I'm going to go off half-cocked a little because I am not in possession of all the facts behind this seemingly insane idea to close down Southampton General Hospital's Baby Heart Unit.
See this link to Daily Echo story here for more.
As far as I am aware Southampton General is one of three baby heart units under review, one of the others is the Royal Brompton in London.
The official consultation period is underway and a decision is due at the end of the month and one of the units is going to close.
This is absolute madness in my opinion. How can this government consider closing any baby heart unit, which save so many lives on a routine basis, in order to skim a little off the budget and make this bunch of asset strippers look like they're doing a good job with the economy.
A very long time ago in March 1975, I was born in the New Forest town of Lyndhurst, not very far from Southampton. Unluckily for me and family I was born with two small holes in my heart and an abnormal arotic valve, making life really quite difficult for me at the time.
Luckily for us the Southampton General Baby Heart unit was on our doorstep and thanks to the excellent work of that team of surgeons, doctors and nurses, I was operated on a year later and both holes were filled in, which is not too melodramatic to say gave me a lease of life I may not have been privileged enough to enjoy if the condition had gone undetected.
The valve was replaced, as planned, much later in 2007, by a team under the expert leadership of Marcus Haw, who is leading the campaign to keep the unit open.
I owe my life to that hospital, as well as a unfortunate lifetime allegiance to Southampton Football Club.
It makes no sense to me at all to close down any one of the units under review. If Southampton loses theirs parents will have to travel to London or even Bristol for treatment. As excellent as Bristol now is, it's not exactly down the road if you live in Southampton or further afield.
I don't understand why this proposal is even on the table and shows this government to be utterly out of touch with the reality of lives for many people in this country. What if a family with a sick child doesn't have a car, can't afford the travel, or the overnight accommodation that could be necessary. It already costs a fortune to park in a hospital, add to that a round trip of a couple of hundred miles in fuel alone and it becomes prohibitive.
It's simply all kinds of wrong and I hope there is enough pressure put on government to change this ludicrous and damaging kind of policy.
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Thursday, 2 June 2011
My vision for a fully-integrated, interactive soap opera
I have a dream, and it's a bit silly really, but why don't soap characters move around the soaps, it would be ace.
In real life people move around the country, indeed the world, so why not in the soaps?
Wouldn't it be great if Kevin Webster decided he'd had enough of life on the Street and headed down South for a new life and ended up working for Phil Mitchell in the Arches. Similarly, what if Alfie Moon turned up at the Rovers to get a couple of shifts while him and Kat looked for a house in Manchester, or nearby Cheshire like the rest of the BBC at the moment.
Even better if one of ridiculously good looking Aussies in Neighbours goes travelling in the UK on a gap year and ends up behind the bar in E20. Why aren't there any Aussies working in pubs in Eastenders by the way?
You could get people to vote on where characters go next, like John off of Corrie who's on the run with the baby, we could vote on whether he heads to Emerdale to work on a farm under another assumed name, or over to Chester to join the rest of misfits in Hollyoaks.
Maybe he could be found contemplating jumping off the Clifton Suspension Bridge on Casualty, then sent to see a specialist in Holby City.
This surely must be the way forward for entertainment in the 21st century. A bit like what Marx said about all businesses eventually becoming one big corporation under the capitalist model, all the soap operas of the world should merge into one big show, called The Story Of Life, or something similar...............
.................It's amazing the shite you think about while avoiding going out for a run.
In real life people move around the country, indeed the world, so why not in the soaps?
Wouldn't it be great if Kevin Webster decided he'd had enough of life on the Street and headed down South for a new life and ended up working for Phil Mitchell in the Arches. Similarly, what if Alfie Moon turned up at the Rovers to get a couple of shifts while him and Kat looked for a house in Manchester, or nearby Cheshire like the rest of the BBC at the moment.
Even better if one of ridiculously good looking Aussies in Neighbours goes travelling in the UK on a gap year and ends up behind the bar in E20. Why aren't there any Aussies working in pubs in Eastenders by the way?
You could get people to vote on where characters go next, like John off of Corrie who's on the run with the baby, we could vote on whether he heads to Emerdale to work on a farm under another assumed name, or over to Chester to join the rest of misfits in Hollyoaks.
Maybe he could be found contemplating jumping off the Clifton Suspension Bridge on Casualty, then sent to see a specialist in Holby City.
This surely must be the way forward for entertainment in the 21st century. A bit like what Marx said about all businesses eventually becoming one big corporation under the capitalist model, all the soap operas of the world should merge into one big show, called The Story Of Life, or something similar...............
.................It's amazing the shite you think about while avoiding going out for a run.
Monday, 30 May 2011
The first run is the hardest
Here we go again!Training starts in the kitchen.
It's been a year and ten days or so since I last posted on this blog, or thought in any serious way about running come to that. Which is why I find myself once again with aching limbs and a slight sense of hopelessness at the task ahead of me after trying to get back into training.
