You wrote that finishing the Edinburgh marathon last year left you feeling "wretched" with nothing but "pain, grief, heartache and fury" at those who conned you into believing it was a good idea. I'm sorry, though not entirely surprised, that you didn't enjoy it. I ran in Edinburgh too last year, and by the time the gun went off I was already soaked to my skin from standing in the freezing rain, cursing the weather, the organisers for not providing anything in the way of shelter at the start, and myself for being daft enough to have decided that running there would make up for giving up my place in the London marathon after a bad spring cold kept me off the road for three weeks. Yet by the time I crossed the line I could honestly say I'd had a wonderful time (apart from miles 15-17, which were uphill and with what the Scots call a "brisk sea wind" in my face). There comes a point in every race when I promise myself this will be the last one. But I'll be out there on Sunday, running my fourth London marathon (my ninth marathon in total) and trying to trim a few minutes off my time. Mostly, however, I will just taking in the spectacle.
As you said, for anyone running this year the physical preparation is over. A little reassurance might still be welcome, though, particularly for those first-timers who read your article with a sense of mounting panic. Because attitude matters. Harnessing the narcissistic fantasies and mid-life crises of thousands of people to raise millions of pounds for good causes is the great glory of the London marathon. Still, anyone who begins the race feeling anxious and resentful, yet obliged to carry on because of a commitment to charity is going to find the going tougher than it needs to be. So perhaps it is worth thinking about why my experience in Edinburgh was so different from yours.
For one thing, I'm slower than you are. I ran my first London marathon in 4 hours 45 minutes. I have done New York in over five hours. Of course I'd like to be faster - that's one reason I'm still at it. And, though I'd like to think I'm not really competitive at all, the great joy I took in finishing London 2006 two seconds faster than my north London neighbour, the journalist and broadcaster David Aaronovitch, would suggest otherwise. For any first-timer, though, it's nice to have a time to shoot for (I was actually hoping for 3 hours 30 minutes my first time). But it is probably more helpful to simply aim to finish on two feet. A friend told me you run your first marathon to finish, and your second one to beat the time you achieved on your first one.
Running more slowly also allows you more time to enjoy the scenery. And the crowds. New York has the best crowd energy in the world, but London is catching up. And the other runners in London seem friendlier, funnier and less afflicted with that terrible killer intensity that sometimes distinguishes my country's athletes (I'm from the US). Certainly the costumes here are more outrageous - I did once have to explain to my younger son that I was very keen to finish ahead of the guy in the rhino suit.
It also helps to know why you are out there. I have run most of my marathons for charity. But I ran my first after my younger brother died of an aortic aneurysm. The wall of his heart just blew out. He was 41 and not very fit, and, though exercise probably wouldn't have saved him, when a man at his funeral told me he had begun running marathons at 60, something in my head clicked. I was 44 and out of shape after three children and a very sedentary life. But in high school back in Memphis I used to freak out the track coach by training barefoot like my heroes, the great Kenyan marathoners. It wasn't so much the fitness (though I have come to enjoy the extra energy and endurance) as the sense that this had long been an item on my life's "to do" list and that, as my brother's death brought home, you never know how much time you will have.
Finally, though, I suspect the biggest reason I keep enjoying my races is that I no longer run alone. I did run my first race on my own - at least until mile 10, when I struck up a conversation with an orthopedic surgeon from Addenbrooke's hospital wearing a T-shirt that said, "Ask me about knee and hip replacement." At that point I felt ready for his services but we kept each other company for the next 10 miles, and his family even brought an extra banana to mile 17 to boost my energy levels.
Running the New York marathon gives me an excuse to spend time with Larry, an old college friend who lives in St Louis and who I'd otherwise never see. In Edinburgh, I ran with Ben, a London friend who I really only get to see when we train together. Francis, who was at school with Ben and who I otherwise only see across a poker table, joins us for the very long runs. (One tip: if you ever weaken in your resolve and run another marathon, do at least one run of 26 miles or longer during training. Physically it helps to have the miles under your belt, but psychologically it makes a huge difference to know you can do - and have done- the distance.)
In 2006, Ben and I ran London in 4:24:10; Francis, who started with us, finished four minutes ahead. But our time that blustery day in Edinburgh was 4:18:13. Which is another reason we will be out there on Sunday. How many other sports are there where at age 50 (Ben would have me add that he is several years younger) you can just keep getting better?
Read Patrick Barkham's original article here. DD Guttenplan has a lottery place this year and so is raising money for his friends' causes. Breakthrough Breast Cancer was founded as a memorial to Ben's mother, Toby Robins. Donate at justgiving.com/benfreedman. Redress is a London-based organisation that assists torture survivors. Make a contribution at justgiving.com/francisfitzgibbon
