WILL THE REAL LONDON VIRGINS PLEASE STAND UP?

THE VIRGIN LONDON MARATHON IS 30 YEARS OLD NEXT SUNDAY – WANT MAKES IT SO SPECIAL?

At Mile 26, just about 400 yards short of the finish line of the 2010 Virgin London Marathon, Nick Martin pulled up with severe cramp, unable to run any further. Seeing this, fellow runner Mike Charlton, a 6’6” an ex-Royal Marine dressed in a pink tutu, stopped and offered a helping hand. Charlton was within throwing distance of completing his fifth marathon in five weeks in five different countries. He said later:

            “I must admit that I had absolutely no idea who he was, he was just another runner in need of a little help on Sunday, it was the least I could do. The London Marathon is not about times, it's about people. Thirty-six thousand runners with a story to tell, and the millions of spectators willing you to the finish. I couldn't leave him; it meant more to me to help than it ever would have to sprint to the line.”

            Sunday 17^th April is the thirtieth anniversary of the London Marathon, an event, like many other foot-races, which was born in a pub: the Dysart Arms in Richmond. John Disley CBE, and Chris Brasher CBE who died in 2003, were both former Olympic medallists who had run the New York Marathon in 1979. They returned inspired by the carnival atmosphere and determined that London should host a marathon that would reflect the magnificence of the city, and all that is inspirational and aspirational about being British. Brasher wrote an article for The Observer entitled “The World’s Most Human Race” which became the springboard for a lengthy and difficult gestation which led to the inaugural race on 29th March, 1981.

            And now, thirty years on it is an event which is still massively over-subscribed, draws hundreds of thousands to the capital simply to watch, and embodies everything which is good about the human condition: endurance, selflessness and compassion. It is simply known as ‘The Marathon’. There are many harder marathons; marathons run at high altitude over precarious terrain; marathons run across the Sahara or the Antarctic. And there are ultra-distance marathons: marathons which make road marathons look easy; marathons run back-to-back over several days – even several weeks. No sooner than someone comes up with the ultimate running challenge, someone else comes up with something harder.

            But whilst these extreme events may still be the province of the elite or the insane (and we should really slip in the “self-publicists” here) the fact remains that each of the thirty-five thousand or so runners who cross the finish line on Pall Mall next Sunday are also in some way ‘elite’. This, in no small way, explains the draw of the London Marathon: it is a race for ordinary people.

            Let me go further: ten years ago, I achieved my running zenith: I managed a creditable performance in the highest marathon on earth: The Everest Marathon. I’ll not bore you with the details, but I felt rather proud of what I’d achieved (sorry – one detail – I finished just behind a runner who had run the “London” that year in 2 hours 18 minutes).

            When I returned, and had sufficiently divested myself of the stench of the furthest reaches of the Third World, I walked into my local pub proudly wearing my “Reebok Everest Marathon” T shirt. I only wore it the once. I was bombarded with questions: “Did you run all the way to the top?” “Did that double glazing firm sponsor you?” “What was the weather like?” “Did your mobile work?” “Do you want to buy some raffle tickets?” Of course the question that really irked me the most and reinforced the triviality of my achievement was: “Have you ever run the London Marathon?” No amount of explaining that you had to trek in freezing conditions for three weeks to reach the start…or that it was -30 degrees and you had to dig yourself out of your snow-clad tent on race day…or that one runner was gored by a rampant Yak whilst another slipped and almost fell three thousand feet to his death in the Dudh Khosi river…none of this did anything to dispel the widely held view that: “…well, if you haven’t run the “London”, then you’re not a proper marathoner! Now, would you like to buy some raffle tickets?”

            And I suppose this is why the London Marathon is so special: it’s about community, it’s a carnival for the people, a huge rainbow of an event; it’s just as hard for Tsegaye Kebede or Paula Radcliffe at the front, as it is for Joe Bloggs from Swindon at the back running in a giraffe suit.

            And that, to be blunt, is why I would never want to run London. Crowds so dense that you are unable to jog for at least the first mile; the jolliness of the thing and the notion that I am a part of the Greater Good of Humanity, moving together towards some Laudable Goal is an anathema as to what running is for me. For me, running has always been about measurable and tangible achievement; it is about times, about solitude and isolation, long stretches of wild country where you never see another living creature. I have only ever run one road half marathon; I finished in a time of one hour and fourteen minutes; this, I decided, was a time that I was unlikely to improve on so I never ran another one.

