A marathonMarathons are paradoxically the worst and best things in the world. They hurt, they hurt a lot. They push you to an extreme. But lets hear it for the following:
To the people who cheered me on who’d never met me before.
To the kids who stood patiently for hours handing out jelly babies.
To the bands and Choirs who came along and sang.
To the volunteers who handed out water and gels.
To the woman in front of me with the t shirt that read ‘run like there’s a creepy man behind you and a hot man in front’ I managed to get in front to the sound of ‘woos’ there’s one ladies’ only to see a six foot para with a back pack next to me.
To the people who squirted spray at us all at mile 18. It was heaven.
To pouring cold water down my back at 22 miles.
To the endless signs whose make you smile ‘toe nails are over rated’ ‘inch by inch’ ‘forget the medal think about the beer’.
To the tear that appeared in my eye at mile 23 knowing that I was going to make it.
To the people who gave up their PBs to help a woman that had fallen.
To the runners who shout at themselves to continue.
To the man who ran it backwards.
To the runners who run selfishly to raise money for endless charities.
To the people who sponsor those runners.
To the last mile with hundreds of people shouting ‘come on you can do it’.
To the masseuse who performs miracles and enables you to walk again.
And finally to the medal which you can hang proudly 🙂