Well, not so much on the way to the marathon as at the event.
I got so cold on Blackheath, freezing my metaphorical nuts off, that my lips turned blue before we started.
Oh.. I'm talking about London 2016.
Admittedly this is a tardy review.
In my defence, straight after the marathon I went down with glandular fever and spent pretty much the next five months recuperating.
The run itself was quite enjoyable save for the final three miles waiting for my hamstrings and calf muscles to pop.
It's weird, after yomping all that way you think you'll be euphoric at the finish line but 1) I couldn't stop running as it felt like something would snap if i did 2) Everyone else is pretty quiet.
That said, I shared a moment of silent camaraderie with a fellow four-and-a-half-hourer as we sat on the pavement, looking at the bag trucks.
The event was amazing - and I would do it again. And the ensuing five months in bed/moving slowly were interesting. If nothing else, I did a lot of sleeping and discovered I have a vague aptitude for drawing: when you can't exercise, you have to find other ways to pass the time.
A year on, I'm beginning to feel normal again. I've started running regularly (albeit even slower than before) and I like to think I might do a half-marathon this year. Like Eliud Kipchoge, I'm still aiming to breach the two-hour mark. Hehe..
Stats: 26.3 miles; 4 hours 34 minutes; 10.27 min/mile.
