THE END

After a few glasses of wine, I agreed to run the London Marathon in October. I was charmed by the energy of a new friend who was looking for a runner for her charity. Having barely exercised in my life I am not a conventional runner. I favour a pint over a push-up. As a recovering smoker of fifteen years I am also a quitter. I’m not built for running, but on Sunday I completed the 26.2 mile London Marathon in 5 hours and 31 minutes.

This time surpassed my personal goal of finishing before dark. The day was very emotional and the end of a seven month ordeal where for the first time in my life I had to consider diet, running and self-discipline. I turned 31 the day before the Marathon and celebrated a year of not smoking with the most soba Birthday I have had since I was 12 in preparation for race day. It was a great Birthday however as my calorie intake was off the scale. The average Marathon runner consumes 3000 calories in a marathon. I had these on Saturday. Cake, pasta, bagels, more cake, garlic bread, cake, pasta, cake. In addition to my pre-race diet I’d entered the final phase of my training, watching Rocky. This became somewhat of a marathon for my family and friends who had set up base camp at BEAST HQ. After relaxing with Run Fatboy Run to end the night I was tucked up by 10:30pm and surprisingly slept like a baby.

The cock crowed 6am, I got up at 6:30. Porridge and bananas and trying to keep calm. Easier said than done when you know you have to run further than you can see. However I kept the faith and watched Rocky 4 before setting off to Greenwich from where I was eager to make a mean time. I’ve never seen so many bananas in my life. Greenwich must grow them. A long walk up to the starting line made me out of breath which did not bode well. I arrived at the red start and joined elite athletes at the back of the race, such as the Scunny Bunny, The Jamaican bobsled team (in a bobsled), a lighthouse and a Rhino. It was at this moment I realised that I had not been very optimistic about my estimated race time when I filled out my form. However starting from the back of the 33,000 runners at the red start had its advantages. I had time to do my weird stretching and was only caught by one guy with my hands in my pants vaselining up my meat and two veg, undercarriage and cheeks. It’s a great way to introduce yourself. Then the nipples and it is time to run. Pumped and adrenaline pumping I took off my jacket and tossed it aside ready for the starting pistol. Then it took half an hour to get to the starting line. I was freezing.

Nearly there. Nervous I looked down at the floor to gather my thoughts and focus. I realised the man in front of me had one leg. I knew then I was running this race and I was finishing!

The first few miles were a delight. All the waiting around was over and finally I could just run. Already I was blown away by the support outside at 10:30am on a Sunday. Pubs were open and bands were playing. You have to love being British when you see that most of the people who have turned out to support the Marathon are having a booze.

The race itself was electric. On this day London feels like a community and you can imagine the spirit of the Blitz. Especially as you run through some areas which look like they are still recovering from it, cider in hand shouting your name or high fiving you. One bloke was just on his high-rise balcony with his own sound system and microphone, shirt off, shouting encouragement and pumping out reggae. Hero! My favourite banner however was one which read ‘this is the worst parade I’ve ever seen’.

After 4 miles I was settling down but needed my nervous wee. The wait for the toilet was really going to hinder my world record attempt so I chose an off piste location. Wee number one was strong. Although a phantom widdle arrived at mile 7, 8 and 9. Strange stuff. Keep running. Once I was into Bermondsey I was nearly there. Not there. But closer, closer to that halfway point that all Marathon runners look forward to…The Draft House, where my best man was waiting for me with a pint! As I approached the corner of Tower Bridge Road I hoped that my supporters had made it and that I would spot them in the crowd. I didn’t have to wait long as I spotted the little face of my fiancée from a mile away. It is so lovely to see people you know. The BEAST team had also made me a banner which gave me a new nickname I liked a lot. The BEAST became the Scunthorpe Stallion! Big hugs for Chloe, Fitz, Claire, Mother and Greg. I was pumped! There was also someone else there I was pleased to see. Mr. Pint. Having absconded from alcohol this beer tasted better than any other. 

A few quick questions and smiles and I had to keep going. 

Over Tower Bridge I went. This is the famous bit, the bit I had imagined during my training as I ran over the bridge on a busy Sunday tutting as I ran into tourists. It felt really great. I’d made it. It was Marathon Day and I had already ran half of it. This is easy.

I was wrong. The Marathon is hard. I never saw a ‘wall’ but I did hit the ‘tunnel’ around mile 18 which is a dark underpass on the track where there were no crowds. This was a low point. That and perhaps the pint I had kicked in! Thinking of the great work Solace Women’s Aid do really helped me to keep my very confused legs trotting. Music also came into play here and my iPod shuffle treated me to the Rocky theme tune as soon as I turned it on. Two miles flew by as what followed was Oasis and The Hives. Once round the Isle of Dogs the crowds came back and at mile 21 I met up with my supporters once more, who looked very surprised to still see a smile on my face. As I approached the last few miles I thought of all of the people who had helped me get to this point. My Dad who cycled alongside me in my first ten mile run, my expert training team of my fiancée and best man who kept my feet, stomach and body in check. My Mum and family who had supported me from home with messages of encouragement and on race day braving the crowds and all the inspiring messages of support I had received from friends. Without them I would not have been able to run and this is why it is so important to support Solace Women’s Aid to provide a support network for those who need it to find their feet.

Once I could see Westminster the swearing had stopped and a permanent smile was fixed across my silly head-banded face. I was close. Really close. As I ran past Big Ben the noise from the crowds was overwhelming and three pissed up lads shouted “You got this Burkitt!!!” As I ran towards the mall another voice shouted my name and to my surprise it was an old mucker from Leeds. 

It was so nice to see him and he looked as shocked as I was that it was nearly over. As I approached Buckingham Palace I made sure I overtook the bare footed Jesus on the cross and strode it out pass the queen’s gaff. The crowd roared and I turned the corner with 365 yards to go. The home straight. I’ve never ran like that in my life. I didn’t take my eyes off the finish line as they began to fill. I did it. There was no way in hell I was being covered in tin foil like a chicken, so I bounced past to collect my medal.

From there I wondered tired and confused to my friends and family in Trafalgar Square where I felt very proud. I am an idiot. But I am a lucky idiot. I have lovely friends and family. I ran for Solace who support people who are not so lucky. Please donate, it’s not too late. Click here.

After a few beers in my favorite pub I limped home. I stripped ready for my ice bath and realised I now had hobbit feet with a few less healthy toe nails then I remembered. But London had been BEASTED!

Monday everything but my smile hurt but today I’m on the mend. If you have donated thank you for your generosity and support, if you have yet to donate please do, it only takes a few minutes but could save someone’s life. Thank you for everything. NEVER AGAIN!

 http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/beastinglondon