I have set myself the task of walking, cycling and running my way back to fitness over the next 12 months, while at the same time trying to hit a new fundraising target of £3000 for the British Heart Foundation, to whom it would not be melodramatic of me to say that in part I owe my life, as well as the brilliant surgeons and medical staff in the NHS.
On June 12 I am taking on a ten mile leg of a 50 mile walk around Bristol with the business breakfast club I go to, as they have kindly adopted BHF as their official charity for the year.
During the August Bank Holiday I will be cycling the approximately 100 miles from Bristol to London for the Action Medical Research charity, and on September 11 I will be taking part in the Bristol Half Marathon, again for the BHF. I hope to follow all of this in Spring with a marathon, if I can get a place, in either London or Edinburgh. And who knows what along the way, perhaps a triathlon if I can improve my swimming beyond the sedate breast stroke I am barely capable of at the moment.
So I pulled on my Asics for the first time in anger for a while, and weirdly the thirty minute walk/slow jog I did today was probably harder than running the London Marathon a year ago, mainly because I’ve done next to no training since then and have managed to find the four stone I lost along the way on my last get fit mission.
But today was good because I was able to set my new goals and I didn’t hate the act of running as much as I thought I might. All positive stuff. Except the route I chose is not really much good as it takes me down a path along the roadside that I instantly nicknamed Dog Turd Alley, but could just as equally be know as Fag Butt Valley, Tin Can Cut Through or Fly Tipping Boulevard.
I have been motivated today more than before because I weighed in at 18 stone and a pound this morning, which is quite depressing and would explain why I can’t fit into any of my clothes these days, or walk up a street without stopping to catch breath.
So, been here and done it all before, and I know what I need to do, but it seems so much harder to do it again. Winning the Premiership is an amazing achievement in itself, but doing it again, time after time, that’s what makes real champions. Ask any Man Utd fan. Unfortunately I’m a Southampton fan.
Friday, 21 May 2010
It's official and certified.
I got my certificate through this week, final absolute proof that a month ago I spent five and a half hours running round London for who knows what reasons.
Quite pleased to see there was 6,000 people behind me, if there had been that many behind me the first time I did the Bristol Half Marathon, I would have won it!
There was 30,000 in front of me though, but I'm still feeling quite pleased with myself.
I went running again on Monday, the second time since the marathon, just trotted around the Downs which was fine, although a little concerned about how much it took out of me. Not saying I was really knackered or anything, but could definitely feel the loss of fitness.
But the best bit was being able to run around knowing what I have achieved. Now it's a bit warmer there are lots of runners out and about, many of whom are slimmer, quicker and fitter than me, which used to really annoy me. When people skipped past with perfectly sculpted Lycra-clad thighs and buttocks I used to yearn for muscle tone like that, (not that I was looking at the buttocks of course) and feel the bitterness rising, but on Monday I just thought, 'go for your life, I've done the London Marathon, I've don't have to prove anything'.
It was the strangest feeling. It left me thinking that I really never have to run another step if I don't want to, because nothing is going to take that achievement away, and in terms of running there is no greater challenge I could have faced and conquered. I almost stopped in my tracks right there and just gave up on the whole thing. It's a bit like when you pass your A Levels, or degree, and realise you never need to read another book or take another exam in your life.
But just as my life would have been poorer for giving up on reading, so it is with running as I do feel giving up on running would lead straight back to being Lord Mayor of Fat Town with a reinforced throne to park my flabby arse on all day.
I have gone a bit mad the last few weeks it must be said, but only mad compared to the Spartan existence I led before. Fact is I have been drinking again, and very much enjoying it. Also been eating a lot more than I was before, you could call it binging if you like. Amazingly though, I went on the scales yesterday morning and I've only put four pounds on since the marathon, which I thought was pretty good, so went and ordered a pizza and drank a bottle of wine with Amy, just like the good old days.
Now, I know what you're thinking, or at least if nobody is reading this I know what I'm thinking, this is the slippery slope and I'm flying down it.
Yes, that's possible, but I really don't think it's going to happen. I can't go back to that miserable existence at 19 stone, I could barely function as a result and with the pressure to keep my freelancing lifestyle going I need to be fit and active.
Also, I still have a few stone to lose which I want to achieve over the summer, culminating in a PB at the Bristol Half Marathon. And I have decided I want to run the London Marathon again next year. I've applied to run for the British Heart Foundation and I won't know until August if I get a place, but I'm hopeful. Although God knows how I'm going to raise £3,000 again. Pretty sure I squeezed every last penny out of everybody I know, for which I am so grateful, but I don't feel I can go back to them again next year.
So, I'm going to think about some serious fundraising events and plan it properly and hassle the general public instead. We'll see.
