Sunday 22nd May - The Edinburgh Marathon 2011

Anyone reading some of my previous blogs (I think I'm being optimistic to think that anyone has actually been reading this!) could be forgiven for wondering at times why I appear to have been putting myself through this torture and that I don't actually enjoy running.  This is not true.  I love running but I have been pushing myself to my absolute limits, long before I started this training diary. I have done this whilst suffering from anorexia, a very serious and potential fatal illness. This blog is just a snapshot of a pretty gruelling regime that has seen me and my husband Alex tackle many a dark, punishing, hilly run in some very unforgiving weather conditions. However, it's all been worth it because for all the tough times and the times I've felt like giving up, I remember how much pleasure it gives me.  The feeling of being outdoors with the wind or the rain or the sunshine on my face. The glow I feel when I finish.  The rush I get when I sprint for home at the end of a race with crowds of people cheering me on and the sense of pride I feel when I beat my personal best. The feeling of being at peace with myself and having respite from the battle I face in my head every day, even if it's just for a little while.

I have taken part in quite a few half marathons etc and like to think of myself as a fairly accomplished runner, but the dedication, commitment and hard work it takes to train (and train you must) for a full marathon (unless of course your name is Katie Price!) should not be underestimated.  This is not for the faint hearted, it is not a fun run, it is a serious endurance event that requires not only physical strength but mental strength, determination and self belief. 

So here's how it went............

The alarm goes off at 6.30am but I think I was already awake.  I get up and have a shower (seems ridiculous but it helps me wake up).  The race doesn't start till 10.00 but I need a few hours for my breakfast to digest.  The dining room is empty apart from one other couple.  He is wearing shorts so I assume that he is running today.  There is no question in my mind about what I am going to have for breakfast because it's what I have every day: banana porridge.  I am a bit worried that as we are in Scotland it will be laced with cream but it's not, although it does have semi-skimmed milk in it which worries me because I'm not use to it.  Oh well I gots to eat!!

It transpires that the gentleman in the dining room is indeed running the marathon today and is getting the bus to the start.  Problem solved for me and Alex then.  The dining room then starts to fill up with other marathon runners.  One woman looks so terrified that she is on the verge of tears and won't engage in conversation with anyone....oh dear!

Back in our room I put on the rest of my kit on and do my hair in the least mithersome (that's not a word!) style possible.  Jelly babies, mustn't forget the jelly babies which unfortunately are a bit sparse because I ate all of them (bar 9) yesterday...whoops!!

We jump on a bus and sit down next to an Irish guy, he has done a few marathons in the past.  His last one in 3:07 which draws a gasp from the other passengers (Alex and I included).  He follows this up by saying that he did his first one in 5 hrs which pleases me for some reason? As we all pile off the bus, there are people everywhere but the baggage area is easy enough to find.  It's cold and I'm wearing shorts.....

We stand by the baggage trucks and I decide that it is sensible to put my new Sport Billy tracky bottoms on (if only you knew the trouble I had finding these) and another jumper.  As we move up towards the start the sun comes out and lulls us all into a false sense of security as it's not long before the torrential rain starts!

After a couple of toilet stops (turns out I could have done with a couple more!) we make our way to the starting pens.  It's nothing like the London Marathon where spectators aren't allowed anywhere near the start. Alex stands right next to me the whole time.  I adjust my laces about 400 times and still can't seem to get the tension right.  They are playing a CD containing some terrible tunes on repeat but we have a little jig  to keep warm.  Then we're called.  I hug Alex and we say our goodbyes, for now. As I walk towards the start line, I turn round and give him a little wave and feel a pang of loneliness.

The countdown from 10 begins, the klaxon sounds and we're off.  Well I say off, it takes a good few minutes for everyone to filter through and cross the start line, I start my watch.  As I've said on several ocassions there are the people who go out hell for leather and I smile a smug smile to myself  because I know I will be seeing a lot of them at the half way point, struggling! This is my race (well it's not even a race) and I'm going to run it at my pace.  Slow and steady to start (about 9.30 minute miles) and if I have anything left at the end (yeah right) I can speed up a bit.  This is my first marathon and I have no idea what to expect.  Alot of people who run their first marathon seem to want to do it sub 4 hours. Of course I want my time to be respectable but my main focus is to get round as comfortably as possible.

A few minutes in we pass a block of flats and a woman is standing at the window pumping out Queens "Don't Stop Me Now" (terrible song but befitting of the circumstances I think) on her stereo and shouting words of encouragement as we pass.  I get the feeling it's going to be a good day!  I need a wee!!  I seem to have got my pacing right and decide that it's worth losing a couple of minutes to go now because feeling uncomfortable will only slow me down.  I miss the first two opportunities because of the queues.  At  mile 4, I am joined by a young girl (God that makes me sound old!) who is also running for the same charity as me (beat) and has been in recovery  since September.  We have a brief chat (I struggle to know what to say to her for some reason, I hope she doesn't think I'm being rude?) and exchange some words of encouragement before she pushes on ahead of me.

The weather is changeable and when we reach the seafront  it's drizzly and windy.  I spot some girls veering off the path and into the public loos so I decide to follow.  I even stop to wash my hands - force of habit! It's at this point that I get a bad stitch (that pesky semi skimmed milk I reckon) it stays for a good few miles and then (fortunately) goes away.   The locals have braved the weather and line the course to cheer us all on.  At the 6 mile mark I am very surprised (and a bit annoyed because they weren't injured) to see people walking.  If they're walking now they obviously haven't put in the training and the next 20 miles will be absolute torture......hhmmm not my problem I suppose. I tuck in close to the edge of the road, alone with my thoughts, soaking up the atmosphere and  fosusing on the sound of my footsteps and breathing.

