Week sixteen

I was trying to tell someone this week what I did for last year's New Year's Eve and I literally couldn't remember.  It was only 4 months ago for pity's sake.  However, I remember where I was for at least the last 4 London Marathons - sitting on my sofa, watching the London Marathon.

Why on earth had I never been to actually watch it?  Its a London institution, regarded by many as the world's best and is the biggest annual fund raising event in the world.  I've always loved watching it on TV, while I idly sit on my sofa, eating toast, drinking tea and generally being the epitome of British apathy.   Everyone loves a hero, a trooper, a saint - someone that does something hardcore and out of the ordinary for philanthropic reasons, which is why it makes for such good viewing.  We love hearing the runners tell their stories.  Its the great British public at their best, coming together and doing good.

Would it be as good standing amongst the throngs of bodies, in the heat and jostling for a less than adequate view?  Too right it would.

My darling friend Raymund, of previous Sunday Shoots fame was running this year and I went down to cheer him on.  He fastidiously estimated where he would be and and at what time so with this in mind,  I chose to start the day in Bermondsey at around mile 11.  Somehow I managed to wheedle my way right in and sat down on the pavement keeping my legs as close in as possible or else I could have just tripped the runners over.  The great thing about some of the less central locations is that are no barriers blocking you in.

I quickly realised my mission for the day was to take as many photos of people running in fancy dress as possible.  They are to the marathon what cuddly toys are to the Generation Game - they get the biggest cheer.

What I also quickly caught on to is the awesome team spirit of everyone there.  Many of the runners have their names written on their outfits to encourage cameraderie and soon I was shouting "come on Chris", "you can do it Michael", "keep going Tony" and so on.  Its just brilliant and this is something that isn't picked up on so much when watching it on the TV.

Something else that is obviously a lot more apparent when being amongst it all is the emotion of it.  But such mixed emotions - feelings of total joy versus complete heartbreak.  I felt both and kept crying throughout the whole day - I'm such a big wet (I get it from my Dad) but I couldn't help it.  When I saw one particular person running with such happiness on their face I cried.  When I saw a man realise he'd just run past his family, turn back and kiss his kids on the heads and then run on, I cried.  Then, at mile 25 when I saw a man's legs turn to jelly and could not stand up again I cried.  Phew.

Back to Bermondsey and at 11.45am I saw a flash of yellow and a dripping, glistening body come hurtling towards me.  I've never seen anyone sweat as much as Raymund but I still let him hug me as I was so thrilled to see him.  Its such a great feeling when you see someone you know running and you can spur them on.  He did some lovely posing for me and then he was off.

I then made my way to Westminster where I met my friend Will and we had a cheeky beer in the sun before strolling towards mile 25 at Embankment.  The stretch along the river is just gorgeous and although you might not get so close the noise is infectious.  You do get a great view though, if you  can get onto the bridge:

Finally Will and I made our way through to the Horse Guards Parade where people had already finished and were hobbling along proudly with their medals.  Some people didn't even have a sweat on - they literally just looked like they'd been for a walk down to the shops.  Sickening.

We had a final wander down the mall and cheered people on just as they were making it round to the home stretch.  I saw another man clock his family and shimmy over to kiss them.  He ran off. I cried.

If you've never been to watch the Marathon, I implore you to do so.  It will restore your faith in courage, chivalry and humanity. I think its a safe bet to assume that next year I won't be watching the Marathon from the comfort of my own home.

Next week its secret cinema.  Shhhh.  Don't tell anyone.