13.1 miles of pain

Race day. Sarah had decided not to run, and while the rest of us were tucking into our porridge, she had a bacon buttie cooked for her. Just as she was about to take her first bite, watching the rest of us slipping into lycra and trainers, she changed her mind.

"Make me porridge!"

She had her battle face on already. I realised that at least I had the two hours of running to contemplate my excuses why she beat me.

The start area was slightly chaotic, and true to form we were quite late, and the lines for the toilets were long. As the gun went, it took us nearly 20 minutes to cross the starting line. I tried to usher Sarah ahead such that I could run my own race instead of chasing her, but she insisted that she would run with me. I don't know who she think she was kidding. She disappeared before the 3-mile mark.

I like the solitude of running. Even as there are 10,000 other people running beside you, the race is still in your head. I knew I wasn't nearly fit enough for this. My longest training run was less than half the race distance, but I was sure that with the extra adrenaline boost of the race situation, I'd be able to force myself the last half.

The course spins around a few turns in the city centre before following the portway under the suspension bridge for 4 miles or so, turning back on itself, and then back into town. I was feeling remarkably fresh up to the turning point, briefly seeing Sarah heading down the other way. 9 miles came and went, and the legs were starting to feel heavier. The course is incredibly demoralising as it comes within a whisker of the finishing line several times, before weaving another loop away. I was forced to walk briefly between 11 and 12 miles up the Broadmead hill which felt more like a mountain rather than the molehill it really is. Every step was now a struggle. Suddenly, we're at the start of Corn Street, and can clearly see the people ahead crossing the finishing line. The mental pain of having to do another 500 metre loop nearly has me in tears. I see Georgie and Mike, giving me some encouraging words, and suddenly, it's all over. I stop my timer - 2:06. I had hoped to be under, but given the circumstances, not too shabby.

I limped over to the 'Runners Village' to see if I could catch up with the others. Sarah was all smiles; she'd done it in 1:52 - same time as last year. Allie had come in on 1:58. Chris had finished on an unfeasible 1:27, with Nick taking the biscuit on 1:25.

I had to lay down on the grass after wrapping up in my down jacket. We moved along to The Pitcher and Piano, and rarely has a pint tasted so good, against all available medical and sports science advice. We met up with Angus (1:42) and his parents who'd come over from France for support.

SteveH had promised that he'd stop smoking if I finished in the top-10. He's unlikely to die a fundless man if he places bets like that.

So now, the day after, I'm left with every fibre of my body aching, and still having to pack and tidy and this, that and the other.

Next post will come from the other side of the world.