I ran a marathon, but went on a journey.

This will be slightly different to other postings, rather than just having my thoughts, I thought I'd talk you through the whole day.

As much of it as I can remember anyway, because it's a bit of a blur really.

Obviously my thoughts are still in here though.

In the week leading up to the race I found myself on a emotional rollercoaster, one minute I felt confident and happy that I was ready to run, the next minute I was completely convinced that I was going to fail and end up running it in about 6 hours. Especially after I read something in the marathon guide thing that said,

"if people are packing things away around you, you need to get onto the pavement as you are no longer a priority and the roads will not be closed for you"

Brilliant.

I'd carb loaded for 3 days but felt slightly sluggish with it, so I eased off a little on Saturday night and only ate a small bowl of pasta. Then got into bed at 9:30pm, watched 2 episodes of Seinfeld, then fell asleep. I woke up 5 mins before my alarm at 6:25am. A perfect nights sleep. I took it as a good omen, got showered and headed out. Commix fabric mix was the perfect start as I wandered out of the house.

As soon as I get to the bus stop there's 2 people with marathon bags and running gear waiting for the 14grime to arrive. They both look fitter and better prepared than me, and one of them was a woman in her 50s. The mind games had started. The bus is full of runners, bar this one stinking geezer with a can of Super Tennents, he looks quite confused that there's so many people on his bus so early in the morning, and even more surprised that they're not all drinking beers.

I get to London bridge and there's thousands of people in sportswear trying to find the train to Blackheath, this sea of people triggers a realization in me that I'm running a marathon with 36,000 thousand people, and it's a massive deal. I then started bricking it. bricking it.

I get to the start and I've gone to the wrong start point, I should be in red, I thought I was in blue. I wander over and it starts raining. I've never been happier to be rained on than I am right this second. You spend 6 months training in the freezing cold and rain, then you get told it's going to be really hot the day you run. It's the cruelest joke. But rain it did and there was much rejoicing.

I get the Body Glide out and go mad with it. I cover myself in it, nipples, chest, shoulders, and my entire groin area. front and back. Now there's no dignity in doing this in the middle of a field, in the rain, surrounded by people but the alternative is much much worse. I dump my bag in the massive lorries they have for the bags and start warming up. Then the adrenaline starts and turns my bladder into a hose, instead of a bag. I need to wee. I get into the toilets and they're like at festivals, rows of stand up urinals, shaped like giant buckets, except at this festival nobodies pissing in the corners, and trying to sell you crushed up aspirin as mdma.

There's a man dressed as a cornetto in there, and someone behind me starts singing the song, so we all do, and there's a rousing chorus at the end. it'll be the last time I laugh or smile for a long while.

I start warming up and listening to Mark Farina's Fabric mix, it's perfect tempo and is calming me right down from the panic attacks that grow inside me as it gets to 9:30am. I need to pee again and run in to the urinals, the mood's changed, nobody's singing now, everyone looks scared or focused. Apart from the guy dressed like a smurf. He seems quite chipper, but that could have just been his hat.

I'm starting in pack 2 of 9, 9 being the slowest and fancy dressed, so I'm right in the front, we all stand in our packs, like the guys in the boats in saving private ryan, minus the vomiting and wetting ourselves, even though I feel like doing both. Then, I need the toilet again, I push my way through everyone and the marshal says,

"where are you going, you're about to start!"

I run back to the loo's then back into my pack, as soon as I get in we're moved forward and round the corner, and I can see the start. I look around, and everyone looks like they're from a running club, with clubs names on the back. I feel as inadequate as I usually do when I'm about to have sex with somebody new. Then before I can stop thinking about the last sexual failure I experienced there's a count down and we're off.

We break away and everyone's at a similar pace, I spy a stunning, tall, blonde, woman and decide that I'm going to keep next to her, in the hope that staring at her bottom for a hour will make the miles fly pass, but as soon as there's some space she speeds off at a pace that I know is much faster than I can cope with, so I settle for keeping pace with scary clown guy who was in front of me at the start line. The road opens up and we all settle into our own pace, I close my eyes and remember the pace and rhythm that I've run for the last 5 months and I try not to let the crowds and the cheering speed me up.