But what I do next is really crucial. I feel like I needed to have a few weeks off to go mad and get drunk, but I am going to put a plan together for training over the summer and perhaps aim to do more different runs at 10k or other half marathons and more cycling as well. A lot of people have suggested a triathlon, but I just can't see myself being able to crack the swimming leg, I am rubbish. I am like the old women who don't get their hair wet in the slow lane. The only effective stroke I can do is breast stroke and very slowly. Although, I guess that could be my next challenge. Think I'd rather run a marathon though.
I'm just so pleased the sun has arrived and training is going to be an actual joy.
Quite pleased to see there was 6,000 people behind me, if there had been that many behind me the first time I did the Bristol Half Marathon, I would have won it!
There was 30,000 in front of me though, but I'm still feeling quite pleased with myself.
I went running again on Monday, the second time since the marathon, just trotted around the Downs which was fine, although a little concerned about how much it took out of me. Not saying I was really knackered or anything, but could definitely feel the loss of fitness.
But the best bit was being able to run around knowing what I have achieved. Now it's a bit warmer there are lots of runners out and about, many of whom are slimmer, quicker and fitter than me, which used to really annoy me. When people skipped past with perfectly sculpted Lycra-clad thighs and buttocks I used to yearn for muscle tone like that, (not that I was looking at the buttocks of course) and feel the bitterness rising, but on Monday I just thought, 'go for your life, I've done the London Marathon, I've don't have to prove anything'.
It was the strangest feeling. It left me thinking that I really never have to run another step if I don't want to, because nothing is going to take that achievement away, and in terms of running there is no greater challenge I could have faced and conquered. I almost stopped in my tracks right there and just gave up on the whole thing. It's a bit like when you pass your A Levels, or degree, and realise you never need to read another book or take another exam in your life.
But just as my life would have been poorer for giving up on reading, so it is with running as I do feel giving up on running would lead straight back to being Lord Mayor of Fat Town with a reinforced throne to park my flabby arse on all day.
I have gone a bit mad the last few weeks it must be said, but only mad compared to the Spartan existence I led before. Fact is I have been drinking again, and very much enjoying it. Also been eating a lot more than I was before, you could call it binging if you like. Amazingly though, I went on the scales yesterday morning and I've only put four pounds on since the marathon, which I thought was pretty good, so went and ordered a pizza and drank a bottle of wine with Amy, just like the good old days.
Now, I know what you're thinking, or at least if nobody is reading this I know what I'm thinking, this is the slippery slope and I'm flying down it.
Yes, that's possible, but I really don't think it's going to happen. I can't go back to that miserable existence at 19 stone, I could barely function as a result and with the pressure to keep my freelancing lifestyle going I need to be fit and active.
Also, I still have a few stone to lose which I want to achieve over the summer, culminating in a PB at the Bristol Half Marathon. And I have decided I want to run the London Marathon again next year. I've applied to run for the British Heart Foundation and I won't know until August if I get a place, but I'm hopeful. Although God knows how I'm going to raise £3,000 again. Pretty sure I squeezed every last penny out of everybody I know, for which I am so grateful, but I don't feel I can go back to them again next year.
So, I'm going to think about some serious fundraising events and plan it properly and hassle the general public instead. We'll see.
But what I do next is really crucial. I feel like I needed to have a few weeks off to go mad and get drunk, but I am going to put a plan together for training over the summer and perhaps aim to do more different runs at 10k or other half marathons and more cycling as well. A lot of people have suggested a triathlon, but I just can't see myself being able to crack the swimming leg, I am rubbish. I am like the old women who don't get their hair wet in the slow lane. The only effective stroke I can do is breast stroke and very slowly. Although, I guess that could be my next challenge. Think I'd rather run a marathon though.
I'm just so pleased the sun has arrived and training is going to be an actual joy.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Post marathon blue/illness/general crapiness
It's a weird thing this marathon running. Turns out you can train for a year, get in the shape of your life, become stronger and more lean than you could imagine and then go out and run 26.2 miles non-stop, only to pick up the first little bug to come your way once you stop, and be laid low for days with a dicky stomach.
It seems I'm not alone in feeling really quite crap at about this time post marathon. I've been looking things up on t'internet and apparently post-marathon blues is very common as all the planning and preparation and training is focussed on the one single day and not enough thought about what happens afterwards and how you deal with the come down.
There is some medical science behind it too as you're so full of addrenalin in the weeks up to the run, that once you finish that all drains out of your body and your immune system plunges making you prone to any piddling illness that comes along and tries its luck. A bit like Superman when he's wearing that Kryptonite neck chain and even weedy Gene Hackman can have a pop at him.
So it is that this week I have been laid low, even slain by a troublesome stomach bug that started to make its presence known on Tuesday and by Thursday evening had well and truly moved in and refused to leave, despite many attempts and eviction.
I did even wonder if it was somehow appropriate that as the general election progressed on Thursday into Friday towards its inevitable stalemate, I was feeling worse and worse.
