I can't stop gushing
And I don't just mean the blister on my toe.
Rumour has it I just ran London Marathon. Here’s how it went.
Mile 1: It’s 11.08am and after a few minutes of being led through Greenwich Park shivering, a fellow Red Wave 11 woman looks at me incredulously and asks “is that the actual start line?” and suddenly we’re off. We’re doing it! London bloody Marathon!
In September, it will be 25 years since I moved to south east London. I’d estimate I’ve spent at least three of those years in traffic jams in Blackheath, so running through it with no cars feels quite freeing. So freeing that I’m definitely running too fast.
10 minutes, 6 seconds: a strong 5K pace for me, which would be fine except I’m about to run 5K more than 8 times. Oops.
Mile 2: We’re coming into Charlton and there’s a bloke running alongside me who seems to be speaking. “Would you like to hear a joke?”, “What?”, “Would you like to hear a joke?”, “Sure!”, “What do you call a zoo with one dog? A Shih Tzu!”, “Haha I like that one!” (oh god what if he wants to run the whole thing with me…), “Good luck, see ya!”.
10 minutes, 10 seconds. SLOW DOWN WOMAN! But it’s so easy!
Mile 3: When you think of London Marathon, it’s not Charlton and Woolwich that spring to mind is it? They’ve just been tagged onto the start to make up the distance without anyone noticing, surely? So, I was expecting to find this bit uninspiring but it was GREAT! Probably because it was actual local people whooping and high-fiving from the side of the road, blasting music from their balconies and making me feel all “south London til I die (which might be today actually)”.
10 minutes, 14 seconds. STOP IT ISABEL, YOU SAID YOU WOULD TRY TO STAY JUST UNDER 11 MINUTE MILE PACE FOR THE FIRST BIT AND YOU WILL REGRET THIS BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE REMEMBERED TO TAKE YOUR FIRST ENERGY GEL.
Mile 4: We’ve merged with the other waves now (red, blue and green all start from slightly different points and then join together around Woolwich), so it’s feeling pretty busy. I spot some fellow Asthma + Lung UK runners. “Go Team Breathe!” I whoop, because apparently I’m a whooper now.
10 minutes, 17 seconds. I know, I know. But my legs feel so fresh!
Mile 5: We’re coming into Greenwich and I spot a lovely family straight out of the Boden catalogue. OMG it’s my best friend Nicky, her husband David and their two wonderful daughters! I wasn’t expecting to see them yet! I high-five the girls and realise Nicky is clutching a sign proclaiming “You’re so great and I love you!”. Me and Nicky “met” through the Blur fan club penpal page when we were 15 but anyone who doesn’t realise this is a Blur lyric will definitely think she’s nuts. And this is why I love her.
10 minutes, 42 seconds. Much more sensible.
Mile 6: There’s Cutty Sark! Which means I’ve run 10K! Just got to do it three more times… shit. But look at the big boat! And keep smiling ‘cos they film this bit!
10 minutes, 24 seconds. The boat got me excited.
Mile 7: I lived around Deptford for a long time and used to have a sticker on my work PC at heat mag which said “I’m really excited about Deptford.” 20 years on, this sentiment still stands. I pass the ghost of my old halls of residence on Creek Road (they’ve since been knocked down) and remember seeing the marathon from the window of my room (room 101, no less!) back in 2000. I think I found it a bit annoying because I was trying to play Snake on my phone while hungover. I definitely, definitely never imagined I would be running it as a 43 year old mum in the year 2024.
10 minutes, 33 seconds. In a good groove but I think I might need a wee soon.
Mile 8: OH MY GOD IT’S LIZ, JAN AND ELLIE! My beautiful local friends who have been most impacted by me not drinking for two months are here! I shock them with sweaty hugs; they look so clean and chic and fragrant, they don’t deserve this but I’m so happy to see them, even though I saw them yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, etc.
10 minutes, 44 seconds, which is exactly the sort of sensible pace I should’ve been running at for the past hour or so.
Mile 9: This is where I discover that everyone is incredibly kind and supportive and selfless at London Marathon… until they need to use the loo and then it’s every (wo)man for her/him/themself. I try to dart into a vacant Portaloo but another runner pushes in front of me. I untie my shorts pre-emptively and grab the next one. Hopefully I won’t need to go again…
12 minutes, 13 seconds… approx 90 seconds of which was spent queuing and weeing.