Now scary clown guy is really opening up, and his make up has started running down his face, making him even more scary, but I sit in just behind him and carry on. About 3 miles in I need another wee! I can't believe it and am furious with my bladder for letting me down like this, it doesn't help when I see other runners pissing in peoples gardens and behind cars. So at the next set of toilets I stopped and jumped in. Now I'm not sure if it was going from running to stopping suddenly, or the chemicals in the toilet but as I stood there weeing my vision went, and everything went numb and I knew I was going to faint. I tried for as long as I could to wee, holding myself up on either wall, but I knew I had to get out, so I fell out without giving the little fella a shake, for the girls, the shake is essential otherwise a lot will fall out, which is what happened to me, I fell out of the toilet with pee running down my leg. I breathed as deeply as I could and set off again.

Scary Clown Guy had long gone so now I'm all alone, but I've switched to a Luciano mix, a training favorite, and we then join with the blue starters, and there's applause and cheers. It feels great, like we're all in it together and looking out for one another.

Miles 1 -8 felt really good and all I remember thinking is how settled I feel, like I could do this all day, I keep an eye on my stopwatch, trying to work out how many minutes per mile I'm running. It's around 7 minutes per mile and I pick up the speed for a mile or two, making some time up. I was taking on water at every station, drinking about half a bottle before throwing it away. same goes for the lucozade drinks. There's steel bands and sound systems around Greenwich and Lewisham, with pubs full of people applauding, I think I saw a pub full of people dressed as pirates! But I could have been tripping.

Now I knew that getting to Tower Bridge would mean that I was at 12 miles so when I turned a corner and saw it I felt powerful, my legs felt good, and my breathing steady. Suddenly I noticed the people. There's thousands of people lining the bridge, hanging out of pub windows, and cheering. By sheer luck my favorite track from the Luciano album started playing: Mogane by Sety, and as I crossed the bridge the song hit it's break, and my spine tingled, and I looked up to the skies and gave it a bit of the Lionel Messi, as seen below.





It was an amazing feeling and I came off the bridge ready to run and run. I noticed that some pockets would cheer really loudly, I thought they were cheering for me, when I turned I realized that they were charity groups, cheering for their charity runner next to me.

Next thing was gel packs, they were essential for me as I knew they would give me pockets of energy when I needed them, they taste awful but 10-15 mins later you get a surge of energy through you, and you need it.

From miles 13 - 18 it felt like the organizers had put the mile markers out wrong, they were getting further and further away, and it took longer and longer to get to the next one. The music needed to change so it was time for the big guns. Andy C's Nightlife 4 got the nod and I was off.

It was during this part that I saw 2 people in the crowd that I knew. One was my friend Jack, who was watching out for his Dad, I shouted at him as I passed, and he swung round and was a bit surprised, I don't think he knew I was running. The next was my friend Laura, she was hanging out of a window with her sister and some other girls, all with matching tee shirts on. Not with my face on them though.

By now my legs were screaming, a constant burning pain, with a slight numbness in my toes. Mentally I still felt good but knew that I wanted to slow or walk for a second or two. Now, for a long time I've had a inner monologue with my body, as if my body has different parts that talk to each other, I think I've mentioned it on this before. Well my legs were very annoyed with my head but my head was having none of it, my brain knew that if we stopped now, we'd never start again. So I kept running.

20 miles came up and I knew that this was critical for me, 6 miles is my regular run, I've done it nearly every other day for 6 months,

"this is it, you know what six miles feels like, it's our house to Victoria Park, round once, and back to the house" I thought. My legs replied,

"yeah, but we hadn't run 20 fucking miles before it had we you stupid prick?, stop! now!" my legs replied.

I was running slower but still felt that it was a ok pace, I just didn't have the confidence to speed up again, I couldn't risk pushing harder when I still had a little way to go. 21 miles came up and who did I see in front of me? Scary Clown Guy. He looked terrible, all his make up had gone, leaving his fairly ugly face, I realized then why he'd gone down the fancy dress route, he was ugly. It was a good ploy.

I passed him and the embankment stretched out in front of me, the crowds were deep and noisy again, I needed to switch the music again, so DJ Hazard live came through, it was just what I needed.

2 miles to go and my left arm goes numb,
"we're having a stroke" says brain bit 1,
"good, at least we can stop then" chips in legs,
"we're not having a stroke" brain bit 2 replies,
"what do you know?" says everyone.

I drop the water and squeeze and close my left fist. I calm everyone down. By this point I can't look up at anyone, I can hear people shout my name (it was on my shirt, they didn't know me) but I can't wave at them.