I was really looking forward to staying up to watch this great moment in history live from the BBC's ridiculously over-resourced and pointlessly expensive election studio, (still more bearable than Sky's bloody Kay Burleigh), but in the event I was barely able to keep my eyes open and was most concerned about missing the Bristol West result because of being in the loo most of the night.
But I really don't need to add to the huge expanse of commentary and ill-informed speculation surrounding that event.
I am more interested in this post-marathon stage of my life. I knew that it was important to keep training after the run and in fact I went out for a gentle 35 minute jog on the Thursday after the marathon, which felt fine.
I have got my next goal in sight, which is the Bristol half marathon, but after doing a full marathon it feels like I really don't have to try very hard to train for that.
Right now I obviously don't feel like training at all, but I'm sure that will change once I get over this bug.
But I've heard from a few people who are feeling really aimless and pretty low after the run because that huge event has now been and gone and there is a massive gap in our lives.
I never realised that could happen. I assumed I would be just ecstatic from the point I crossed the line until the day I died because of what I had achieved.
Truth is I felt really flat just as soon as I finished, probably because I had just given my all to finishing the run, and I did perk up after my first pint of shandy shortly after. Also, I was very happy indeed taking full advantage of an open bar at a wedding last weekend, for the first time in many months. I don't think Amy could get over how 'fun Bobby' had returned with such avengance.
But I am really worried about hitting a plateau and putting on weight. The day before the marathon I was 14st bang on, a week later I was 14st 8lbs. Today I'm back down to 13st 10lbs, but that's more to do with that bug than anything. So I'm looking forward to starting to train again for something, and my goal for the Bristol Half Marathon is hit 2hrs, which would be a personal best. What I really want to do though is run a marathon again and to be part of that huge event.
I didn't know I would feel like this and had no idea I'd desperately want to run another marathon. Now I know what it means when they say running is like a drug, I'm really feeling like I've gone cold turkey and really need my next hit. A half marathon is like a methadone substitute when you're desperate for the real thing. Although I'd like to make it clear I've never had to take methadone or heroin for that matter, merely projecting my own sense of withdrawal onto that extreme scenario.
Or maybe I should just go and get another hobby, building battleships from matches or something much less draining.
So, anybody know any good dealers I can get a marathon hit from?
It seems I'm not alone in feeling really quite crap at about this time post marathon. I've been looking things up on t'internet and apparently post-marathon blues is very common as all the planning and preparation and training is focussed on the one single day and not enough thought about what happens afterwards and how you deal with the come down.
There is some medical science behind it too as you're so full of addrenalin in the weeks up to the run, that once you finish that all drains out of your body and your immune system plunges making you prone to any piddling illness that comes along and tries its luck. A bit like Superman when he's wearing that Kryptonite neck chain and even weedy Gene Hackman can have a pop at him.
So it is that this week I have been laid low, even slain by a troublesome stomach bug that started to make its presence known on Tuesday and by Thursday evening had well and truly moved in and refused to leave, despite many attempts and eviction.
I did even wonder if it was somehow appropriate that as the general election progressed on Thursday into Friday towards its inevitable stalemate, I was feeling worse and worse.
I was really looking forward to staying up to watch this great moment in history live from the BBC's ridiculously over-resourced and pointlessly expensive election studio, (still more bearable than Sky's bloody Kay Burleigh), but in the event I was barely able to keep my eyes open and was most concerned about missing the Bristol West result because of being in the loo most of the night.
But I really don't need to add to the huge expanse of commentary and ill-informed speculation surrounding that event.
I am more interested in this post-marathon stage of my life. I knew that it was important to keep training after the run and in fact I went out for a gentle 35 minute jog on the Thursday after the marathon, which felt fine.
I have got my next goal in sight, which is the Bristol half marathon, but after doing a full marathon it feels like I really don't have to try very hard to train for that.
Right now I obviously don't feel like training at all, but I'm sure that will change once I get over this bug.
But I've heard from a few people who are feeling really aimless and pretty low after the run because that huge event has now been and gone and there is a massive gap in our lives.
I never realised that could happen. I assumed I would be just ecstatic from the point I crossed the line until the day I died because of what I had achieved.
Truth is I felt really flat just as soon as I finished, probably because I had just given my all to finishing the run, and I did perk up after my first pint of shandy shortly after. Also, I was very happy indeed taking full advantage of an open bar at a wedding last weekend, for the first time in many months. I don't think Amy could get over how 'fun Bobby' had returned with such avengance.
But I am really worried about hitting a plateau and putting on weight. The day before the marathon I was 14st bang on, a week later I was 14st 8lbs. Today I'm back down to 13st 10lbs, but that's more to do with that bug than anything. So I'm looking forward to starting to train again for something, and my goal for the Bristol Half Marathon is hit 2hrs, which would be a personal best. What I really want to do though is run a marathon again and to be part of that huge event.
