We shall see!
So, the marathon. Well it was an absolute doddle. Like a stroll in the woods. A walk in the park. A ride on a train. And on, and on, and on, and on, ad infinitum, till the end, when you bend over and pray that you're not going to feel too embarrassed when you vomit, as you most surely will, from a mineral and nutrient lack enduced state brought about by too much water and the relentlessness of one foot after the other and again and again and again and don't ... ever ... give ... up ... ever ... ever ... ever ...
Ahh the marathon. How sweet! Like a fine wine. Or a tyrant.
A lesson. An achievement. An education. A remembering. An honour. A story. A gift. A glory. A blister. A blister. Another blister. A change of socks. A rubbing of feet. An ice cream. A cup of sweet tea. A 'what the hell am I doing here?' A 'how could I have been so stupid?' A 'never again!', until of course you cross the finish line and remember the kids and their families lining the streets from beginning to end, and they all cheer your name, and their words, your given name, destroys any enduring cynasism and negativity in and of people, and life, until eventually you cry, fearless, 'I got it wrong. I wasn't to know. I am not an island. I need you. I need you. I need you,' and you realise the race hasn't even begun, and you are standing in Greenwich Park getting wet not knowing exactly what's about to happen.
The marathon and running it was great. I decided late on that I wasn't going to run in my black tight fitting Ron Hill leggings. I wanted to take my mobile phone with me and it would've been impractical seeing as there aren't any pockets on that item of clothing. I decided instead to wear my oversized sky blue adidas shorts, with their oversized pockets of promise. You see, in those pockets I had to put the phone (in case I needed to call my wife - which I did - a few times - although she still may regard a call or two as crank calls seeing as I was either delirious, or crying like a baby - we haven't mentioned these calls still), my ipod (oh when the prodigy album came on at approx 20 miles -Invaders Must Die, Omen, Warriors Dance- I had the best ever and possibly fastest ever 3 miles I've ran in my life ever, thus burning me out for 3 of the most painful miles that I have ever probably ran in my entire adult life, but it was worth it ... the crowds roared my name as I entered into my last sprint before eventually collapsing into the welcome mouth of an embankment tunnel), and at least £10 for ice cream and hot tea on the way round, not forgetting of course a spare pair of running socks. So yes, blue shorts and other items.
The experience for the first six miles were, and forever remain, wonderful. The running was easy, the weather was fine, and I even thought good thoughts, like, this marathon is going to be a doddle, and, I don't know what all the fuss is about. There were kids roadside with their hands expectantly outstretched, shouting to be smacked in a side on 'gimme 5' kind of way by their heroes for the day as they ran past, they being me, and I smacked as many children as I could, thinking I could do this for the whole run, but then of course mile 6 turned into mile 7, and I had to let some of the kids down, eventually ignoring their screams and questions. 'Ryan, Ryan! Why are you ignoring us Ryan?' etc.
When pain first came to really visit me (for more that a second or two) I reflected on how I came to be running a marathon and that was all I needed. I had always known I was going to finish the marathon for this very reason. People close to me had died, moved on to the next life, and this was a symbol, and people want to be part of things, and we need to be part of things. Here follows the email letter I sent a Marie Curie representative when I was applying for the London 2010 marathon. It may be long, but it's worth the read.
Why do I want to run?
My reasons are two.
Firstly, it has always been an ambition of mine to run the London Marathon. It is part of a long list of goals I want to achieve in my lifetime. As to where this goal came from, I don't know.
Secondly, and what has moved me into action, is that recently I experienced what it's like to be with someone who is dying from cancer, and have lost other family to cancer.
Last October was a particularly tough month in that my cousin, Saoirse McHugh, died at four and a half months (cot death), then my childhood friend passed on (cancer - 35 years old - same age as me at the time), and then my Uncle John Freeman, with whom I spent a great deal of time with as a child, was diagnosed with cancer and died the very next day.
