Brighton Marathon - My first, my last, my everything.

Yeah, I know, that's what they all say - never again.

Sorry I'm so late with my write-up, I've only just gotten out of bed - my "active recovery" involves watching Breaking Bad and eating my own weight in curly wurlies.

So, without further ado, here's my Brighton Marathon race report.....

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be able to run a marathon. I think I've written a bit about my back-story somewhere (almost the sort of thing that might get you to a judge's house in X-Factor), but in summary, I had really bad asthma as a kid, couldn't do any sports, but loved watching running on the telly, especially the London Marathon. I really wished that I could do something like that, but I just couldn't. Anyway, fast forward about 30 years and boom! Asthma under control! Fast forward 6 months and boom! Type 1 Diabetes! Fast forward 6 months and boom! (or rather bang!) Hit by a truck!

Still, bygones.

And so, to the day itself.

I know from previous experience that I always get a curveball or three thrown at me during a major event, and so I try to expect the unexpected.

Just before the start there was a splatter of rain. I decided to hand my glasses to the fantabulous CS.  The rain then stopped, which meant that I spent 26.2 miles not really recognising anyone until I got really close to them. I'm pretty sure I hugged a stranger, thinking it was Russ.

I started the race with ITBS and a bunion (arguably) worse than Santi's, so I knew it was going to be painful. Any hope of finishing in a time beginning with a 4 was long gone. To be honest, hope of finishing at all was my main aim.

The ITBS kicked in by mile 3 (expected), the bunion pain kicked in by mile 16 (better than normal, thanks to fantastic strapping), but then the next unexpected thing happened. My quads went on strike. That has never happened to me before, and I'm afraid it brought me to a grinding halt. A lovely lady gave me a couple of orange segments which;

a) at the time tasted like nectar of the gods, but

b) 30 seconds later I realised I had no idea how many carbs I'd just swallowed, which is super-important to a T1 diabetic.

Ooopsie.

I'm ashamed to say that I walked a bit. OK, a lot. I tried to do some mental maths to work out how much gel I should take and when, and that kept me occupied for about half an hour (can't run and do mental maths at the same time).  Met people from Specsavers (yes, really) and chatted.  Walking and chatting is GOOD.  It should definitely happen more often.  Especially in marathons.  Maybe I'm missing the point (again).

I knew that some wonderful people would pop up and surprise me by cheering me on at random moments, but I wasn't entirely sure where.  Of course, being sods law, they were all standing together waiting for me at mile 20 (which was also mile 23), which is exactly where me and the Specsavers were walking, chatting and having fun.  Yes, Inspirational Steve, Wonderful Kay, and Saying-All-The-Right-Things Jody were all there, whooping and shouting.  Jody was saying all the right things.  Uncle Steve of course told me to HTFU, rule#5 and all that.  To be honest, I felt like I'd been caught out let them all down.  They'd been waiting the best part of four hours to see me come storming past, but instead they saw me discussing the relative merits of poking things in my eyes with my Specsaver bessies.  I think they were talking about contact lenses, I think I was talking about things I'd prefer to do than run a marathon.

Steve has a very loud voice though, and so I said goodbye to my potential future husbands and half-heartedly half-shuffled half-jogged out to the turn point.  It hurt, boy did it hurt.

But then came curveball #3.

On the stagger back from Carats (blimey, those speedbumps felt like mountains), I glanced at the sea, and blinked. A speedbump/mountain later, I looked back at the sea, agog. I then wished that not only had I brought my glasses, but also a camera, to prove what I saw.

There were five (or six) very dark-skinned, very athletic, very naked men jumping in and out of that water, shouting and laughing. Although I didn't have my glasses with me, I knew they were naked because I could see their dangly bits (even without my glasses, know what I'm saying??) . I'm not entirely sure who they were, but I suspect they had just run a marathon super quick and were enjoying a well-earned cool-down (or should I say very-cold-down?).

Annoyingly, Uncle Steve, wonderful Kay AND Saying-All-The-Right-Things Jody were still eagerly waiting for me at mile 23 so I couldn't stop and ogle some more. When I eventually got to them I hugged them all (and possibly a couple of strangers too, should have gone to Specsavers), cried a bit, then ran/staggered the final 5k(ish) with Jody who said all the right things at all the right times.

Crossing that line was a huge relief. But I have to say, the highlight of my day was seeing those skinnydippers. If my quads hadn't failed me, I would have missed that. Funny how things turn out, isn't it?

I had aimed to finish in a time that started with a 4.  I finished in 4:90:29!  Get in!

Me!  Finishing a marathon! Smiling!

PS Next year (!) I will try to run with Say-All-The-Right-Things Jody the whole way, because not only does she say all the right things, she is also gorgeous.  This means that the crowd get all whoopy and cheery whenever she passes.  Ask me how I know....  OK, you didn't ask, but I'm telling you anyway.  Miles 1 to 23 (when I was running "alone") - just your "average" brilliant supportive crowd.  Miles 23 to 26 - complete uproar.  Coincidence?  I don't think so!