Mile 10: While at uni, I had a part-time job at Holland & Barrett in Surrey Quays Shopping Centre. It means I know quite a bit about Evening Primose Oil and I can say the words “Would you like a Healthy magazine for 99p?” in just the right charming but persuasive tone. Big Mo from EastEnders came in once. And that is all I have to say about Surrey Quays.
10 minutes, 36 seconds. I’ve made back some of the wee time.
Mile 11: I’m psyched up for mile 11 as it’s where I’m expecting to see my husband and kids. But it’s so flipping busy! I think every charity must have advised their runners that Rotherhithe is a great place to watch “because it’s usually pretty quiet”, so now it’s no longer quiet. The road is narrower here so we’re crammed closely together, and both sides are lined with spectators. To my right, I spot the Asthma + Lung UK cheer point where I suggested they wait, but I’m on the left and there are people everywhere.
All is not lost as I do manage to catch a glimpse of my gorgeous friend Raji and her equally gorgeous sister Amy, due to them both having excellent Gravesend squawking skills. Later, Raji shares this photo and I realise she was right opposite my kids and I must have run straight past them. I feel terrible - what if they are really upset that we missed each other? Waaah.
11 minutes, 5 seconds. Now, if I can just keep up this sort of sensible marathon pace for another 15 miles everything will be fine.
Mile 12: Tons of people here too! In the crowds I spot Denise, a lovely school mum who is really good at running, and then we’re on Jamaica Road, which I’ve run down a couple of times in the opposite direction before during The Big Half. Not long ‘til Tower Bridge!
11 minutes, 13 seconds. Fine.
Mile 13: It’s TOWER BRIDGE! I try to smile because there are loads of cameras. I’ve now seen the official photos and this didn’t go particularly well for me. Why do official running photos always make it look like your facial features have been removed and then reapplied at a slightly jaunty angle?
11 minutes, 7 seconds. And I’m halfway!
Mile 14: It starts to get a bit blurry at this point - literally, as there’s Nicky again, screaming at me with another Blur-related sign. Isn’t she the best? Everyone should have one.
There’s also a psychologically gruelling part around here as there are runners coming the other way who are already on mile 22 with their powerful sinewy legs.
11 minutes, 6 seconds. Perfect. Keep this up, fatty!
Mile 15: My stomach feels a bit funny, but there’s Becky, a nice school running mum who’s marshalling, telling me I’m amazing, and then there’s my cousin Anna waving manically at me. She’s here to cheer on her sister Emily, who is running in tribute to her best friend Laura, after she tragically died of Sarcoma last year. Emily is a brilliant woman and has raised over 4K!
11 minutes, 30 seconds. It’s getting tougher.
Mile 16: I’m in the depressing surrounds of the Limehouse link tunnel and definitely need to use the toilet, but there are queues. Trigger warning: POO. Running a marathon is not glamorous but if you ever brave it, BRING TISSUES! I forgot to pack any in my misleadingly named bumbag, but I found some on the floor that somebody may or may not have blown their nose on. Needs must. And I’ve heard tales from friends of doing much, much worse at another marathon in a major European city (you know who you are, c’est la vie).
16 minutes, 4 seconds, and I’ve flushed my chances of a sub-5 down the toilet. No regrets, because imagine if I hadn’t stopped.
Mile 17: And now I have a STITCH! There is a girl jogging alongside me in the same boat. We have a little chat, flail our arms around to shift it and grab some water. I walk a bit and it starts to pass.
14 minutes, 20 seconds. Ugh.
Mile 18: If you think this is getting long and arduous you should try running the thing.
11 minutes, 49 seconds. Any mile that starts with an 11 at this point is a major victory.
Mile 19: I am SO over Docklands that I don’t even manage to gaze wistfully up at Canary Wharf to remember when I worked at the Daily Mirror for a couple of years. Not that I remember much, I was drunk the whole time. I’m struggling now and would love to see a friendly face.
12 minutes, 38 seconds that felt like they would never end.
Mile 20: My parents are tracking me at home in Cambridgeshire, where the official app actually works properly, and so are letting my pals know where to spot me via WhatsApp. My phone is in my pocket but, for reasons best known to herself, Siri decides to randomly read out a message from my dad telling Nicky that I’m approaching where she’s waiting. YES! I’m going to see Nicky again! I nearly cry with the relief. I LOVE YOU SIRI BUT I LOVE NICKY MORE.
