The Hallifordian - 2016-2017

47 A London Marathon Story Only now can I, with some confidence, con- sider myself a ‘runner’. I suppose I started to take up running in 2005 soon after meeting the future Mrs Duffield, she be- ing a keen middle distance runner and regular gym- goer. It seemed the sensible and healthy thing to do; join in with the runs, offer a bit of support, try to lose some weight. Within a year of jogging away clumsi- ly beside, or more truthfully, behind her, I found my- self pressured to enter the Bermuda Half Marathon. I ran it, coming in at just over 2 hours in gagging humidity and stinging sun. I enjoyed it; the crowds, the sense of satisfaction and that strange sense of peace and contentment so often referred to as ‘run- ner’s high’. But one overriding thought struck me; how on earth could anyone do what I just did twice over? 13.1 miles seemed more than enough for me. One would have to be unhinged to train to run 26.2 miles! “I found myself enjoying the discipline of it all.” Fast forward to just over a decade, a decade littered with a handful of half-marathons, casual 10ks and silly mud-runs; I am approached on a dank and drear January morning by a canny Mr Bardg- ett, offering a ‘most exciting opportunity’; ‘I might just have a place in the London Marathon for you if you’re interested?’ says he. ‘Good Lord no’ , say I, ‘Sorry – I’d love to run it but I could never find the time to do the training runs!’ Driving home that night, I realised I had shut down the conversation too quickly. My head filled up with thoughts; This is a dream opportunity! If I say no, someone else will say yes! Can I do this? Where will I fit in the training? Will I have to stop eating sausages? What happens if I get injured? I don’t want to let people down! And so on. I got home, excited, floundered in and blurt- ed out to a surprised Mrs D; ‘I might have a place in the London Marathon! Do you think I can do it?’ She looked me squarely in the eye and said, ‘of course you can. You’ve just got to make it happen.’ Relieved that Mr Bardgett hadn’t found someone else to say yes, I was signed up within a couple of days and introduced to The White Lodge Centre in Chertsey for whom I would run and raise money. And so started a four month journey of mid- week training runs in the dark and cold, at times in the evening when I really would prefer to be on the sofa, and the long slog Sunday morning runs at the expense of that extra glass of red the previous night. I found myself enjoying the discipline of it all; the way I felt after each run. The runs were quite simply horrible at times, but the sense of having done it and getting back to a warm house was great. The sounds of the early 90s piped into my ears kept me moving forward; The Charlatans, Stone Roses, Primal Scream, Oasis, James. I enjoyed thinking about eating the right stuff. I trimmed down a bit. I was sleeping well at night. I was looking at the posi- tives rather than the negatives. So when I found myself in a starting pen on Greenwich Park on Sunday 23 April, among thou- sands of jostling, anxious but colourful runners, I had to remind myself; I am here. I could not have trained any harder; you’ve just got to make the next 4 to 5 hours happen . The London Marathon was amazing, aw- ful, exhilarating and down-right painful. I loved it. Nothing prepares you for the uplifting sense of support and community that carries you along for 26.2 miles. Anyone who doubts the human spirit and man’s capacity for warmth and goodness should