The London Marathon certainly does deliver on all the hype. It is an incredible race with huge crowds supporting every runner as they navigate the course. The noise was deafening at times throughout the route, people lined the streets out to Woolwich and back to Greenwich. The depth and volume of the crowds around the Cutty Sark was merely a taste of what was to come but already more than I have experienced in any race before. Tower Bridge was an incredible experience, Canary Wharf rang with voices echoing off the glass and stone monoliths and Tower Hill through Embankment and onto Birdcage walk exceeded all of my expectations with an ear piercing wall of sound. The Eagles cheer squad at mile 23 was a massive boost, to see so many faces you know shouting your name and urging you on really does make the difference. If only this hadn’t ended up being a Personal Worst and my least favourite race of all the ones I’ve run to date.

Let’s start with what went right.

The biggest unknown for me was the expo, and I’d left it until the Saturday to go and get my number. After reading emails about getting there earlier in the week because it gets busy I was expecting long queues with a lot of international runners on that day. When I got there though it wasn’t busy at all, I was early but not that early. They are just very well organised I think. Many years of practice.

The next step was to get my name printed on the Eagles vest. There had to be a queue here, surely. Nope, straight through. CRAIG printed in big bold black letters across my chest. I know how much of a boost it can be when you hear your name and you couldn’t miss mine now! This all left me with a lot of spare time, this whole process hadn’t taken me anywhere near as long as I had thought it would so I had a mooch around the exhibitors. Naturally that meant I ended up buying stuff and I was glad I’d only taken a small bag! I chilled with a coffee and watched a couple of the talks and then headed home to do my flat lay.

I’d agreed to go out and have some pasta with a friend on Saturday night who was also running on the Sunday. So we met in Pizza Express in Notting Hill and caught up on our different training plans, how we felt, what our goals were. All very relaxed. Well, I was, he was a little caught up in the occasion, this was only his third time at any race so the non-running stuff that comes with all of this was playing on his mind. When I met him again in the red holding area at the start he hadn’t slept much at all and was very tired from a lot of stuff going round in his head. Conversely, I had slept soundly all night and only woke five minutes before the alarm was due to go off. I’m up at 5am everyday so a 4am alarm for today was not a big stretch.

Showered, porridge eaten, some paracetamol and Imodium, final bits packed, I left for the 30-40 minute walk to Ealing Green to meet all of the other eagles getting the coach up to Blackheath. Another stress I didn’t have to worry about. No traveling with the crowds on the tube or DLR, no walk up the hill to get the to holding pen. A quiet time on the coach with my own thoughts, smiling at the amount of other coaches on the road all heading in the same direction taking their running groups to the start.

I’ve done a lot of race villages of all different types and sizes so was prepared practically and mentally. I knew there was going to be a wait for a few hours so after a group photo before the eagles split up I headed to the red holding area with Sada. A combination of experience and the advice from Rachel’s last blog meant I was well prepared. The clear plastic race bag was already packed with everything I would need at the end, I had an extra little bag for the holding area with the black bin bags, toilet roll and the gels. My phone and bank card was already stowed in my race belt.

Bumping into my friend from the night before we found a spot to sit together for a bit while we waited to get the call to head to our start wave holding area. For me it was a peaceful couple of hours, I had no nerves, no anxiety. Not even the rain could dampen my spirits at that point, I was just wanting to get started. The black bags came in very useful (thanks Rachel) and kept me dry and comfortable enough in the light drizzle to not be damp at the start. All of my toilet visits complete I finished the Imodium and headed for the start of Wave 9.

The way the whole process of the start was organised was slick, really well done and managed. During the slow march to the start line I discarded the last of my warm layers in the clothing drop for donation to charity and got ready to start. I would leave the headphones off for now and enjoy the start of the race and the support from those lining the road. I didn’t use them at all for the entire race. There would be no need, no quiet spots in the race.

My watch alerted my to the 1k mark and I checked in with how I was feeling. Cardio and breathing were much easier than any time I could remember in the last few weeks at this same stage! Hang on, why is my knee not hurting and calf not already tight?!? 🤷🏻‍♂️ I felt better than I could ever recall feeling in the first kilometre of a run. I think my pace registered as 6.12/km which was probably a little fast. Was it? Not sure. I didn’t run to a pace in training and my brain doesn’t do maths while I’m running. I slowed it anyway, I was sure the event was carrying me away a little, but damn I felt good. The cheers from the sides of the road and people calling my name naturally resulted in a big smile spreading across my face.