I didn't know I would feel like this and had no idea I'd desperately want to run another marathon. Now I know what it means when they say running is like a drug, I'm really feeling like I've gone cold turkey and really need my next hit. A half marathon is like a methadone substitute when you're desperate for the real thing. Although I'd like to make it clear I've never had to take methadone or heroin for that matter, merely projecting my own sense of withdrawal onto that extreme scenario.
Or maybe I should just go and get another hobby, building battleships from matches or something much less draining.
So, anybody know any good dealers I can get a marathon hit from?
Monday, 3 May 2010
Piccies from the London Marathon
Just a few pics taken after the London Marathon, medal in hand, very happy and tired.
Monday, 26 April 2010
London Marathon 2010 - been there, done it!
So, I did it. The training paid off, the advice was well heeded, and I ran every damn step of the Virgin London Marathon 2010, in five hours and 24 mins.
It felt like so much energy, time, blood, sweat and tears had gone into this one day that once it was over I barely had enough energy left to celebrate it. I'm making up for that though.
It's hard to know where to start, there was so much happening over two days.
It started early on Saturday, 4.30am early to be precise, as I had to get the early bus to London so I could get to the Marathon Expo event and pick up my official number and timing chip.
They said to get there early in order to avoid the queues, but it also gave me lots of time to spend money of merchandise like three new London Marathon branded Adidas tops. I decided I'd worked hard enough to treat myself.
I spent the rest of the day in London with my friend Kirsty who has been filming my training progress for the past year, with more patience than I probably deserve. We went up to the starting point in Greenwich Park, which was full of people enjoying the very warm sun, and it just made me feel physically sick at the thought of running any distance.
I think I decided there and then that there was no way I could possibly run a marathon. What the hell was I thinking? Why had I even bothered applying in the first place.
But I also spoke to my friend Marc who assured me this was all normal and that 'cacking yourself' is all part of the build up.
That made me feel a bit better but I was still taken by a pervading sense of self doubt.
I spent the night at Amy's aunt and uncle's home in Rickmansworth as they kindly offered to let us use it as base camp for the weekend, and even laid on a specially-requested pre-marathon dish consisting of stir fried chicken in tomato and marscapone sauce with a huge amount of penne pasta. I had also had a chargrilled chicken fillet burger with chips and salad for lunch that day, so felt that I had probably done well with the carbo-loading.
Just before going to bed I fixed the number on to the front of my official British Heart Foundation running top which Amy had also fixed the letters spelling out my name on the night before.
Then I fixed the timing tag into my laces on my running shoes, checked that I'd remembered my shorts and other vitals, and slept fairly well.
Race day on Sunday was pretty busy from the off as well and the scene at the start was quite different from 24 hours previously.
It was simply heaving with people, it was like being at a music festival where everybody wears lycra instead of jeans and the faint aroma of Deep Heat fills the air rather than marijuana.
Although amazingly I did see a runner, must have been around 20 years old, walking up to the start smoking a fag.
Everybody had told me to just enjoy the day and that the hard work was over, but I found it really hard to enjoy much of the five hours and 24 mins I was on my feet. That's not to say I hated it, far from it, it was amazing and life affirming and all those things, but it was bloody hard work.
I'm glad I took my iPod with me because right from the start I had to really work hard to keep myself in check and stick to a very simple plan - start slowly, keep going slowly and eventually you'll make it.
But of course everybody around me was whizzing past like their arse was on fire, so with my specially selected tunes on which I'd trained with I was able to concentrate on just keeping to my own pace and, as the cliche goes, running my own race.
I had to keep taking my mind off the time and how long I thought I was going to take and just keep going on putting one foot in front of the other most of the time.
There was so much going on around me, a pantomime camel trotted past a couple of times, somebody in a full on Womble outfit, a couple of Fred Flintstones, at least two firemen in full breathing aparatus (which could have been an advantage if it wasn't so heavy) plenty of veteran in the 70 + category who happily went past me and one or two who gave me a nod of encouragement. And some brave/foolish soul in a suit of armour, although I'm pretty sure it wasn't really metal.
I'm really glad that I had my name on the front of my top as well because so many people shouted my name in encouragement, either that or some other bloke called Simon was running just behind and knows loads of people in London.
Now I'm not saying I'm a slow runner but for several miles the guy unwittingly acting as my pacemaker was a big bloke called Aitch who was running for the Meningitis Trust and was actually limping along through injury, but at just the right pace for me to keep going. So thanks Aitch, you may not have appreciated your injured right foot, but it helped me!
The crowds at the side of the road never seemed to disappear, they definitely thinned out, but were there all the way and I did enjoy getting some big cheers from Britsh Heart Foundation points and elsewhere.
I seemed to be running with a lot of the same people for much of the way, the although I only knew them from how they looked behind, some more appealing than others.
