The snaking marathon could be clearly seen from the Southbank Centre... perhaps not so clearly in this picture though.
That I've gotten to the rather ripe age of errr... 21 (shut up) now and never braved London on Marathon Sunday is something, as I realised yesterday, I'm not really proud of. And neither, I realised too, did "staying in" all those years pay off particularly. Don't get me wrong, my fitness is appalling to the extent I'd probably collapse half-way through the warm up - so I do have colossal admiration for the thousands so very much more dedicated than I am. But it's just...well I guess I've always just chosen to send good wishes & heartiest congratulations telepathically you see. Let me explain.
In the few days preceding the event, I've always felt an aura of anticipation is 'created' of what is to befall the city - "Half a million enthusiastic supporters will line the streets of London", "And now for the travel news, viewers are reminded that there will be station closures...", "Those taking part in the marathon can expect unseasonably warm temperatures..." Now. Let's be honest. It's pretty easy for such...erm, persistent updates to conjure images of being squashed and piled on overflowing platforms, waiting for already crowded, heaving trains. And that's even before you're squished and packed into one like a tinned sardine - under a bloke's sweaty armpit if you're really unlucky, it is unseasonably warm remember? - only to get out the other side and find pushing and shoving is the name of the game (Sorry if this sounds horrifically similar to your daily journey home).
Well, the marathon sure put me in my place yesterday. And though I do have to hold my hands up that we didn't actually go for purposes of watching it (more on that tomorrow) I saw London in a light that is wholly absent on the dreary, routine work commute each morning. There was euphoria, excitement and easiness. Was there commotion? Yes. But chaos? No. Was I in awe? Yes. But overwhelmed? No.
Were you watching?
xx
That I've gotten to the rather ripe age of errr... 21 (shut up) now and never braved London on Marathon Sunday is something, as I realised yesterday, I'm not really proud of. And neither, I realised too, did "staying in" all those years pay off particularly. Don't get me wrong, my fitness is appalling to the extent I'd probably collapse half-way through the warm up - so I do have colossal admiration for the thousands so very much more dedicated than I am. But it's just...well I guess I've always just chosen to send good wishes & heartiest congratulations telepathically you see. Let me explain.
In the few days preceding the event, I've always felt an aura of anticipation is 'created' of what is to befall the city - "Half a million enthusiastic supporters will line the streets of London", "And now for the travel news, viewers are reminded that there will be station closures...", "Those taking part in the marathon can expect unseasonably warm temperatures..." Now. Let's be honest. It's pretty easy for such...erm, persistent updates to conjure images of being squashed and piled on overflowing platforms, waiting for already crowded, heaving trains. And that's even before you're squished and packed into one like a tinned sardine - under a bloke's sweaty armpit if you're really unlucky, it is unseasonably warm remember? - only to get out the other side and find pushing and shoving is the name of the game (Sorry if this sounds horrifically similar to your daily journey home).
Well, the marathon sure put me in my place yesterday. And though I do have to hold my hands up that we didn't actually go for purposes of watching it (more on that tomorrow) I saw London in a light that is wholly absent on the dreary, routine work commute each morning. There was euphoria, excitement and easiness. Was there commotion? Yes. But chaos? No. Was I in awe? Yes. But overwhelmed? No.
Were you watching?
xx
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