I knew I had a friend waiting at the 1 mile marker so as I approached I was scanning the people on the pavements until I heard the cry “Craigy!” Lucie ran out onto the course and ran alongside me for a few hundred meters for a quick chat and some selfies.

I was in the race now, I’d checked in with my body and seen the first person who told me where they would be standing to cheer me on. My mind turned toward the miles to come and I mentally started to chunk it down. This wasn’t a part of London I had run, or even walked, so linking up the landmarks in my head wasn’t too easy, so chunk one was here to the Cutty Sark, that’s 10k. Easy at this point in the race. Well, that’s until you get to Surrey Quays which seems to go on for ever and ever. Next chunk, Tower Bridge and the halfway point.

The noise, music and cheers along the whole route had been fantastic so far, the support for all the runners was incredible, the energy was tangible. The Cutty Sark and Tower Bridge were another level. As I drew closer to these landmarks the crowds at the side of the road deepened and the volume was turned up to 11. It was a great feeling running through the throng, feeding off their energy, being lifted by their support. It was truely an incredible experience, one that will always make this a unique race for me.

Leaving Tower Bridge behind and hanging a right towards Canary Wharf I was back on roads I had run before, bits of London I knew better than those we had just come through. Checked in, feeling good. Breathing and heart rate all good, nice and controlled. Legs feeling a little tired but nothing I wouldn’t be able to deal with, no aches, no pains. The knee, the calf? Both felt great. Those pains I had worked through in the weeks before now a distant memory. Were they even real or just psychosomatic? I had the calf in its usual compression sleeve but I hadn’t even heard a murmur of complaint from it for the last 20+ kilometres. 🤷🏻‍♂️

We all turned south heading to the end of the Isle of Dogs and the wheels came off. My stomach started cramping up badly shortly after taking a gel, at first I gritted my teeth, doubled down and tried to push through to the other side of what ever this was. I had trained with these gels all through my training, I was confident in my fuelling strategy, it would sort itself quickly. There was no improvement though and as we came back up towards Canary Wharf where the crowds were going to be bigger I was very conscious I didn’t want to become a meme and dropped to a run walk. I was a few kilometres over the halfway point and had slowed to a walk, I had just failed my ‘A’ goal. This was a mentally tough point, internally I was kicking and berating myself. I’d had that goal in mind since April ‘22 after finishing Manchester Marathon. I was on the hunt for the toilets all the way through the Wharf.

As we left the crowds and towers of commerce behind I spotted the toilets at the side of the road heading into Poplar. A quick stop there then straight back out on the course. I could still hit my ‘B’ goal and beat my Manchester time. Legs were stiff now, muscles were slower to respond because of the enforced rest and it took a little while to get back into the rhythm of running. Mentally I had already lost at this point. My thoughts had all turned negative and I knew the smile I had been wearing on my face for the whole of the first half was laying somewhere on the side of the road in Canary Wharf. Tower Hill was coming up and it was literally all down hill from there, just need to grind this out.

As I crested Tower Hill a small smile crept back across my face. I was overtaking people on the hill and my mind went back to a few weeks before when I ran the London Landmarks Half, the atmosphere along the same route on that day had been incredible, electric,  what was it going to be like for the London Marathon? The Eagles cheer squad was just down the road!

Fuck! What was that! I limped to a walk holding my left hamstring. A sharp pain had stabbed right into the bottom of the muscle. All through training it’s been the chain of muscles in my right leg that has caused the problems. The knee has been the main culprit that made the calf, thigh and glute tight all the way up. Never any issues with the left?!? This pain wasn’t something I’d had before, it was sharp, piercing. The usual dull aches and general soreness I would run through and come out the other side when my mind decided it should be registering something else. This was different. I walked the crest of the hill and fell back into a tentative run again. All good, just tired muscles it seems.