I also did my bit to encourage other runners, particularly other BHF runners, but it was noticable how much less sociable I became as my energy levels depleted.
It was really easy to get distracted by everything going on, so I'm pleased I kept my focus on what I needed to achieve and I as I approached 15 miles I felt it was going to get tough from that point. It was very timely that not long after that I managed to spot Amy who was waving madly, so I went over for a quick hug and word of encouragement, which boosted my energy for a little while.
A lot of people had taken to walking at this point as well, which I was kind of surprised about. I honestly thought that most people would be running all the way until about 20 or so. Getting through the next five miles was the hardest part in a way, although I'd done that distance before, it was just such a bloody long time to be running. When I made it to 20 I felt I would make it all the way from that point because I could start to count down the miles, slowly but surely.
I saw Amy again at 20, which helped too. Things did start to get quite gruelling though. At one point I couldn't tell who was walking and who was running and which I was doing. My feet were really hot and starting to feel very sore and although I knew I wasn't out of gas, my body was started to feel the pain of this most unnatural thing to be doing.
I made it to 22 miles a good five minutes quicker than I had in training which felt good but I also knew that from that point everything would be new and uncharted territory for me, but I knew I was so close that there was no way I was going to blow up.
I saw my parents at about this point, just as we were coming out of the City and round to the Embankment, they were waving hysterically and screaming my name as I couldn't hear them because of mu iPod up loud, but managed to see them at the last second. I reckoned it must be pretty tough on spectators to have to wait three or four hours for their loved one to come past only to watch them trundle on past without registering their support.
Coming down Embankment was when it really started to seem real to me. For most of the run, you are really running around residential streets and could be anywhere, apart from when you go over Tower Bridge, which I thought was alright but no Clifton Suspension Bridge.
Coming round the bend to go down Embankment at about 24 miles gives you the great London views and you know you are in sight of the finish almost. I'd been running for close to five hours by then and had to really dig deep for energy.
I had seen people pulling up with injuries, being treated by medics, at least one stretcher and one person taking off the course because they were so buggered, so I knew what could happen any second potentially but was determined not to fall at these final fences.
It was around this point that I knew why I had spent months and months training and preparing for this event. It all came down to these last few miles and despite the pain my feel and aching legs, I still had the strength to keep going.
I had done everything that people had advised. I'd taken the training very seriously, I'd done the long runs, I done the hill runs, I had taken a drink at every station to keep my hydrated, I'd used the gels to give me a boost and most important of all I hadn't gone off too fast.
It didn't matter that I was barely running any faster than most of the people walking around me, because it was my goal to run the London Marathon all the way, and I was doing it.
I found the pace that I was comfortable at, which involved little more than putting one foot in front of the other and I knew that if I just kept doing that I would get to the finish.
The tunes were giving me a lot of encouragement too, the Rocky theme tune moment was special, as was Faithless' God Is A DJ and of course my own theme tune Lose Yourself, by Eminem.
Embankment was great, loads of cheering and great crowd atmosphere, but then going under the 25 mile mark was just unbelievable. That was when I knew I was going to finish, there was no way I wasn't going to finish the last 1.2 miles, even if it had to be on my hands and knees.
Things were getting a bit cheesetastic on the iPod at this point and out of nowhere D-Ream started up with Things Can Only Get Better, which was surprisingly uplifting.
As we went round Parliament I did the most unbelievable sight of a Japanese couple who had been running the race, stopped in the middle of the course to take pictures of each other with Parliament in the background. I'm really not sure that was the best time for sightseeing.
I was past caring though and just fixing my sights on the Mall, which after almost five and a half hours came into view and I honestly couldn't believe I was there having run all the way.
I went under the huge banner saying 365 yards to go and felt like I might get a bit choked up. I was dreaming of finishing, taking a bath, eating a pizza, seeing Amy, showing off my medal and just not having to run.
Finally the finish line, and I crossed it in five hours, 24 mins and 20 seconds, placed 30,538 out of 36,578. Ahead of Michelle Heaton and Ricky Whittle to name but two 'celebs' Having trained for a year, lost four stone in weight and raised (so far) more than £2000 for the British Heart Foundation.
You'd think that would be enough, but weirdly my legs wouldn't stop running, it was like a scene out of the Wrong Trousers and I had no control over my limbs, I had to keep trotting around the finish area just to get them to stop spasming.
Got my medal, got my goodie bag and my kit bag (organisation of this event was spot on) and found Amy and my parents, at which point I started blubbing like a big fat baby.
I appreciate that reading this blog entry is a bit of a marathon experience in itself, so if you do get to this point, thank you and thank you for all your support, sponsorship, encouragement and general lovliness this last year. I may have been running it on my own but I felt like there was a lot of people with me - which there was obviously, but I don't mean the other runners, you know what I mean, even if it is a little trite.