I spent alot of my time with my mate, Dan mawby, in the last six months of his life. He came to visit me in May 2008 to deliver the news and once it was said, that was that. The last thing he said that evening before he left remains between us. It's funny, but out of all that was going on, saying what he said to me was the most upsetting for him. His concerns were for other people. Anyhow, the next six months were for me and him, in our own connected way, the best we had ever had. I maintained a belief called, ' you never know', and hoped that would be enough for him to survive.
Dan died on Oct 19th, and my Uncle John on Oct 21st. I was totally shocked and totally upset.
In January of this year my Grandmother was sent home from hospital to die in peace and comfort. Whilst in hospital there was hope that some change would come, but in the end the doctors conceded that she would most likely die, so my uncle said that she was going home. Around this time my wife was 8 months pregnant and it remained my wish to present my soon to be born son to my Gran but it wasn't to be.
I did get to speak with Rose before she passed away and it was so upsetting. She couldn't speak, so I did, and I told her to hang on in there and that I'd be over with my son to see her soon. I made myself believe that she heard what I was saying and knew that it was me who was talking. At the end I felt like I was a part of her passing, as I was with Dan's, and that means the world to me.
My Granny was looked after by Marie Curie nurses. During the period she was home, and when I spoke with my father, he would tell me about who they were and how truly great they were. In Magherafelt (Derry, Ireland) everybody somehow still knows or is related to everybody else, and when stories get told you get this information. It's tradition I'm sure. There were some nurses in particular who my family are totally endebted to.
My father has always held his mother in the highest regard, as have I my dad, and strange as it is for me, the loss of my Grandmother was the most emotive. I wasn't physically there at the end but the sense of pride I felt, and gratitude for what the nurses did and do, remains with me.
That was my letter. Just after sending this, Doris Fryer, my gran-in-law, passed on.
All those who have passed I have made my team members.
Thank you for reading.
Then I hit 10 miles and had my first conversation with Nicole. It went something like this.
"I'm f*****g sha***d Nicole. F*****g he*l. This is f*****g murder I'm telling you. Jesus f*****g Christ Nicole. I can't believe how f*****g hard this is. Yeah bye. Love you too."
People have often talked about a wall when mentioning marathons. It seems the two go hand in hand. Marathons and walls.
My wall was a big wall. A long wall. A 16 mile wall. From 10 miles to 26 seemed like one to me."After running about 20 miles, wracked with total body fatigue, unsteadiness and possible light-headedness, a marathon runner hits an invisible wall, an apparently insurmountable physiological barrier which stops them in their tracks."
Along the way lots of things happen. I created many short lived relationships of excellance in so far as we (me and another) would run side by side for an indeterminate period of time, and then move on all the better for it. Unlike how relationships are often. What I mean is there is often baggage and compromise and resentment, along with al the good stuff it's true, but for those people I ran with it was like being with someone who doesn't bother to judge, and just accepts who and why you are who and why you are. It's a beautiful feeling. I'd do the marathon for that alone. It reminds me of the peace me and Nicole found half way up the Troodos mountains in Cyprus. Delicious. A deep peace. An untouchable happiness. Heaven.
At the Docks I had to change my socks and got to see what marathon running does for your feet. I usually get blisters from football, and they're big bloody ones, but these blisters took the michael. No joke. They were big, and they were deep. I had to see the St John's boys once I'd finished the run to get them dealt with.
I saw Saffron Mawby three times during the marathon course. First time was early on, maybe Millwall area, I can't be sure, and I was amazed. I ran over and had the greatest of squeezes befroe plodding on. You know when you least expect something but the surprise is one that you like, as opposed to the ones you don't, like visitors to your home when you are just post argument or some such, well it was like the surprise that I like, and it made me totally happy, and made me not think of the many miles to go which was probably exactly what I needed, each and every time.
And then I finished the marathon. 6 long hours and 2 short minutes. We have raise the required amount of money for Marie Curie nurses, meaning that we have paid for over 100 hours of cancer care home care, and to me that is magical, and worthwhile.
I would recommend the marathon to anyone of any ability.
As for me, well I'm searching for a partner to do the run with me next year. He or she has to know that it'll hopefully be the first three legged marathon in, shall we say, under 5 hours?
Peace and love. xxx
