Running London Marathon

A telling statistic about London Marathon: 36,000 people are at the starting line on race day, and only 500 of those fail to complete it. After dedicating the previous 5 months to fundraising for sick children's charity WellChild as well as training my not very athletic body to run past a comfortable 5 km and then keep pushing it to run further every weekend since December, I was reluctant to let some mysterious uncomfortable pain around my right knee stop me completing the distance.

0 – 12 miles

I'm over the starting line at 10.00 after 15 minutes slowly creeping toward it. I had been looking for the Runners World magazine pacers which I had planned to follow but couldn't spot them. My knee started playing as soon as I start running but I've decided to ignore it as in training runs it seemed to stop complaining after a few miles, even if the pain got worse if I stopped. Anyway, I'm glad I'm at the back of the field.

Its unseasonably warm and there are already supporters lining the roads and hanging out windows of houses around Blackheath. I come to the first gentle downhill and can see thousands and thousands of runners into the distance. I have to hold myself back to get over the first mile mark at 10 minutes.

I'm already missing water stops, but its because I can't see them because of all of the runners around me. Its like a cruel magic trick – I'm concentrating on where I am in this mass of runners and suddenly everyone around me has water bottles in their hands. At the third mile mark this happens again. I start thinking irrationally – what if its like this the whole way around? But then something clicks and I can see the sponsors signage and spot the bottles of water being handed out. I won't dehydrate after all.

I'm running at a fairly steady 10.5 minute mile for the first 5 or 6 mile but when I pause for a toilet break my knee is getting worse, so I slow a little more. People are commenting on the heat. I've barely noticed it but glad I'm wearing a hat.

There is music everywhere including bell ringers and later steel drummers occupying a roundabout where I swear we had an argument with a taxi driver a few years ago. Near Greenwich I pass a guy dressed as a tree and am determined to get to the finish line before him. The support from the spectators is amazing – loads of people have bags of oranges and jelly babies which they're handing out and they're all encouraging – people were shouting well done from the first mile – 'well done for making it to the starting line' I guess.

I've been primed as to where my supporters will be near mile 12 and spot my tall workmate Julie in the crowd along with core support team of Justin, Cat and Andrea without much trouble. I've managed to run the whole way to them and past them, but I don't stop because I'm not sure that I'll be able to start again.

12 – 20 miles

Its still really busy at the half way mark at Tower Bridge. All the runners put their arms up as is tradition since TV cameras started filming from the bridge's suspension pillars. My knee is feeling worse and I'm increasingly worried about it so I find the next St Johns tent and am treated by a young kid who spreads baby oil on it but doesn't reassure me much.
We're in the quieter roads of the docklands and it suddenly feels like the rest of the race is a very long way. I set much smaller goals – if I can run for 30 minutes or 35 or 40 minutes then I can walk for 5. Walking hurts my poor knee more but when I start to run again I have to take baby steps in order to get back into some sort of forward motion. I'm not exhausted from the effort of running its just my knee is refusing to move without complaint. I end up looking at my watch every minute then every half minute willing for time to pass quicker than it is.

Somewhere before 20 miles I hit an emotional wall, the one runners talk about hitting, I guess. I'm long over targeting any specific time but I am overwhelmed with frustration of even getting through the event – I don't even know if I can walk the rest of it at this stage, let alone run another step. I wish that my name wasn't on the the front of my running singlet as people are still yelling sweet supportive things to me, even though I'm in tears and hobbling. I spend some time wondering if I've done permanent damage to something in there.

I see a distance marker ahead which appears to be the 20 mile mark, but as I get closer I see its 30 k. Still 12 k to go and my watch says I've been out for four hours already. The finish line seems very far away.

20 miles to the end

London spectators somehow pick you up and moves you forward. Somewhere after 20 miles someone on the sidelines shouts something which spurs me on (I can't even remember what) and I start running again. I go through one of the shower tunnels and manage to keep on for another mile or so before I'm forced back to a walk. There are others resigned to walking – I take a quick poll and its the knees that have scuppered all of us. I walk / slow jog without any pattern into a part of London I know really well – the edge of the city where I work.
I am walking again when I see a bunch of workmates camped out a the bottom of the street we work on. I manage to break run just as they spot me but my knee still hurts a lot so I can't keep any pace up for long once I'm past them. I force myself to speed walk in some awkward fashion for a while which means at least I am going forward with some momentum even though it's not a pretty sight.

The route follows the river along Embankment and you run towards and then past Big Ben. It is still thick with spectators here and they are urging us walking wounded on. I can see the 25 mile mark and I manage to start running again when I spot the WellChild supporters outside our post race reception with 600 metres to go. They make a lot of noise in my direction and Justin, Cat and Graham have all been watching out for me. Another set of charity supporters in rainbow chant my name as I go past and with only 500 metres to go I know I can make it and start running at a reasonable pace. I pass someone dressed as a lifesaver carrying an inflatable boat around their waist.

At 400 metres I turn a corner and can see the finish line and I start picking up speed and start passing people who are struggling to get to the end. And then I can hear someone over the loudspeakers saying that we'll all have finishing times under six hours despite what the clock says and I've made it and for a moment I'm hyperventilating and can't breathe properly and I'm elated that its over and even with a medal around my neck its a little surreal and I can't quite believe that I got there in the end.