I look up and see Big Ben, I know I'm close and the mile markers change to meters.

'800m to go' reads one, I don't know how far that is, then it switches to 600m, I'm getting confused, I can't do maths at the best of times, but now these numbers may as well be in roman numerals. 400m is there, then, almost straight away, there's a sign for 385m! what's the point of that?

200m and we turn and I see Buckingham Palace and know that the mall is right there, but I don't know how far down the mall the finish line is, I turn the corner and see it, I start speeding up, I flick the headphones out and listen to my heart pounding, and my feet smashing into the ground, I pass people and aim for the quietest finish line. I get over the line and stop straight away.

"Right then boys, do not work anymore and stab him as much you can" my legs demand.

I seize up and have to grab a marshal to hold me up, she's really nice but won't carry me so I hobble off, I turn back and the clock says 3:17 I'm amazed but gutted I didn't speed up with a mile or two to go, I think I'd have done 3:13/14

I stagger like a drunkard down to my lorry, and get my stuff. I ring my lietastic Dad, and he's waiting for me at the gate, I see him, and fall into him. Then tears well up in my eyes and I'm on the verge of breaking down but the pain just stops me. I stumble towards a few people giving massages to their charity runners, I offer them all the money I have, and I get a 10 minute bit of bliss.

And that was it, I'd run the London marathon. 26.2 miles

I take my shoes off and my toe is basically a blood blister, I go to see the St johns people and they burst it and set me on my way. I go to the nearest pub and drink, it wasn't the best idea, but I deserved the drink.

I woke up in the hotel at 5am and needed a wee, it took me 10 mins from bed to loo and back again. In the morning I logged on and checked my official time:

I came 2,598 out of 36,000 and I ran it in 3 hours and 16 minutes.

I'm not sure what to do with myself now.




The end. I'm going to carry on running, if for some reason you want me to carry on writing please send me a message on Facebook.

Cheers,
Gareth Potter

aches and pains, I really want a beer, and the marathon is in 6 days

Monday the 19th of April

I'm trying to get my head up to speed with what I'm going to be doing in 6 days from now, but as usual my brain has the lackadaisical air of a sleeping donkey under a tree. My left knee is ok but now ALL my leg muscles feel tight and labored. If this carry's on into this weekend then we are in trouble.

I start the run home from work and the only saving grace is that I can run through the pain, which I think will be a very useful asset come Sunday midday.

I've always had a running dialogue with my body, as if all the parts have their own representative. For example, I'll always talk my stomach out of being sick if I can help it, and try to negotiate with my stomach to broker a deal.

But I've got a feeling this Sunday we are heading straight for a body strike, with mass walk outs and planned demonstrations and picketing. I feel sorry for my body, like it's the students in Tiananmen Square, and my head is the Chinese government. It's not going to be pretty.

I heard today that Father is coming to watch me collapse over the line. The lietastic one wants to watch me as he's 'very proud' that I'm doing it at all.

I have mixed feelings about this, especially since I have visions of him wearing a tee shirt that says 'I'm still number 1' on the front, and 'I'm not your real Dad' on the back. But it'll be good to see some faces when I get over, even if it's just for them to drive me to hospital.

I am very aware of how much I want a beer at the moment, the glorious weather and self imposed ban is making it very hard to resist a ice cold beer. It's like Friday after work every day at the moment. Spitting feathers.

I get through the run at a decent pace and now have a plan in place for how I'm going to run the 26.2 miles.

Will I beat the legend of Mr Howard Potter? Will I spend a month in the marathon archives after the race to prove that he ran it in 3,58? Will I finish at all? What time will I finish in? How will I feel? And most importantly, What will I think about?

I'll let you know on Monday.

Injury worry, I'm not ready for this.

Saturday 17th of April

My last 'big run' before the marathon. 23 miles, no fooling, going to get it done.

First major issue, toilet stop. had to stop once at Old st tube station, which was really strange as all the lights in the toilets are UV, so you walk in and you feel like you're at a rave. I assume the UV lights are in there to stop people from seeing their drugs but I think it's counter productive, Had I been out all night and wandered into the bogs, I may have thought that it was another club, until people start pissing of course.

Next toilet stop the Holborn Weatherspoon, Saturday morning drinkers at 10am, it's a strange thing to see, almost as strange as a sweaty runner queuing up at the bar to ask the staff if they can use the toilet.

