London marathon as a spectator

On Sunday 26th April, my husband ran London marathon.We’ve both been entering the ballot with no luck every year since 2017. But UK Athletics registered running and athletics clubs get given a small number of places for members. Clubs choose how they distribute them. Ours has two places and puts them in a ballot for people who’ve been a member for at least a year, have been rejected from the main ballot and have never run London before. There were 28 of us in the club ballot. My husband was convinced he was going to get a place and he actually did!

Then on 27th December, there was a disaster for him. He tore his hamstring playing football. He could barely walk for the first couple of days and none of us ever seen a bruise so big. But his physio believed he could get him ready for the marathon. Progress was initially slow. At the start of February, my husband could barely run a mile. On 8th March, he ran 10 miles of Lisbon half marathon and walked three of them. Because our coach, Fi Barnes of Run Cotswolds, knows him, she felt confident that she could push him hard safely in the last few weeks before the marathon. So his longest runs consisted of just one 15 mile run, one 17 mile run and a 20 mile exactly eight days before the race – the time when everyone else is tapering and running no more than 10.

He could have deferred, but you only get one deferral, so he felt that if he could make it to the start line, he should do it. His aim was only ever to get round and enjoy it. He can run a faster pace at another marathon in the future when he’s had time to train more consistently.

Me and the kids went down to watch. We’ve seen London marathon on TV, of course, but none of us had any idea of the reality. I travelled down on the train with my husband the day before and we stayed at The Good Hotel on Victoria Docks, close to the Excel Centre (although he’d actually picked his number up on Wednesday). My younger two kids travelled down from university in Birmingham early on Sunday morning and my eldest stayed over with his girlfriend’s brother in London (we never actually saw him on the day!).

Because we had no idea on spectating, we followed advice I’d found on Instagram. To be fair, it said not to go to Cutty Sark, but my husband said I might as well go there.

I took the DLR from Royal Victoria to Poplar, then changed at Poplar. The next train only went as far as Canary Wharf, so I had to change again to get to Cutty Sark. Each train and each platform was progressively more crowded. But the train didn’t stop at Cutty Sark due to overcrowding. So everyone had to get off at Island Gardens and had to walk to Cutty Sark through the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, which really challenged my claustrophobia. The tunnel goes under the Thames and it is LONG! I had to do breathing exercises and put music on to cope.

But it was stunning to emerge from tunnel and see the Cutty Sark. I knew I was a bit early to see my husband. I was pleased there were toilets for spectators, so I made the most of them. (As a runner, I use a lot of portaloos and I’m saying that spectators don’t treat them with as much respect as runners do!)

Apparently it was only 13 degrees, but sun was out and it felt hot. I’m a person who generally feels cold, but adding my heavy rucksack to my black leggings and the sun meant I was hot in only my Tshirt. The runners all looked uncomfortably hot. Gradually, I edged forwards, as people saw their people and left the crowd. I got to the second row from the front.

My husband started running at 10:01. I kept eyes on the runners at all times. I was expecting him at about 11am. Neither the London marathon tracking app nor Find My iPhone were working. It got to 11.30 and I still hadn’t seen him. He’s not running as fast these days, but these runners were definitely slower. But I did see Daddy Pig, who had moved from TV into reality and was running for charity.

I was feeling pretty deflated at having missed him. And there was a massive queue to walk back under the tunnel, but I inadvertently skipped it. I asked the woman controlling the queue how to find the back and she said I could just get in there. She removed the barrier and I walked straight into the tunnel, which was even more crowded than before.

As I got back to Island Gardens station, my tracker finally worked and I saw that my husband had run over nine miles.

Next, I headed for Canary Wharf, where I knew we should be able to see him twice. My kids were already there. They told me to go down the steps after the station and look for the yellow duck. Sure enough, there was a big yellow duck outside a bar and there they were! I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see them.

It was 12pm, so we tried to find the best place to see my husband at the 15 mile mark. Thank goodness for updates from my Thursday running group on WhatsApp, who were able to track him on the marathon tracker. We heard he had gone over Tower Bridge and past halfway. Then my sister informed me she’d seen him on TV and sent a video of the TV with my nephew screaming his name.

We got to the front of the crowd and my daughter got up on my son’s shoulders for a better view. Having a strong son is very useful, as I discovered when I went to see Yungblud (more on that soon). And then she saw him! He was dressed in a plain white Thsirt and hat and he’s pretty tall. White made him easy to spot, as most people were wearing multicoloured tops. We shouted his name, he waved and looked absolutely delighted to see us. For me, it made all the Cutty Sark frustration worthwhile.

Then we tried to get to the 18 mile point, which wasn’t far away. We initially headed off in the wrong direction and had almost given up hope. We thought we’d missed him, but the WhatsApp suggested we had a chance of catching him, then we saw the young man famously running with a fridge on his back (Jordan Adams, running for frontotemporal dementia (FTD)), who we’d seen just before my husband at 15 miles. My daughter got up on my son’s shoulders and caught him in the nick of time. I saw him, but he didn’t see me, as I was obscured by the crowd.

Then we decided to watch him at mile 20, which was also nearby. While we waited, we shouted encouragement to the other runners. There were no names on the race numbers, but lots of people had their names on their tops, so I called them all out. This time, it was my turn to get up on my son’s shoulders. We saw him. We shouted his nickname, so he wouldn’t think it was someone else. But he didn’t hear us or see us. He looked very hot, but he was still moving.

Then we ‘just’ had to get back to Embankment. It was nearly 2pm, I hadn’t had lunch, hadn’t been to the toilet since arriving at Cutty Sark and my husband was running more slowly than predicted.

There was a massive queue to get in the tube station for the Jubilee line, so we went for the DLR station. We were completely crammed in, testing my claustrophobia to the limit again. We crawled to Bank, then changed onto the District Line for Embankment. The tube to Embankment was ridiculously full and kept stopping because the platform was overcrowded and there were two trains in front of us. It was so frustrating and took forever.

The fun of Canary Wharf had worn off. I was pretty certain my husband had finished the race, but there was no signal to confirm. We rushed along The Embankment, not enjoying any of the atmosphere, as we wanted to get to him as soon as possible.

Luckily, my eldest had seen him, which had given him a boost in the last mile.

He finished in just over 4:40. His leg hadn’t been much trouble at all, but the heat had been hard. He’d loved the experience and was just happy to be there. He wasn’t beating himself up over his time, because he knew how lucky he’d been to make it to the start line after his injury.

I think spectating the London marathon is almost as tiring as running it!