10 things no one tells you before you run the London Marathon
Without doubt, the London Marathon is one of the greatest marathons in the world. I should know: I have run it six times, and have taken part in over 30 around the world – a fact that makes me realise I've spent the best part of a decade in some degree of pain and discomfort.
I just wish someone had told me what to expect when I first ran the London Marathon a decade ago ...
Getting to and from the race is a nightmare
There’s good news and bad news. The good is that as a London Marathon runner, public transport is free for the day. The bad news is that it’s also free for the other 35,000 runners, who will all be trying to catch the same train as you from London Bridge station. Picture thousands of nervous, tracksuit clad runners carrying their belongings in a plastic bag, every one of them desperate for the loo.
Coming back is just as fun – it just takes even longer thanks to the fact that you’re now walking like John Wayne. You'll thank the existence of escalators like never before.
You lose control of your bowels
Never again will you need to go to the loo quite as often. And never again will the ratio of Portaloos to people gagging for a pee or a poo seem quite so disproportionate.
You'll look at bushes and trees with a hint of desperation in your eyes. You'll find yourself loitering around Portaloos, just in case. You’ll do a Number One or Two at least three times in the space of an hour. And that's all before you've even started running.
When, finally, you are called to the starting pen, you'll find you need to go again. You’ll be horrified (and a tiny bit jealous) to see a chap having a piss right next to you.
Further down the road, you'll start to think about Paula Radcliffe’s famous call of nature. Your running motto becomes ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures’. You sink to a new low of personal hygiene. And you don't really care.
You'll hate the sight of people in fancy dress
You’ve spent months training for the race. You’ve bought the latest Lycra/running trainers. You’re feeling confident and comfortable; the miles are ticking by nicely. And then a man dressed in a rhino suit plods past you, followed by a chap carrying a fridge on his back.
Humiliating, to say the least.
Regardless of chest hair, your nipples need plasters
You’re wearing your shiny new charity vest, with your name printed on the front. You slog your way through the course, with the adrenalin and the crowd keeping you going. Just as you near the finish line, for that all-important, hands-in-the-air photo, you look down and notice two red blood stains running vertically from your nipples. Oh, you think, that's why my nipples feel like they're rubbing on sandpaper.
Just beyond the finish line, you catch a glance of a man taking his top off. He’s got two plasters over each nipple. It may look wrong, but they work.
You’ll develop agoraphobia (maybe)
For 26.2 miles, you’re surrounded either side by a wall of cheering supporters, merry men clutching beer cans, music bands, and screaming charity volunteers. The worst (/best bit) is around Tower Bridge, where utterly random people shout your name and offer useful words of encouragement like ‘keep on running’.
The decibel barrage continues even when you're running through the tunnel, where loud speakers pump out fake crowd noise.
The overwhelming support from the crowds is one of the great qualities of the London Marathon, but it can leave you with a case of runner's agoraphobia. All you’ll want is a moment of peace and quiet.
The post-marathon beer doesn’t taste good
Having stayed off the booze for three months during your training, all you can think about as you run is that refreshing taste of a pint of a lager. By the side of the course, smug and annoying blokes sitting outside pubs will offer you a drink. You'll never be so tempted to take up an offer of a pint from someone you instinctively despise.
Eventually you finish the race and waddle/crawl your way to the closest pub (which isn’t that close) only to discover the beer tastes weird. You order another. Still weird.
Post-marathon beers just don’t taste good. It's a sorry fact.
You’ll never again want to see another energy gel
Don’t get me wrong – energy gels are great. And they’ll help get you around the course. But after you tenth gel, they get a bit sickly, your hands are covered in goo from trying to unsuccessfully rip them open, and your gut feel as if it's been at sea for a month. Not nice.
Hitting the wall hurts
Every marathon runner lives in fear of hitting the proverbial wall. And when it happens, you’ll know about it. It will feel as if you’re running through treacle. You’ll sweat more than you realised is possible. Your mind will wonder into dark places and you’ll snarl at anyone who says ‘Not far to go now.’
You’re only way out is an energy gel. But you hate energy gels!
Stairs will become the enemy
For several days after the race, you won't want to stare a stair in the eye. Walking up them isn’t so bad, but walking down them is another matter altogether.
You’ll first come a cropper on your way from/to the pub lavatory, while your mind is still wondering why the beer tastes so wrong. The next occasion will be on the Tube. And then the following day arrives, and you have to go downstairs for breakfast. Going backwards helps. Or on your bum. Just try not to let your children/wife/partner (delete as appropriate) see you, or you risk losing any kudos you won the previous day.
Your toe nails will never look the same again
If you are harbouring any desire to become a foot model or don’t want to be embarrassed by your feet when wearing flip flops, I suggest you don’t become a marathon runner. They start off black, then they fall off only to grow back as sorry representations of their former selves.
Since my first London Marathon in 2005, I’ve lost nails on eight of my toes.
