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Arrived an hour early at my ‘holding pen’ for the start which was surprisingly emotional with about 15,000 people in the ‘red zone’ and a vast proportion of these running “in memory of …” with a picture of a young child on their t-shirt and one mother running for the loss of all 3 of her children all from different illnesses each with their innocent, young and happy faces on her t-shirt. It was impossible not to be affected by this.

There was, amongst the sadness and reflection a wonderful spirit of optimism and laughter as we set off the commentator on the loudspeaker telling us to “enjoy the next couple of hours” all of us knowing full well the following hours would be tough. And then immediately the roar of the crowds which was continuous along the entire 26.2 miles through the beauty of Greenwich, the bands playing everyone outside their houses cheering us on many holding up signs including a lady with a sign that read “Your legs are on fire but my arms are aching holding up this sign!” Another lady with a sign “Just engaged and my fiancée is already running away”, a mad ‘preacher’ telling us we are all ‘the spawn of the devil’, all the while chugging along in good shape and watching my cadence, form, everything that Clare and Shane had drilled into me. From time to time passing people in wonderful fancy dress costumes from Tyrannosaurus Rex towering over runners and spectators alike, Spiderman, a man carrying a washing machine, Wonder woman, a dragon and, craziest of all, a man wearing nothing other than a loin cloth (not even shoes) carrying a crucifix I would love to know if he made it to the end. Passed the inspiring Cutty Sark and then at 13 miles crossed Tower Bridge which was surprisingly uplifting, beautiful creation, and turned right towards Canary Wharf with not so much as a stitch and feeling 100% with no need to call upon any inner strength. Canary Wharf was not inspiring, to me a soulless place of colossal buildings entirely out of scale with humans and nature but still the crowds cheered, at about mile 15 I could feel my toe nail being slowly pulled out in every step and I felt (very) sorry for myself…but after about 30 seconds of deliberating what to do I decided there was nothing to be done other than to stop feeling sorry for myself and extraordinarily this worked blanking out the pain in its entirety. Throughout all of this I kept up with a pace runner for the 4 hour 40 minute time and thanked my lucky stars that nothing was going wrong, no pain, all the multitude of problems I had incurred in training at bay and on course to achieve all I had set out for. But then from about mile 19-20 I felt something going wrong and guessed it was a need for salt but look as I might there was every kind of gel and sweet being offered by the ever generous public but no one with nuts or crisps and then very suddenly I felt very ill and struggled to run in a straight line - everything appeared to be ‘closing down’ the noise of the crowd became indistinct and the next thing I knew a course Marshall had me on the side against the barrier. When he turned his back I ran (staggered) back into the runners, tried to run but could not keep a straight line, but determined to finish and not risk being pulled out walked the final three miles using all the concentration I had and remembering why I was doing this. Like those at the beginning of the course with the pictures of their spouse, mother, father and and saddest of all children this is my memorial to my late father - I previously built a monument for selfish reasons but the raising of what will be in excess of £20,000 is to ensure others do not suffer as my father did and so I feel now what is called ‘closure’.

For the statistics I lost about 1.5 kilos, burnt I believe about 4,000 calories, and (I await the official time) ran the course in 5 hours and 3 minutes.

Finally a huge ‘thank you’ to all of you who have been part of ‘Team Frederick’ supporting me in so many ways from financial donations to The Head and Neck Cancer Foundation, to providing encouragement throughout my training and above all to Professor Mark McGurk and Luke Cascarini for all the extraordinary work and skills they bring to improve the lives of others - to them go the laurels. Thank you.

Frederick (John) Hervey-Bathurst 1934-2011

I am in the dog house. My wife had taken on board Clare’s instruction to ensure I eat well this week and left a chicken pie in the oven with a scrawled note. I looked everywhere for the chicken pie, but not in the oven, so burnt some pasta to chew on. {Dog won’t touch it}. Trouble and Strife very cross indeed on her return and told me I am “utterly hopeless”, well I learnt to stop listening 25 years ago - but perhaps I should read the scrawls in future. Whoops!

For your information!

It is possible to track my progress on Sunday, my running number is 53427 via the following link:

http://newsletter.realbuzz.com/newsletter/view/569/ac452478-da5f-4fcb-a5e9-687eae0ded0c/

Regular readers will know, indeed often say, I am far too kind to my wife. This morning I took a cup of tea up to my wife, at this critical stage I would bet Mo Farah has tea brought to him, Scaramanga had his particular demands prior to using one of his very expensive golden bullets as did gladiators in ancient Rome. I was told, having accepted the tea and on the way out of the bedroom seconds later (in a growly voice) “to conserve your strength at your age you’ll need every bit of it!” - bet no one spoke to a gladiator like that.

One hour of stretching, drinking gallons of water - have to carry a bucket round with me if I drink much more, and many psychological pains in knees, ankles in fact pretty much everywhere, risk of turning into a hypochondriac if I am not careful.

It was the best of days and the worst of days - to misquote Dickens.

One is required to register in London prior to Sunday in person with identification or send a proxy with covering letter. I was first to register handing over to the lady behind the counter my confirmation of a place with passport only to be asked for the letter.
“But I am the runner” say I. With a look of utter incredulity the lady responds “Oh, goodness! Well GOOD LUCK then!”

I then have to enter the exhibition area in order to collect the tag which will provide me with an official time, inside the average age of participants and staff is at least 25 years younger than me …I scuttle out at speed.

On the train home I read the final official instructions including much about how many and how runners are badly injured [run down by those in wheelchairs] and die [heart attacks and drinking too much water on the day]. I arrived at Winchester station thoroughly dispirited.

But then my spirits lifted, on arrival at New Energy Fitness I find the following sign on the changing room door:

Rest day = time to ponder the horror of this coming Sunday.