I'm so pleased it went well because if I'd had to pull out or walk for several miles I think I'd never go back to running, but with this experience to inspire me I'd think I'd love to do it again, and maybe aim for that five hour personal best next time. Amy will be pleased that I might be training even harder for the next one! She'll be launching her own How to be a Marathon Widow blog soon.
Now all that's left to do is keep fundraising to hit my £3,000 target, which is actually harder than running a marathon - www.justgiving.co.uk/simonpeevers
It felt like so much energy, time, blood, sweat and tears had gone into this one day that once it was over I barely had enough energy left to celebrate it. I'm making up for that though.
It's hard to know where to start, there was so much happening over two days.
It started early on Saturday, 4.30am early to be precise, as I had to get the early bus to London so I could get to the Marathon Expo event and pick up my official number and timing chip.
They said to get there early in order to avoid the queues, but it also gave me lots of time to spend money of merchandise like three new London Marathon branded Adidas tops. I decided I'd worked hard enough to treat myself.
I spent the rest of the day in London with my friend Kirsty who has been filming my training progress for the past year, with more patience than I probably deserve. We went up to the starting point in Greenwich Park, which was full of people enjoying the very warm sun, and it just made me feel physically sick at the thought of running any distance.
I think I decided there and then that there was no way I could possibly run a marathon. What the hell was I thinking? Why had I even bothered applying in the first place.
But I also spoke to my friend Marc who assured me this was all normal and that 'cacking yourself' is all part of the build up.
That made me feel a bit better but I was still taken by a pervading sense of self doubt.
I spent the night at Amy's aunt and uncle's home in Rickmansworth as they kindly offered to let us use it as base camp for the weekend, and even laid on a specially-requested pre-marathon dish consisting of stir fried chicken in tomato and marscapone sauce with a huge amount of penne pasta. I had also had a chargrilled chicken fillet burger with chips and salad for lunch that day, so felt that I had probably done well with the carbo-loading.
Just before going to bed I fixed the number on to the front of my official British Heart Foundation running top which Amy had also fixed the letters spelling out my name on the night before.
Then I fixed the timing tag into my laces on my running shoes, checked that I'd remembered my shorts and other vitals, and slept fairly well.
Race day on Sunday was pretty busy from the off as well and the scene at the start was quite different from 24 hours previously.
It was simply heaving with people, it was like being at a music festival where everybody wears lycra instead of jeans and the faint aroma of Deep Heat fills the air rather than marijuana.
Although amazingly I did see a runner, must have been around 20 years old, walking up to the start smoking a fag.
Everybody had told me to just enjoy the day and that the hard work was over, but I found it really hard to enjoy much of the five hours and 24 mins I was on my feet. That's not to say I hated it, far from it, it was amazing and life affirming and all those things, but it was bloody hard work.
I'm glad I took my iPod with me because right from the start I had to really work hard to keep myself in check and stick to a very simple plan - start slowly, keep going slowly and eventually you'll make it.
But of course everybody around me was whizzing past like their arse was on fire, so with my specially selected tunes on which I'd trained with I was able to concentrate on just keeping to my own pace and, as the cliche goes, running my own race.
I had to keep taking my mind off the time and how long I thought I was going to take and just keep going on putting one foot in front of the other most of the time.
There was so much going on around me, a pantomime camel trotted past a couple of times, somebody in a full on Womble outfit, a couple of Fred Flintstones, at least two firemen in full breathing aparatus (which could have been an advantage if it wasn't so heavy) plenty of veteran in the 70 + category who happily went past me and one or two who gave me a nod of encouragement. And some brave/foolish soul in a suit of armour, although I'm pretty sure it wasn't really metal.
I'm really glad that I had my name on the front of my top as well because so many people shouted my name in encouragement, either that or some other bloke called Simon was running just behind and knows loads of people in London.
Now I'm not saying I'm a slow runner but for several miles the guy unwittingly acting as my pacemaker was a big bloke called Aitch who was running for the Meningitis Trust and was actually limping along through injury, but at just the right pace for me to keep going. So thanks Aitch, you may not have appreciated your injured right foot, but it helped me!
The crowds at the side of the road never seemed to disappear, they definitely thinned out, but were there all the way and I did enjoy getting some big cheers from Britsh Heart Foundation points and elsewhere.
I seemed to be running with a lot of the same people for much of the way, the although I only knew them from how they looked behind, some more appealing than others.
I also did my bit to encourage other runners, particularly other BHF runners, but it was noticable how much less sociable I became as my energy levels depleted.
It was really easy to get distracted by everything going on, so I'm pleased I kept my focus on what I needed to achieve and I as I approached 15 miles I felt it was going to get tough from that point. It was very timely that not long after that I managed to spot Amy who was waving madly, so I went over for a quick hug and word of encouragement, which boosted my energy for a little while.