As I stood there waiting for the old chap in front to finish ordering his ale, I remembered that I'd been in here before, at 9am after having fallen out of the End club round the corner a year or two ago. I tried to remember if I felt worse then than I did today. I felt worst today.

I got round the Old Bailey, up to St Pauls, through the city, and felt pretty good as I turned left onto globe road and into Victoria park. I get round to the other side of the park and stopped to rehydrate.

I set off again ready for another 8 miles, rounded the park and exited and headed back towards Bow, at this point a seemingly suicidal child ran in front of me, I executed a deft side step, looked back to give the parents the "don't worry, I won't hurt/sexually abuse your child" look, as I did I didn't see the steep incline off the roundabout, I stretched out my left leg to get over it and felt a pull behind my knee. It was bad. one week till the marathon and a kid may have forced me out of the race. The little shit.

I stopped, gave the legs a stretch and tried to carry on. I ran another 2 miles or so back down Roman rd then up Cambridge Heath rd but I knew I had to stop. So I walked home from there. feeling really shitty and worried.

Oh dear, this isn't going the way it was supposed to.

Thursday 15th of April

My first run back after a forced break, a 2 day break in fact, at a place called Salmon Dance near Holmwood, outside of London.

I was at the Grange as one of the final 10 people chosen to be the Trident perpetual festival goer. Basically I was trying to win the job (there can only be one as Highlander said) but didn't get it and I was gutted, I really thought I was close but it turns out that there was somebody much better qualified and perfect for the position so there we go.

I got back after drinking a fair bit over the 2 days and with a heavy heart, in a sort of a 'funk' if you will, and to be honest my head isn't where it needs to be when you've got to run for a long time in 2 weeks or so. I then left straight to Germany for work, which was fine but I was still a bit jaded so I thought a run would clear the mind and get rid of the funk. Didn't go down like that:

I went out for a 10 miler, but my mind was thinking a lot about death and the idea of consciousness. The reason for the death thought was because I'd flown back from Germany the day before and I think a lot about planes falling out of the sky when I fly because, basically, you're not walking away from dropping 28,000ft. The simple fact is that if the engines go you are done.

And what does that mean? you stop so therefore everything you know stops. Your life, your family, and your feelings and emotions all stop. It's over. And that's massive because you're basically the most important person in the world, if you die then your world stops. And when you realize that your body is nothing more than a machine made of bone and skin it's a huge thing to consider and get your head around. But then you have your mind or your consciousness, which allows you to consider these colossal questions and try to make sense of them. It's what sets us apart from the animals. Just about.

I'm atheist but I have the utmost respect for religion, as it gives people hope and faith that when life stops there's something else to do after. Even though there isn't, at least people can feel that faith will set them free and give everything meaning. It's bollocks though, and just a way to keep people inline and subordinate but if it makes people happy it's fine, even though almost all wars, violence, genocide, and hatred is universally done in the name of religion, it still brings peace to people in death so I guess it's not so bad eh? Even though the irony of that is a bit much sometimes.

So, still reading? Jesus! You can imagine how hard it was to run with this shit carrying on in my head!

So after a while I realized that I needed to up my pace as I'd actually stopped running and was on my hands and knees sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the park.

Joke, but I did need to pick up the pace so I picked out a runner in the distance and decided to close him down and pass him. I picked up the pace and got into a rhythm and started closing him down. I sped up a little more, controlling my breathing to match my pace, and the guy was coming up pretty fast. I started to feel good and the competitive edge in me was hungry for the victory of passing him. As I closed in on him I felt vindicated and a sense of power washed over me, as I passed I glanced across to see if he'd acknowledge that he'd been passed at pace by another runner, I looked across..............................he was about 60 years old.

Unbelievable. It felt like I'd just been in a plane crash.

Cats, the animal not the musical. Public urination and other stupidity.

Firstly it dawns on me how enjoyable it is to leave work and it still be light outside. A simple thing that lightens my mood straight away.

But I'm just going to jump straight into this:

I run past Goodge Street tube station and see a homeless man selling the big issue with a cat on a lead.

A cat on a lead though.

I've always worried about homeless people owning animals anyway, it's another mouth to feed, and if the persons not eating due to a lack of cash, or spending his/her money on cider, what's the animal having? not much.

And a cat? they are meant to have the freedom to go wherever they want, not be on a lead.

