The lovely sunny weather fortunately, I suppose, changed to grey and chilly.
I knew I hadn’t done enough training, but I hadn’t realised just how long and gruelling the marathon is if you are trying to do a reasonable time. The legs held up well until about mile 20 (or 30 on my mental clock) and then the combined pains of knee, toe and burning quads slowed me to a very non-competitive pace. The mile markers were inexplicably moved to 1.5 miles apart, or so it felt. The only way was to retreat into a sort of parallel state, observing events from a near distance, and listen to the crowd. I’d pinned my name on and it was wonderful to have people encourage you. The noise and exuberance; the bands, pipers, drummers and the cheering of the thousands lining the route combined to make an incredibly stirring and emotional experience. The actual finish was slightly anti-climactic after the astonishing number of people cheering, and after filing through the gate it was like the march of the undead. A slow, rustling, limping procession of space blanketed figures ghosting past the endless baggage lorries; runners going into painful spasms trying to put on warm leggings. The occasional blue lipped near corpse being treated by St Johns. Sitting down or negotiating steps a symphony of pain. What a day! Photos (rather too many and of dubious quality), not least of Bob running as an ostrich – here
Digby