1 I’m standing at the beginning of my first run of six months’ training that will culminate with a marathon run. I’m reluctant to begin because I’ll probably be out of breath within five minutes. I don’t even know if I’m going to make it to Bute Park, let alone through months of running four times, and covering up to 35 miles, each week.

14 I can now run about five miles. I’m trying to focus on the fact that each week is only a small increase in difficulty, rather than on the fact that I will have to run over five times this distance that I’m currently able to.

November

I want an iPod for Christmas; at the moment I spend my runs repeating whatever’s stuck in my head, and eight miles of M People’s Moving On Up is no joke. I train alone because I like to have the freedom to go at my own, quite slow, pace. Training involves three short runs and one long run per week. This includes speed sessions, hill runs and threshold runs, which push your heart rate past your comfort zone, increase your tolerance of lactic acid and your leg turnover. I hate these, as I have to put in the extra effort to increase my fitness.

My diet now resembles that of an Olympic swimmer – I’ve never eaten so many carbohydrates in my life. I’m not losing weight because I’m enjoying being able to eat whatever I want.

December

4 I finished my 11-mile run along the Taff trail on a high today. For the first time, I feel like I might actually be able to run this marathon.

Previously I’ve been doing my long runs without any sustenance, which means that by the time I’ve run four miles, I’ve burnt more calories than I’ve consumed that day. Today I took a Lucozade energy gel sachet – definitely worth doing – it makes such a difference to my energy levels.

January

9 Serious setback: I dislocated my kneecap snowboarding this week. This is the sixth time I’ve dislocated it; it hurts less each time, but it still swells, and makes running temporarily impossible. I should have stuck to skiing.

27 Just attempted my first long run since my injury; my knee felt fine, so I’ve finally chosen to run for ActionAid, and told everyone that I’m running the marathon. I always see so many people running for first-world charities such as Cancer Research, so instead I want to raise money for people who’ve never experienced the quality of life that most of those in the West enjoy.

February

8 Brisk weather for running today: It started hailing at the seven-mile point. Then it stopped hailing and started snowing. Not even running could keep me warm in my tiny top, and I still had nine miles to go. By the time I got home I was bright pink and attracting some stunned looks.

Some days it’s hard to persuade myself to run. Rain’s okay, but strong winds are exhausting. Even on a day like today, I never let myself miss a long run, because I don’t have time to reschedule, and it would put my training a week behind.

26 Balancing fundraising and training isn’t always easy; I forsook my run today to prepare for Global Village. I’ve spent loads of time recently thinking up fundraising ideas, but it’s paying off, as my total is rising towards the £1,500 target.

March

3 Injured again: I pulled a tendon in my foot playing squash. It feels like my foot’s ripping down the middle every time I walk. I’m adopting the RICE regime – rest, ice, compression, elevation – and will have to make do with cycling this week. I’m hoping it will heal before the Silverstone half-marathon on March 19.

21 Two days ago, I ran the half marathon in 2:00:45. It was good practice for London, as I’ve no previous experience of running a proper race. I was much faster than in training, and ran the distance without stopping to walk – which I never usually manage. My foot was fine, even though it was swollen until the day before. Afterwards, I idiotically drove 200 miles home. I’ve been so stiff ever since that I’ve hardly been able to walk, and I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my hip. I’m plagued by injuries now that I’m near the end of my training. It seems to be an occupational hazard, and the risk increases with the number of miles you cover per week.

29 I’ve just finished my last long run before the marathon, a very slow 21 miles, as my legs were still in agony. Running on legs that have not recovered from a previous run is like running with needles in your muscles. I usually can’t run more than a few steps the day after a long run. Now I’ve got a three-week wind-down period before the race, so my legs should be fine for the day.

April

19 I can’t help wondering what breed of blind optimism led me into this ridiculous folly. In four days I’m meant to be running a marathon. I went jogging for 30 minutes today, couldn’t keep up with my sister, and aggravated my hip injury. Although I’m terrified, I’m being sponsored over £2,000 to do this. It’s ridiculous to have spent so much time training, and feel so unprepared. I feel like I dreamt all those 15-mile runs.

22 I’ve just registered for the marathon, collecting my running number (23304), kitbag and ChampionChip that will record my time from my shoelace. I’m now putting my feet up and irritating my sister by saying “I’m going to die” every five minutes. My hip feels better and I’m walking more normally than I have for months. The hotel’s set to feed me pasta tonight and porridge at six in the morning.

All that remains is to get a good night’s sleep.

Race Day

8.45 – One hour until the start gun, and I’m stuck on a crowded tube near Blackheath. It’s drizzling, which is certainly better than sunshine.

9.20 – Finally at the start, drugging myself up on paracetemol. Around me people don black bags for warmth and plaster their nipples to prevent chafing. I make sure I’ve got my inhaler, and join the loo queue.

9.55 – Late again! I’m right at the back with the fun-runners, luminous elephants and men in tutus, as we surge towards the start line. The pace is slow as we cross the start, and soon we are walking again as the street gets jammed.

10.30 – Although it’s early on a grey Sunday morning, London’s residents don’t let us down. The streets are lined; children hold out their hands to slap and bands play on roof tops.

11.50 – We make it across Tower Bridge, which is distressingly uphill. The next balloon-covered mile marker will show 13 miles: half-way through the race, and I still feel fine.

13.05 – I think I’ve just hit the legendary ‘wall’ at 18.5 miles. Stopped to walk for the first time, and have started treating myself like a child: ‘Look at the pretty banners and all the nice people here to support you.’

13.55 – We’re on the home stretch. My legs won’t move faster than a slow jog. An elephant just overtook me. The crowd holds out hand-fulls of sweets, while I desperately look for Lucozade. My emotions swing between elation at getting this far and distress that I’m not on target for my time of 4:30:00.

14.38 – Finally, St James’ Park. We wave at the TV cameras, and hear the satisfying beep of our chips as our feet fall onto the finish line. Runners limp into lines to collect medals. I notice that I’ve got blisters, and that my underarms are cut to pieces by my running vest. Shivering but happy, I drag my heavy legs towards the ActionAid reception for a well-deserved massage.

25th April Yesterday, I could hardly walk. Everything hurt except my right arm. Occasionally I find myself getting emotional when I realise that the marathon’s over; it dominated my life for six months, and now all the anticipation is over. Still, I’m proud that I finished it in 4:43:58, beating Steve Redgrave by a good 45 minutes, and I didn’t get overtaken by a rhino.