I turned onto Euston road and wondered about my fractious relationship with cats, and a painful memory hit me,

I was 12 years old and home sick from school. I'd spent the day lying on the sofa watching the young ones on video, and covering my school books with sticky back plastic. Like we all did.

Anyway our cat Spice jumped onto me and, facing me, settled down for a snooze. I stared at Spice for a while and marveled at her whiskers, I was drawn to how long they were, and the precise way they curved outwards. Now I'm not sure what came over me but I had the overwhelming urge to give spice's whiskers a trim. I still don't know why.

I reached for the scissors that were on the floor and sized them up, with a quick snip the right ones were off. Spice didn't really flinch and they looked lob sided but I'd lost the urge to continue, maybe because I knew that it might not have been a great idea.

We lay there for a bit and then Spice gave herself a shake and jumped off me and made for the door, but her elegant walk had turned into more of a drunken stagger, and I watched with increasing horror as she walked straight into the frame of the door.

As I lay there listening to Spice banging into stuff in the hallway I knew that I was dead, so I did the instinctive thing, I got rid of the evidence and decided to play very dumb.

It got close to when my sister and I would normally be getting home from school so I decided to go to bed, and get as far away from the cat as possible.

My sister came home and I would say it was about 1 and a half minutes until I heard her scream my name, which was quickly followed by the sound of her vaulting the stairs three at a time, and the inevitable sound of her running down the landing, and kicking my door in.

I protested my innocence, but my apoplectic sister was rightly having none of it. And it got worst when my parents came home.

Spice and I reconciled after I watched her give birth to kittens, and the whiskers grew back eventually.

As I got nearer home I saw 2 fellas having a piss in the street, not a back alley you understand, but on a main road. It's just not right but it's nowhere near as bad as when I watched a women squat down outside greggs the bakers opposite Cardiff central bus station. It was a Saturday evening at around 6pm.

She was wearing a tiny white miniskirt, and as we stepped over the little river of piss she'd created, she looked up and drawled,
"alright boys?" at us. It was horrific.

Anyway, the mixture of childhood guilt and piss imagery didn't do my running any favors and I felt that it had taken way too long. Turned out I ran 6 miles in 42 minutes.

7 minute miles. I felt like it was slow and I know I can go faster so it ended up being quite a positive run,

Musical support came from High Contrast's old Mixmag live comp. A quality rolling mix that peaks and troughs in exactly the right moments when you're running along.

Fear and self loathing in Las London

The fear as I left work was palpable, and I had many reasons to be fearful:

1. There was a break in the shitty weather, but it could easily have kicked off again
2. I'd been back to the homeland for a wedding, and rather than go for a run I ended up loving the amazing hospitality and did nothing.
3. And finally, and most frightful of all, was the delivery of my Virgin London Marathon running number.

I stared at those 5 digits for a long time, and I knew that they were just numbers, but they felt like 5 paragraphs explaining to me in very great detail about how difficult the next month was going to be, and how ill equipped I am to deal with it.

Anyway, plagued with self doubt I went for a run. Why did all the other runners look like they were running faster than me? Why was it taking me a long time for me to pass the people WALKING in front of me? Why was my breathing so heavy? How was I going to manage 26 miles?

Questions were piling up as I rounded London Wall, I crossed the road and ran across a loose electricity man hole cover. This must have caused a bit of noise because this poor girl in front of me jumped into the air and put her hands up to her face. I cracked a laugh, and she calmed down a bit.

I turned up Bishopsgate and knew that I need to open up my pace. As I ran past the T building the Thursday night 'off for a Vietnamese' crowd were milling about. I swerved a few, and ran on the road when I had to. As I got back onto the pavement I passed a friend who was wandering with a couple of ladies.

I must have shouted a bit louder than really necessary when I passed him because he had the 'pedo caught in front of the school gates' look about him. What was quite surprising about the encounter is that I found myself speeding up as I left him, because I was paranoid that I was running really slowly, and I didn't want him thinking that I was rubbish. Oh the misplaced vanity!

I caught home in just under 30 mins, which turned out to be pretty good as it goes.

I've started a whey protein supplement today, as recommended by a pal of mine. I have to admit that it did work out really well, I felt stronger through the run, and feel good now while I write this. If I mix this with the clean living and focused training, I reckon I can banish these little worries and totally smash this marathon.