This is a copy of my blog on 'murder is everywhere...'
Shortly after completing the New York Marathon in 1979,
Chris Brasher wrote an article for The Observer newspaper. He said 'To believe
this story you must believe that the human race be one joyous family, working
together, laughing together, achieving the impossible. Last Sunday, in one of
the most trouble-stricken cities in the world, 11,532 men and women from 40
countries in the world, assisted by over a million black, white and yellow
people, laughed, cheered and suffered during the greatest folk festival the
world has seen.'
When I ran it, it was sponsored by Flora
margarine so we all ran with Flora on our vests with the crowd shouting “come
on Flora” about 12,000 times. It did encourage you to pick up the pace a bit
just to get away from the racquet. I wonder what the runners have to endure now
that it is sponsored by Virgin!
There is something beautiful and pure about
marathon running, it’s not running against anybody it’s you against the distance,
the fatigue, the pain, the wee voice in your head that says over and over again
... why are you doing this?
So whatever those two bombers in Boston did,
for whatever reason, they picked on the wrong people. The London runners ran with black ribbons in
tribute, there was a 30 second silence at the start and 37,000 more than a few
tears. Runners and spectators remained defiant.
This year’s London Marathon, six days after
the Boston, did see a small step up in security, 40% more police. But nobody
pulled out, 800,000 lined the course to cheer the runners on for the biggest
one day fund raiser that the world has ever seen. The London Marathon has raised over 900
million dollars.
There are those who bend over, hands firmly on knees as they try to
control their breathing, some do cooling down stretches, some whoop with a
sense of achievement. Others look at their watches time and time again to check
their finishing time.
Some runners let themselves be gently led to help by the medical team.
The less fortunate are taken away by stretcher without anyone so much as
batting an eyelid in a way that could only happen in a big marathon event like
this. But they are all happy believe me, crossing that line is happy.
There are things that happen in a marathon that would occur under no
other circumstances, the mere act of running quicker to catch up with a Viking
longboat while being chased by some Mr Men is one I distinctly remember. The Army run as a team in full kit. I don’t know what the technical term is but
they move with a peculiar gait that is not a march and not a jog but they are
synchronised every step of the way and the noise of the running rhinos coming
up behind you is once heard never forgotten.
The Army team, the rhinos and the Viking longboat all begin at the rear
of the massed start which makes sense as they would cause a pile up. So as you
run you know you hear the chomp, chomp, the crowd starts to cheer, everybody
gets a wee bit patriotic and a steward parts the charity runners like Canute
and if you don’t run towards the side you will be trampled by a Royal Marine
type in a rhino costume!
Being a charity runner I didn’t give a hoot who overtook me. My friend,
a GP, stopped at a cafe for a cappuccino ... twice! She came up with some medical excuse of
course about calcium depletion, caffeine and fluids (double shot latte). My other friend always wanted to break the
three hour mark, he managed a 3.02 in a Paris Marathon, hitting the wall at 24
miles and was very upset. He turned up
at London in peak condition and collided with a banana on the final turn, he
was extremely upset this time going through the barrier at 3.01. That was about
twenty years ago and he still goes into a mood if you mention it... which I do,
frequently.
Basically, the marvellous thing about marathon running is that you are
all in it together and the spirit of friendship and fellowship amongst the
runners is an experience that you probably take to your deathbed.
In keeping with that spirit the Virgin London Marathon has
pledged to donate £2 for every runner that finished the event to The One Fund
Boston. And I am sure that many
‘pledgers’ will dig a little deeper into their pockets after the recent
atrocity.
Running at its core is a very honest thing to do, one foot in
front of the other, the culmination of weeks/months of training. Because the
London Marathon is early in the year the training for Scots and other northern
Europeans has to be through a cold hard winter. The charity runners, who will
have full time jobs, will be up at 5am in sub zero temps, running through the
dark night air like there is no one else in the world.
I wrote the following at that
time, my memories of milling around the start in Greenwich Park, scared. Scared of something that I might not be able
to do...
There was a strawberry in the corner rubbing Vaseline on its nipples,
absorbed in its task, greasy fingers dipped in and out the pot, the hands
moving from the chest to the inner thighs. He had been at it for ages.
A mobile phone rang, the strawberry extended a green stalk, passing the
phone to the elephant that was standing next to it. The elephant flapped his
ears in gratitude; it was a trunk call one would suppose.
Silence fell as Cher emerged from the toilets, six
foot four, dressed in a leather vest with a black g-string and tinfoil-posing
pouch. He was wearing three-inch stilettos, a constipated smile and far too
much make up. He teetered up to the end of the queue and took his place between
two nuns.
A chicken got stuck in the toilet the transvestite
had vacated; unable to manage the narrow door for itself he had to be pulled
out tail first. He fluffed his feathers to regain some dignity, plumping
himself up against the wasps that were now homing in on us, attracted by the
smell of banana skins and Lucozade.
Then it was time. We stood still, in reverential
silence, alone with our thoughts of the pain that had passed and the pain to
come.
Without exception, we put up a silent prayer as one
single shot split the air.
I jogged round
my first marathon and I remember seeing the green sign, 26 miles. Tired to the core, legs on automatic pilot, knowing
that I could not stop because if I did I might never start again, then the
final corner into the Mall.... then angels pick you up at that point ... I was
humming swing low sweet chariot..., the crowd were going mad ... for me and the
other 36,000 no doubt. But I did it...
And after
watching that today ...
I'm getting the itch to do it again ...