I completet 10 miles and feel absolutely fine. At this point I have to stop myself from kicking for home as I would normally be doing if I were running a half marathon (in fact I'd be almost done by now).  This pace is not something I'm use to, but this is not a half marathon it's twice the distance and unknown territory for me.

When I reach the sign for the town of Prestonpans, I know it won't be long before I see Alex for the first time.  I spot the rather imposing pub that he has decided to spectate from and my heart sinks when he's not there.  My eyes are frantically searching, but he's not there.  I tell myself that he wasn't able to make it on time and that I will see him later on, but I can't ignore the disapointment I feel in the pit of my stomach. On reflection I can't believe I ever thought he wouldn't be there because I know he would have done anything, even run the 11.5 miles just to have been there for me! Then I see a big crowd of people in the distance and it occurs to me that the pub doesn't open till 12.30 (it's only 11.45) and that he has decided to move along a little bit where there is more atmosphere.  Again I frantically search for him, "Oh God what side will he be standing on?" Then I hear someone screaming my name at the top of their voice and there he is!  I run over and stop briefly to give him a hug and tell him that I am feeling so good that I reckon I could run another 15 miles!!

I'm not very good at memorising routes (must pay more attention) but from about 12 miles we started to see the elite runners passing us on their way to the finish! In fact the winner had nearly finished! I remember thinking "blimey we can't be that far behind them" but I was (very) wrong because then started what seemed like an everlasting drag through the grounds of Gosforth House.  I think this is where the wheels fell off for alot of people as they crashed headlong into 'the wall'. And if 'the wall 'didn't get them, then the weather did. Welcome to Scotland people............

The gale force head wind whilst running around those exposed grounds was something else.  Throw in some torrential sideways rain and a hale storm and it makes things pretty tough.  My little arms were frozen solid and mottled purple and the prospect of having hair like Rod Stewart by the end was looking more and more likely!  I couldn't help but laugh to myself when I thought about all the hellish holidays in Scotland we had been subjected to as kids!! I tried to convince the man running alongside me that just round the next corner we would turn round and be on our way home (a tactic Alex use to employ when I got disheartened!) Unfortunately round every corner there was another corner and a sea of runners  making there way to that elusive turning point.  Eventually the corner came and I was still running. There was lots of support and people were shouting my name!  I did start to feel a bit delirious at this point (about 18 miles I think) and thought to myself "I need sugar NOW!"  Miraculously a few yards ahead was a woman holding out a tub of Haribo - HALLELUJAH!! I grabbed a huge handful and enjoyed every single sugary one 'em!!

All the literature tells you that most runners (even the elite) are likely to hit 'the wall' at 20 miles, so my plan was to try and make it to 20 without stopping and then walk for a while if I needed to.  As I approach mile 20 (having passed some chickens and a man standing in the garden of his farmhouse playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" on his trumpet) I smash straight through the wall! So I change tack and decide that I will run to 22 and then walk if I feel I need to. There are lots of casualties at this stage and I spot a couple who have stopped at the side of the path.  He is obviously in some trouble and is crying, she is trying to comfort and encourage him - breaks my heart a little bit.  There are also lots of people climbing up the hill in the opposite direction who have a long way to go, it's tough to watch but I'm glad it's not me!  I go through mile 22 and yes my legs are heavy and I'm running slowly but I keep going. I am on autopilot (disengage legs from body) and instead of focusing on how far I've got to go, I think about how far I've come.  At mile 23 and a bit I have to stop for a quick stretch and a walk.  A group of us are passed by a guy who tells us that we've got less than 3 miles to go and it's just a jog from here.  He's got a point, so I start to run again........

As I see the 24 mile marker I know that the pub Alex will be standing at is coming up soon.  It seems to take forever to get there.  As I approach it I spot him straight away standing on the base of a lampost and give him a big wave.  As I get level with him, he jumps down and starts to run alongside me, clutching a massive golf umbrella and handing me a well needed bag of jelly babies. The head wind at this point is battering us making it nigh on impossible to run.  He runs with me for nearly a mile without being challenged by any marshalls and then lets me go to run the last mile on my own.

I ran that last mile in 7.30 minutes and start my sprint finish when I see the 26 mile marker, which is probably a bit early as there's still 385 yards to go!  I am surprised at how big the crowd is when I turn the corner into the home straight (about ten deep in some places).   I lift my knees and dodge my way threw the finishers (not easy when you're running flat out).  Usain who? I cross the finish line in 4:12:18.  I don't throw up, I don't collapse, I don't lose control of any bodily functions. In fact I feel miraculously well!

As I make my way to collect my medal, the sun is out and the wind has dropped (typical!) All the hard work is over.  Those long, hilly, West Yorkshire miles (sometimes in sub-zero temperatures) the bruises (bloomin' lamposts) the sweat, the tears.  The aches, the pains, the ice baths.  The running attire mistakes and the manky toenails were all worth it when I crossed that finishing line and became part of a very special club.

There is no doubt in my mind that I will run another marathon, just next time I'll run it faster! I enjoyed every single mile of it and at no point did I think "I can't do this".

Today was not just about the marathon for me but about the journey I started 18 months ago to recover from an illness that has destroyed so many things over the past 15 years of my life and stopped me from reaching my full potential. I couldn't have done it without the unconditional love and support of my long suffering husband Alex, who believes in me and gives me the strength and determination to keep fighting. It could quite easily have been my undoing (I'm still walking a fine line) but I believe running has saved my life. I have for the first time ever found something that I'm truly good at, but I can only be great if I take care of my body and mind.

The road to recovery is a long and painful one (a bit like some of my training runs) but I intend to run it in shorts and long socks....................