A lot of people had taken to walking at this point as well, which I was kind of surprised about. I honestly thought that most people would be running all the way until about 20 or so. Getting through the next five miles was the hardest part in a way, although I'd done that distance before, it was just such a bloody long time to be running. When I made it to 20 I felt I would make it all the way from that point because I could start to count down the miles, slowly but surely.
I saw Amy again at 20, which helped too. Things did start to get quite gruelling though. At one point I couldn't tell who was walking and who was running and which I was doing. My feet were really hot and starting to feel very sore and although I knew I wasn't out of gas, my body was started to feel the pain of this most unnatural thing to be doing.
I made it to 22 miles a good five minutes quicker than I had in training which felt good but I also knew that from that point everything would be new and uncharted territory for me, but I knew I was so close that there was no way I was going to blow up.
I saw my parents at about this point, just as we were coming out of the City and round to the Embankment, they were waving hysterically and screaming my name as I couldn't hear them because of mu iPod up loud, but managed to see them at the last second. I reckoned it must be pretty tough on spectators to have to wait three or four hours for their loved one to come past only to watch them trundle on past without registering their support.
Coming down Embankment was when it really started to seem real to me. For most of the run, you are really running around residential streets and could be anywhere, apart from when you go over Tower Bridge, which I thought was alright but no Clifton Suspension Bridge.
Coming round the bend to go down Embankment at about 24 miles gives you the great London views and you know you are in sight of the finish almost. I'd been running for close to five hours by then and had to really dig deep for energy.
I had seen people pulling up with injuries, being treated by medics, at least one stretcher and one person taking off the course because they were so buggered, so I knew what could happen any second potentially but was determined not to fall at these final fences.
It was around this point that I knew why I had spent months and months training and preparing for this event. It all came down to these last few miles and despite the pain my feel and aching legs, I still had the strength to keep going.
I had done everything that people had advised. I'd taken the training very seriously, I'd done the long runs, I done the hill runs, I had taken a drink at every station to keep my hydrated, I'd used the gels to give me a boost and most important of all I hadn't gone off too fast.
It didn't matter that I was barely running any faster than most of the people walking around me, because it was my goal to run the London Marathon all the way, and I was doing it.
I found the pace that I was comfortable at, which involved little more than putting one foot in front of the other and I knew that if I just kept doing that I would get to the finish.
The tunes were giving me a lot of encouragement too, the Rocky theme tune moment was special, as was Faithless' God Is A DJ and of course my own theme tune Lose Yourself, by Eminem.
Embankment was great, loads of cheering and great crowd atmosphere, but then going under the 25 mile mark was just unbelievable. That was when I knew I was going to finish, there was no way I wasn't going to finish the last 1.2 miles, even if it had to be on my hands and knees.
Things were getting a bit cheesetastic on the iPod at this point and out of nowhere D-Ream started up with Things Can Only Get Better, which was surprisingly uplifting.
As we went round Parliament I did the most unbelievable sight of a Japanese couple who had been running the race, stopped in the middle of the course to take pictures of each other with Parliament in the background. I'm really not sure that was the best time for sightseeing.
I was past caring though and just fixing my sights on the Mall, which after almost five and a half hours came into view and I honestly couldn't believe I was there having run all the way.
I went under the huge banner saying 365 yards to go and felt like I might get a bit choked up. I was dreaming of finishing, taking a bath, eating a pizza, seeing Amy, showing off my medal and just not having to run.
Finally the finish line, and I crossed it in five hours, 24 mins and 20 seconds, placed 30,538 out of 36,578. Ahead of Michelle Heaton and Ricky Whittle to name but two 'celebs' Having trained for a year, lost four stone in weight and raised (so far) more than £2000 for the British Heart Foundation.
You'd think that would be enough, but weirdly my legs wouldn't stop running, it was like a scene out of the Wrong Trousers and I had no control over my limbs, I had to keep trotting around the finish area just to get them to stop spasming.
Got my medal, got my goodie bag and my kit bag (organisation of this event was spot on) and found Amy and my parents, at which point I started blubbing like a big fat baby.
I appreciate that reading this blog entry is a bit of a marathon experience in itself, so if you do get to this point, thank you and thank you for all your support, sponsorship, encouragement and general lovliness this last year. I may have been running it on my own but I felt like there was a lot of people with me - which there was obviously, but I don't mean the other runners, you know what I mean, even if it is a little trite.
I'm so pleased it went well because if I'd had to pull out or walk for several miles I think I'd never go back to running, but with this experience to inspire me I'd think I'd love to do it again, and maybe aim for that five hour personal best next time. Amy will be pleased that I might be training even harder for the next one! She'll be launching her own How to be a Marathon Widow blog soon.
Now all that's left to do is keep fundraising to hit my £3,000 target, which is actually harder than running a marathon - www.justgiving.co.uk/simonpeevers
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