In the last video call with Jenny she had shown me where the cheer squad would be on Google Street View, I knew the area well from my photography days. I could see the foot bridge in the distance across the road from where I was, all of this meant there was just a little over three miles to the finish! Ping! Hamstring went again and for a second time I hobbled to a walk. More than just tired muscles? I walked a little and then the Eagle’s flag came into view. I had to run past this point. I gritted my teeth and started up the run again and it was all good to begin with, as I got to the line of familiar faces in the crowd all cheering I dug deep and found everything I could to keep smiling, to keep running, push any discomfort down and out of my mind. In truth I was working out when I could walk again and rest this damn pain.

My marathon was well and truly done at this point. It was a run when I could, walk when it hurt finish. Nursing my hamstring the rest of the way. Very aware that I have other stuff planned for the coming months and I didn’t want to have another summer off running like last year, I was careful not to exacerbate whatever this was. 

I began to regret having had my name printed on my vest. The shouts of encouragement, “You’ve got this Craig!” began to have the opposite effect, sounding more like taunts to the twisted thoughts inside my head. I didn’t have this, I’d already lost this. As I rounded the end of Birdcage Walk onto The Mall I saw Peter heading for the finish, easily recognisable in his West Ham top. This lifted me, a small spring of joy bubbled inwardly at the friendly face. I have bumped into him so many times on these races, the first time being at the Manchester Marathon, and he was the first Eagle I had seen on the course all day.

After exchanging a few words I headed off towards the finish line he was pointing at, very aware that there were going to be a lot of photographers here, maybe even TV cameras my family might be watching. I can’t walk here. Once again I bit down and ran through the pain in my hamstring trying to keep everything as gentle and light as I could. I crossed the line but I wasn’t happy. It hadn’t gone my way today,  as I joined the line to pick up my medal I considered how I’d done against the goals I had in my mind before the run.

• Run 100% of the race ❌
• Get close to 4hr 30min ❌
• Have fun ❌

It was closing in on 5pm by the time I had collected my bag, downed the water, had a snack and changed into dry clothes. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate and all my legs wanted was for me to lay down for a bit. So I decided against trying to get to Waterloo and the pub to meet the other Eagles and instead shuffled to Green Park.

The next day was back to work, legs were a little stiff, stairs were difficult. Nowhere near what they should have been though, I’d run a half marathon and then walked for a bit essentially. The hardest things to deal with immediately after were the disappointment and anger I felt towards myself. It was going to take me time to process this and come to understand and accept what had happened on Sunday. I started this blog on Monday morning and now it’s Friday. Writing this has certainly helped but there is a little more for me to work on to come to terms with this outcome.

Monday evening I got an email from the organiser of the next big race asking to confirm address details. In the link were also extras that could be purchased, one of these was a deferment. I was so close to pressing that button on Monday night but managed to leave it. Slept on it. Tuesday morning I booked the train and accommodation for the event, I didn’t back out. Wednesday was my first run since the marathon and I joined the club run. It was good to chat and run with friendly faces and it wasn’t too tough, I didn’t hate it.

So where do I think it went wrong? There is one glaring difference between almost everything I have done in training to what I did on the day. Take the Imodium. In the 22 months I have been running I have never used it, never had to. Except for one Sunday where I’d been out for a burger and AF beer the Friday before and had a bit of a close call on the long run. That must have been playing on my mind to make me add it into my plan on the day. My diet on the run up to the big day and on the day itself was good. Nothing out of the ordinary at all, nothing that would have caused those cramps I experienced. I’ve talked it through with others and they seem to arrive at the same conclusions. This is the likely cause of the cramping up I got in Canary Wharf.

The hamstring? No idea, but there is no lasting damage which is what matters to me right now.

London was always a one-and-done for me. I have no intention of running it again, there are too many other challenges out there for me to want to fixate on this one race or consider it unfinished business. This will always feel like a wasted opportunity, even a wasted club place when others could have run this better than me. I’ve had several days to process this all now and know this is irrational, my anger with myself has subsided and I need to build on what has happened, there is no going back to change it. The photos in this blog will become my ‘Before’ photos, ones to compare how far I have traveled when I am further along in the running journey. Another email I received, from Abbott, on Thursday cemented this in my mind, this is just the base of the pyramid.

“My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure”. Abraham Lincoln