On Sunday I had one of the strangest, most unexpectedly lovely experiences that I have had in a long time.
About 6 months ago, my boyfriend, Steve, came home one day and told me that he had signed up to the London Marathon. Now, Steve's fitness level is better than mine (as is a sloth's, so that comes as no surprise to anyone...), but even so, he tends to have sporadic bursts of enthusiasm towards exercise and then proceeds to give up on the idea entirely for a while. Even so, I never had any doubts that he could run the marathon...though I was worried about the training process. ;-)
6 months of spending each day encouraging him to go out for a run and worrying about how he would eventually cope, and the big day came. Though I had always had faith in him that he could do it, I had never actually taken the time to picture him doing it. So, as silly as it sounds, I found myself feeling very strange, bewildered and surprised at 10 o' clock on Sunday morning, when I saw using the online tracking system that the race had started and he was indeed about to run the LONDON FRIGGIN' MARATHON.
Now I have to admit that I had always been fairly apprehensive about my participation in the day. It was agreed very early on that I would accompany Steve and his mum along on the day to cheer him on, and to help him hobble back to the care when he finished, feeling inevitable very broken. However, it would be a stretch to say that I had been looking forward to the day at all...I have little to no interest in sport, particularly in watching it. For the most part, I find participating in sport at best bearable, but other than one football match, I have never sat down and watched an entire sporting event. (And even then the football match was surrounded by lots of people I knew at a bbq party.)
I was genuinely shocked at how PLEASED and EXCITED I was to be there. I started the day off feeling slightly more positive about the experience, as I was spending the day with Steve's family and knew we'd have a lovely day and probably slip off to a coffee shop at several points for a cheeky cuppa. However, upon arriving at our first destination just beyond the Cutty Sark, I felt intensely nervous (sick to my stomach with worry!) for Steve and yet...excited about being there. Everyone tells you that the atmosphere is amazing. Steve said it was the thing that excited him most about the day. But I couldn't fathom that until I actually experience it for myself. Now, of course, it helped that it was an absolutely glorious day; the sun was shining, the sky was blue with a few white, fluffy sheep-clouds, but the atmosphere was amazing nonetheless. Every space along the road was crammed full of people, who were all cheering, laughing, smiling, having a great time. There were people of all ages, shapes and sizes dotted around the place. Some were dressed in charity t-shirts, some sporting clackers and blow up drum sticks with charity names on, some holding signs of encouragement for the loved ones; all were enthusiastic and energised about the day's events. After what seemed like an age, the elite runners finally came past. Again, I was surprised at the thrills I felt to see them go by; logically I know that their abilities are so, so, SO impressive, but I'd never felt such an emotional connection - a real buzz - as I did then! Eventually the hoards of fun runners came through (38, 000 people) and I spent nearly two hours straining on my tippy toes, hoping and praying that I'd see Steve, who by that point had already been running for one and a half hours. Every yellow t-shirt I saw made my heart leap, and yet I still managed to soak up the vibes these people were giving; there were so many different names of charities - some that I'd never even heard of - that I couldn't help but be amazed at people's generosity and determination. Especially the thousands of fun runners in silly, laborious costumes. Some personal highlights: a herd of rhinos, a man with a t-shirt emblazoned with his weight (22 stone!), a couple wearing "Luna's Mummy/Papa: RIP Angel" t-shirts, two men carrying a cider press, Supermen, Supergirl, a woman who looked like she was attending a hen party, Batman and Robin and Hansel and Gretel.
After having a brief chat with Steve, the family and I hopped on the underground, stopped for a bite to eat, and then proceeded to our next spectator spot: The Isle of Dogs. At this point, the crowds had thinned quite a lot as our Steve was a fair way behind (I believe he came 31-thousandth and something out of 34, 000) and a fair few of the runners already seemed like they were flagging (unsurprising as they were around the halfway mark). And suddenly, the atmosphere really picked up for me - people beside me starting cheering on anyone who looked like they were struggling. And it seemed to be helping! The love and good will that was being exhibited from all of the spectators towards all of the runners and vice versa warmed me to the core. I, being the typically reserved Brit I am, found it difficult to join in to begin with, as did Steve's mum, but as more and more people joined in, I felt myself swept up in the emotion of it, and began to cheer on anyone and everyone coming past, particularly those who looked like they needed encouragement. Amazing!
Unfortunately we managed to miss Steve at Tower Bridge and at Embankment and were standing watching runners he'd overtaken, when we found out online that he had finished. He had done it. He. Had run. A bloody. MARATHON. Steve's mum burst into tears on finding out and I certainly wanted to too. The pride we both felt inthat moment was a-ma-zing. We rushed to the meeting point (S for Steve!), eager to hear Steve's stories from the day. He agreed the atmosphere was amazing and that being cheered on by anyone felt fantastic - he'd accepted sweets from little kids in run down residential estates, been cheered on in his last 5k by practically anyone because he was the only one left running and had seen a sign saying 'Run if you can, walk if you must, but finish for Boston' which nearly set him off crying. For every person that finished the race on Sunday, £2 was donated to the victims of the blast during the Boston marathon the week previous, so no wonder he felt emotional (aside from the fact he'd just COMPLETED THE LONDON MARATHON).
All in all, it was an amazing, emotional, exhausting day and I loved every minute. The time that I spent with Steve's family was absolutely lovely, as it always is, but the highlight for me was probably watching the marathon surrounded by so many good people. Recently I have been struggling under a cloud of negativity, feeling like I wasn't who I wanted to be, but that I didn't want anything to change, because the world wasn't good enough to make the change worth it. I was so wrong and I am so, so grateful to Steve for dragging me down to London to see the proof. I jokingly complained about being made to go, but the joke was founded in truth, which was wrong. Seeing so many thousands of people putting themselves through hell in order to raise funds for those less fortunate than themselves was so emotional that I can even begin to do it justice. At times it felt like my heart was swelling until it was too big for my chest and was going to burst out through my eyes as tears. There was a huge lump in my throat and I felt so proud to be alive, to be human and to be there to experience that. In my world of negativity it was hard to see the good in people, but there is so, so much good out there. The spectators themselves also helped to prove that; their generosity in cheering on people who they'd never met and who they'd never see again, was heart-breakingly lovely.
Thank you so, so much Steve, for giving me the chance to experience this.
If you'd like to donate to Steve's cause, you can do so here. I'd be eternally grateful if you did. :-)
