Saturday evenings carb loading was courtesy of Zizzi's near Tower Bridge where we saw BBC presenter Sophie Raworth (who had a really bad day the following day) doing the same.
A poor nights sleep filled with thoughts of pacing and split times ended when I decided to get up and have a shower. The shower was to get myself woken up and in the mood for the 26.2 miles at 7:15 minute mile pace that had ruined my slumber. The breakfast room at the Premier Inn was buzzing at 6:45am with runners in various states of running attire from just running shoes all the way to fully prepared, numbers on, the lot. My breakfast of Weetabix followed by 4 slices of dry toast and jam flushed down with black coffee was consumed in 20 mins. Then back to my room, final bits of kit on, farewells and off to walk to London Bridge station to get the 8am to Blackheath. The station was heaving with lots of London Marathon first-timers panicking about which platform to be on. Eventually I got on my train. It's always interesting to spot those who are familiar with the ritual and those who are not. The journey took twice as long due to congestion at Blackheath but eventually we arrived and joined the stream of humanity heading for the Blue Start.
Arriving at the enclosed area set aside for runners, a flash of my race number and I was in. This was it. Inside thousands of runners sat, stood and paced around in their own little rituals. I had a wander around to take everything in before finding a patch of grass to go through my own final routines. At 9:20 I moved over to my start pen after a short warm up (never easy on the grassy congested area next to the start pens). I met a couple of we club runners aiming for similar times (sub 3:10) and we compared strategies. At 9:35 we were walked forward to the start behind a moving barrier of tape held by marshals. With 5 minutes to go, it was a free for all as faster runners tried to as far forward as possible to avoid the congestion at the beginning of the blue route. At 9:45 am precisely, the horn sounded and we were off. I crossed the start line about 20 seconds after the start.
It was already warm and the dense pack of runners I was in held the heat and humidity. By mile two I was already sweating heavily but nicely settled into my 7:15 min/mile pace which felt very easy. The first 5 km went by in just under 22 mins. My plan was to knock out 8 x 22 to 22.5 min 5kms and bingo, the last 2 km should be easy. 10 km in 44 mins, spot on on feeling easy still. I was taking water at every water station - just a couple of gulps - to avoid dehydration. Around this point I passed Sarah Lemon. Sarah and I ran the first half of the Edinburgh marathon in 2010 and her feedback to me after that was to talk less. A few words exchanged and I ploughed on. Half way came in 1:34. Still bang on and helped by seeing Helen and the kids at mile 12. By now the sun was very hot. First time I'd ever seen any of the elite women heading back towards the finish on their mile 22.
Heading into the Isle of Dogs (many runners least favourite part of the course) at around 16 miles, the first signs of fatigue started to be felt. I missed the 25km marker and this screwed up my 5km pacing strategy as you can't trust your Garmin in London due to the tunnels and high buildings. I realised too late and decided to just go off my raw pace. At around 17 miles Sarah came past me looking really strong. I stayed with her for about 800m but realised I was dropping off my pace. Now for some mental arithmetic. My primary goal was 3:10. That was still possible but if I went for it, I could blow up like I did in Edinburgh last year. My drop dead target was 3:20. This would gives a fighting chance of qualifying for Boston in 2012. How much could I afford to slow down to in order to keep sub 3:20? I calculated that as long as I didn't drop below 8:30 min miles for the majority of the race, I could average under the 7:38 min/mile I knew I needed for 3:20. So, sub 8:30s although I was still maintaining around 7:45s at this stage. As the Isle of Dogs dragged on, I was getting more and more tired and my hamstrings were feeling very heavy. My pace according to my Garmin was all over the place (caused by the big buildings in Canary Wharf) so I could not be sure of my real pace. My 3:10 pace band was illegible due to the sweat but the 3:20 one I had was still okay. The margin I had in hand was gradually falling at each mile point. At 6 km to go, more calculations. I needed a sub 55 minute last 10 km to be sure. Sounds easy with a 38 min 10k PB but not on lactic acid filled legs.
With 4 miles to go, the urge to walk was very strong. Despite the lift of seeing Helen and the kids again, my pace was hovering around 8:30 min per mile. Should be okay still, as long as I don't walk. The final tunnel. A scene resembling a zombie movie with shambling runners being sick, staggering, walking and a few still running. You don't see that on the BBC! Out of there and I can see Big Ben. As the face comes into sight, it's 12:55, 10 mins to get to the finish frantic calculations, still okay. 800m to go, 400m to go. 385 yards (can't remember if that's the right order). The line, the lady in front of me throws up her arms, mine stay at waist height. The clock on the gantry says 3:19 something. More importantly my Garmin says 3:19:04 (official time was 3:19:01).
I stagger through the processing area, chip off, medal around neck, official photo taken, goody bag handed over. I feel awful. Totally empty and prop myself against a barrier for a few minutes. I begin to stagger towards my baggage lorry which is a long way away. Feeling feint, I tell a St Johns guy I think I'm going to pass out. I'm put into a wheelchair and whisked off to the tent to be attended by a very nice young lady from St John's. I won't go into graphic detail suffice to say I left 20 minutes later less several litres of energy drinks, water and gels I had ingested over the previous 3 hours 19 minutes and 1 second. Eventually getting to my bag, a few attempts to call Helen (all the networks were overloaded as usual) and I could reassure them I was okay.
I met them in Horse Guards Parade. Battered, knackered and ready for my milk shake. The inevitable stumble through the crowds followed. Eventually getting a tube and then a one mile walk back to our hotel. The hotel had a wall of fame and runners were asked to put their name and time on it as they returned (I was second only to a bloke who did it in 3:03).
A brilliant day despite the pain and suffering but actually it contributed to the massive personal satisfaction I felt. Nearly 11 mins off my PB (London last year), 20 mins better than my first London Marathon (2009). Also with my time, I am able to apply in the second wave of Boston entries for 2012 which should mean I can get in. Thanks to Heaton again for my place, I was proud to represent you.