13 minutes, 23 seconds, up to a minute of which was spent hugging Nicky and feeling so much better about life, especially when she tells me I have less than two parkruns to go. She has another Blur sign obviously.
Mile 21: Docklands doom is behind me and things are feeling do-able even though this is now the furthest I’ve ever run. Then I spot my absolutely wonderful friend Lucy with her daughter Ada who is about the sweetest little darling you could ever meet and I am so pleased to see them. They have a massive banner and I love them so much and hug them tightly. Ada looks a bit overwhelmed but apparently she liked it. I’m sorry about all this fucking disgusting gushing about my friends but they really are the best.
13 minutes, 33 seconds. The good thing about knowing I’m definitely not going to make five hours is that now I can actually stop and sweat on my friends instead of acting all busy and important.
Mile 22: If you’re ever around Catford Bridge, you should totally buy a coffee from Beats & Grind. But when he’s not knocking me up an oat cappuccino, he’s spraying confetti on runners. I yelp “BEATS AND GRIND!”, he unleashes the confetti and it puts a huge smile on my face. This is starting to feel like less of an ordeal and more of a celebration.
12 minutes, 57 seconds, and I decide to take my earphones out to soak it all up.
Mile 23: Only a parkrun to go! Speaking of which, I think it’s around this point that I spot Sinead, my parkrun pal who’s been my running buddy for some of my long runs. Another lovely little boost.
12 minutes, 36 seconds, which sounds slow but is faster than the pace I could hold for less than two miles when I was doing Couch to 5K four years ago. Bonkers. IF I CAN DO IT SO CAN YOU!
Mile 24: NOT FAR NOW GUYS. And yes, I’m talking about both the marathon and this Substack post. I’ve abandoned my “fuelling strategy” and am now taking pretzels and crisps from random strangers because I’m starving for anything but gels. I have a very sweet tooth but it seems 24 miles is my limit for ingesting pure sugar. The things you learn about yourself during a marathon.
12 minutes, 3 seconds. Not bad, considering.
Mile 25: YES! I finally spot my kids! I feel all tight-chested like I might cry but I smile a lot instead. It’s only when I saw this photo afterwards that I realised what a scenically delightful part of the race this was too. But not as delightful as their little faces. I stop for hugs and it’s the best.
13 minutes, 3 seconds, and so worth slowing down for.
Mile 26: “IZZY! IZZY! IZZY!”. I’ve got my eyes on Big Ben but my brother Dom and my niece Lulu have just given me the surprise of my life - I didn’t know they were coming! I stop for more sweaty hugs and some random woman takes a photo without us knowing and Airdrops it to Dom. Aren’t people amazing? Thank you random woman!
12 minutes, 41 seconds, full of love but SO ready for this to be over.
The last bit (technically 0.2 miles but my Garmin says I’ve already run 26.4): It’s all looking a bit Shaun of the Dead round here but I summon some energy to get to the end as fast someone who’s just run 26 miles can, finishing in 5 hours, 15 minutes and 6 seconds (but according to Strava, if you take out the toilet stops it’s 5.05!).
I get my medal, retrieve my kitbag, guzzle the Pepsi Max I left in it earlier, and sit on a kerb for a couple of minutes before realising this is a very bad idea as I might not be able to get up again. Ever. I feel amazing and awful at the same time and I can’t believe I just did this.
A few minutes later, I’m reunited with my family and less than 30 seconds pass before the kids start telling me they are hungry and thirsty. ME TOO ACTUALLY, NOT THAT YOU CARE.
We head to the Asthma + Lung reception round the corner and I get possibly the greatest massage and cup of tea of all time.
Over £3000 raised for charity and the best friends and family a 43 year old mediocre runner could wish for. Not just the ones who came along, but the hundreds of people who’ve supported me in my phone too. I feel very lucky. And tired. And achy. But mostly lucky.
And no I don’t want to do it again. It’s all about the parkrun tourism and perhaps a cheeky autumn half marathon now.
But what an experience. Thank you for going on this journey with me.
Congratulations!!! 🥳
Loved this piece and so in awe of you! Amazing- I hope you’re really proud (of both)