            But for most, running is about fellowship and a shared experience; working towards some common end-point. Tracey Phillips, 45, has four children, and this will be her fifth “London”. She hasn’t trained as hard for this race as in the past and doubts that she will beat her personal best: 3 hours and 58 minutes. “Actually”, Tracey from Moss-side in Manchester told me, “I just want to finish this one; hopefully I’ll get a nice bit of mouth-to-mouth from a fit ambulance man at the finish!” Jane is running for “Refuge”, a charity for victims of domestic violence. “I was going to run in a bear costume”, she said, “But my husband said if he sees me bare I’ll be the one who’ll be battered…think he mis-heard me.” For Tracey, who is running with friends Fiona and Carol, it is all about the colour and the banter with other runners along the way. “It’s a bit like clubbing really, but everyone’s going in the same direction. I got asked out three times last year. Mind you, it was all by blokes running in bananas suits.” Tracey hopes to raise over £1500 for Refuge.

            And giving is another reason why “London” is so enduring: charities have done extremely well from The Marathon; half a billion pounds have been raised since 1981 from an event which may have never have got going were it not for a stroke of luck. With the necessary approvals in place – including a petition to Her Majesty to hold the changing of the Guard one hour earlier – Brasher and Disley hit a major obstacle: they anticipated being £75,000 out of pocket. Luckily, in stepped Gillette who had just dropped their sponsorship of cricket, which was about as popular as, well, cricket, and promised to stump up £75,000 per event for the next three years.

            The inaugural race was a massive success enhanced by American Dick Beardsley and Norwegian Inge Simonsen crossing the finish line together holding hands. While this was terrific for publicity - The Daily Mail daubed it: “The Hand of Friendship” - it didn’t sit well with everyone. At the finish line, the President of the Amateur Athletic Association declared that: “…if they ever do that again, I’ll disqualify both of them for impeding or assisting!”

            An hour and a half later, the “Wild Man of Running” ex-world 10,000 metre record holder David Bedford - currently Race Director - crossed the finish line. Bedford’s race preparation was, to say the least, unusual. He had no intention of participating until around 10pm on the night before the race when he was challenged to run by a punter in his nightclub. By this time, Bedford had consumed several pints of beer. He recounted on BBC Radio 4’s “The Reunion” how he rang Brasher at midnight to ask if he could run: “He said ‘don’t be silly – but I suppose I can’t stop you’. I eased back from the beer then and went on to Pina Coladas. Thought I needed to make myself a bit more healthy. I then had a curry at 3am and managed to get some sleep.” Never mind hitting the wall, the wall hit him when he reached mile seven: “…the king prawns started to get their own back and I was caught losing the rest of my curry into a drain.” Brian Johnson, who was commentating for the BBC observed this too: “…there’s Dave Bedford, not as fit as we’d expect him to be.”

            But the best anecdote from that first race has to be the story The Daily Mail ran three days later. A Japanese runner who spoke no English was spotted running through St. Albans. Apparently he believed the London Marathon to be a 26 day event and didn’t know that the race was over. Having read about his plight in the paper and spotted him running, a St. Albans man dragged a waiter from a Chinese restaurant in the hope that he may be able to communicate with the Japanese runner. The date was, of course, April 1^st.

            Back in 1981, the year that Brandon Flowers was born, Bobby Sands died and MTV came into existence, the sight of a runner was still somewhat pass-remarkable. Bedford recalled: “Marathon runners were few and far between in those days. The only people who ran marathons at that time were serious club or elite athletes not quite good enough to continue their track careers. Suddenly, after 1981, it snow-balled.” It had been left to John Disley to design the course. “We used the Thames as a handrail and only actually closed two bridges. It was quite easy to organise a marathon in the East End of London – nobody ever went there; there was no work there. You could run round the Isle of Dogs ‘til your heart’s content without interrupting anything.”

            But for the quintessence of the London Marathon spirit, look no further than the last of the six aims for the race, laid down all those years ago by its founding fathers. It simply says: “To have fun and provide some happiness and a sense of achievement in a troubled world”.

            Whilst Bedford’s race preparation and tight white shorts may have long been consigned to a different era, this goal is as germane today as it was thirty years ago.