Houghton Trail Run of just over 11 kms (7 miles) with Clare, John, Emma and others from New Energy Fitness through beautiful countryside. At the obligatory ‘elf & safety’ talk we were told “to follow the red arrows” to which a few of us looked up to the sky and Mike (Clare’s husband) was heard to mutter “b……. hell I can’t go that fast!” (And Mike was on a bicycle so imagine how depressed the rest of us felt – not good for my confidence with just a week to go). 1 hour, 5 minutes to cover 7 miles with a good long hill thrown in.

Clare now treats me like a race horse pointing out every possible hazard lest I injure myself before next Sunday with shouts of “wire…puddle…” the list is numerous, it was suggested I should be bandaged on the way up to London in the train lest I bruise myself, but just as I was beginning to enjoy being molly coddled (I like strong women – Margaret Thatcher was my ultimate ‘pin-up’) a quantity of cold water is thrown over me by Clare to remind me to “drink and engage core”. At lunch Mrs Thatcher took on my wife, a courageous move (perhaps even foolish – akin to sending the girl guides into Afghanistan to fight the Taliban), to ensure I am on the correct diet - important that everyone in ‘Team Frederick’ are pulling their weight. (I am eating so much porridge oats that I have to control my neighing and tend to kick and bite rather a lot).

More rest days! But I think, like one’s last meal before going in front of the firing squad best not to get too excited about these ‘rest days’. (Perhaps I should accept the blindfold on the 24^th?)

One hour of stretching and core strength with Shane (who I am certain has been told in no uncertain terms by Clare not to ‘damage me’) followed by a 45 minute run covering 7.25 (4.5 miles) with the running club at which I met a ‘fellow fool’ who is also running the marathon – both she and her husband applied in the ballot for tickets, her husband was unsuccessful but the wife clearly not bright enough to ‘generously donate’ her ticket to her hubby.

Rest day.

Running with Clare, high speed of just 33 minutes covering 5.63 km (pace 5.51/km) a salient reminder not to whizz off too fast on the 24^th April with heart rate monitor, apparently the statistics (below), which I do not understand, are good.

The marathon starts in Blackheath and finishes at St James’s but goes through places I would much rather not go, Bermondsley, Wapping, Isle of Dogs (say’s it all), Poplar (‘not’), Limehouse, Shadwell, Whitechapel (a rough place in Dickens time – I hope it has improved since) before finally reaching civilization at the Strand. (Prices of property on the Monopoly board tell all on need’s to know). Would the organisers mind if I ran through Chelsea, South Kensington and Park Lane?

Donations generously flowing in, alas several ‘anonymous’ so please if you are reading this let me know whom you are so I can write and thank you and claim the gift aid.

A much needed stretching and core strength session with Shane because, of course, I don’t bother at home. Shane has to be ‘nice’ to me now with less than 2 weeks to go – cannot risk an injury!

A 12.7 km run at a sedate pace, with Clare, over 1 ½ hours and a moment of sheer magic when I turned to tell Clare “Oh do catch up!”

Not sure I should admit it but, against my better judgment, I am finally enjoying the runs not simply because I feel so well (afterwards) but more because I have an absolute confidence in the programme Clare and Shane have created, if told we will do ‘x, y and z’ then I know it can be done and I will do it to the very best of my ability. And, finally, being able to chat whilst running on subjects as diverse as the death of Seneca (advisor to Nero and caught up in a plot to murder the emperor was ordered to take his own life cutting his arteries behind his knees and wrists in a steam bath) and Christina Rossetti’s haunting poem:

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann’d
Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray
Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad

Rest day.

Odysseus gave his name to the word ‘odyssey’ which the training most certainly is. Clare is the Siren calling me back early from the coast of Devon to train, “No (runner) ever (passed) this spot without listening to the honey-sweet tones that flow from (Clare’s) lips and no one who has listened has not been delighted and gone on his way a wiser man” (The Sirens, Odyssey). And so I hope I will enter the marathon on the 24^th April a ‘wiser man’. Unlike Jason and his Argonauts who passed by the Sirens on their quest for the Golden Fleece I can neither sing or play the lyre so I took the simpler option, favoured by Odysseus, of placing wax in my ears thereby avoiding the fate of those who sailed by Scylla and Charybdis.

Ran 8.64 km in 51 minutes with hills. Pace 5.57/km

The bad news is my my 6 mile walk today (rest day) took 2 hours and 40 minutes which puts me on course to complete the London marathon in almost 12 hours!

The good news is that I have made an important financial discovery which, managing a financial services company, was a eureka moment the only difference is that unlike Archimedes I did not run naked to publicise my discovery - I was struggling to walk let alone run.

Today’s walk involved stopping for lunch at The Oyster Shack. A year ago, almost to the day, I visited The Oyster Shack and enjoyed a first course of crab mousse followed by a main course of lobster thermidor (which was so delicious I had a second) and then an extraordinarily wonderful pudding of oysters with a champagne sorbet complimented by several glasses of a ‘sophisticated’ {read ‘expensive’} white wine. The bill was vast and it was worth every penny. Today’s lunch was simply pathetic, a small bowl of crab soup was filling and by the time I had finished a single lobster, a runt of the sea, I could eat nothing more. The only good news was the bill was a minute fraction of last year - I saved enough money to fly to the furthest reaches of the planet which I might just have to do on the 24th April if I am still somewhere along the course after 12 hours.

Fools Day Sometimes I think I must be the fool to have started this. Rest day for me, but not my wife, who as I type is en-route for a private running session with Clare in anticipation for joining a new running club with the aim of running 3 miles in the distant future. Last night my wife was eating comfort food (entire packet of chocolate hobnob biscuits) in anticipation of today’s rigorous lesson.