Edinburgh – The debut

Our journey started in the capital on a scorching sunny day
The temperature much higher than you would expect to find in May
I suspected that I had bitten off more than I could chew
Knew I had to dig in, and endure, and make it through

By a convenient twist of fate, on that crucially important date
The taxi driver drove at a rate, that ensured we wouldn’t be late
Saving me from becoming irate, when I had so much on my plate
Which prevented an anxious spate, whereby my pupils might dilate

Liberally applying the suncream, but forgetting to do my calves
They would turn lobster red, generating some post race laughs
Some words of encouragement from my wee mogwai princess
With her by my side, I was destined for glory and greatness

As I got stuck into the race, with no real clue how to pace
I jockeyed for some space, trying to find my natural place
I wasn’t under any internal pressure to try and go too fast
But by the same token, I certainly didn’t want to finish last

My journey into unchartered waters, testing my endurance to its limits
Started off nice and measured, quietly pleased with my opening splits
Enjoying the experience of a crowd, cheering me on for the first time
A splendid day to enjoy the sunshine, so radiant and so sublime

Moving away from the city, beginning to quieten down
Stretching out along the seafront, away from Portobello town
The subtle pitter patter of feet, springing up from the ground
A certain blissful uniformity about that inimitable sound

By the time the ten mile marker snuck into my eyeline
It hadn’t really occurred to me that soon I might be toiling
Most of the runs I’d done in training weren’t particularly long
Although I’d worked hard, my legs weren’t yet very strong

At the halfway point, I was feeling settled without a concern or a worry
Then the wheels came off, making me feel deflated, and sorry
The last eight miles felt like running through thick viscous tar
Time to grit the teeth, refusing to give in, I’d come so very far!

Twenty miles in, the locals were dishing out sugary sweets
Which in my glycogen depleted state went down a calorific treat
Six miles later I scanned the horizon, and saw the finish line in sight
My heart skipped a beat, a cardiopathically induced delight

Over the line and into the school, a veritable hive of activity
Somehow I’d made it, with determination and proclivity
Looking back in retrospect, I must admit I did neglect
In my preparation to be direct, and show the distance due respect
At least I was present and correct, even if my race had been far from perfect

The reception I received that day filled me with all consuming joy
I’d proved beyond questionable measure that I was a man and not a boy
The first of many running centred victorious recollections
Was wee Niamh and Samuel with their curious medal inspections

The sight of my wee maw, an inspiration behind everything I achieve
I’ve always had her backing, she’s always made me truly believe
My sister and brother and law, they were there too
I’ll always appreciate the effort they made to come through

It makes me smile to think how my gran will be looking down proud
Its always tinged with sadness when good things happen, and she’s no longer around
If there is a heaven, that’s where she is, a faith that knew no bounds
If there is a heaven that’s where she is, dancing to the perpetual sounds
Of heavens orchestras, I always imagine them to be
A classical concerto, who knows, may’be one day I’ll see

The person I’d been dying to see all throughout
To hug, and embrace, and to merrily shout
The one who perpetually keeps me balanced and stable
The one who always makes me feel as If I’m more than suitably able

She too had endured one hell of a tough day
From Edinburgh to Musselburgh she’d had to make her way
With blisters on her feet the size of a pancake
She marched on regardless, this moment from us, no one could take

No doubt she felt as if she’d done a marathon too
Without her, there’s no way I’d have ever made it through
This will most likely sound like a recurring theme
As I skip metrically and rhythmically toward my ultimate dream

So before I wrap up let me briefly summarise
I’d managed to get round in sub four forty five
An acceptable attempt for my very first show
So onwards to the Venice of the North we optimistically go

Amsterdam - The International debut

Next up my favourite city for my international debut
Amsterdam the destination for marathon number two
An iconic start leaving from the Olympic stadium
Floodlights sparkling like you’d see in the London Palladium

My support team camped out waiting patiently in the stand
Marking me leaving with a reassuring wave of the hand
Gently skipping along towards the VondelPark
Then under the Rijksmuseum, a few moments in the dark

Steady does it through the streets, still a long way to go
Keep the head, don’t panic, just go with the flow
Brass bands on the corners, willing you along
Occasionally breaking into the melody of rapturous song

When you hit the canals, you know its halfway
Quick check of the legs, hopeful they’ll continue to play
Bustling and jostling, bobbing and weaving
Densely packed with bodies, absolutely heaving

Back out from the suburbs, and into the city
You can taste the finish, by now its not pretty
Fatigued arms beginning to flail at the sides
The real race starts here, buckle up for the ride

‘Exit wounds’ inspiring a big final effort
The legs keep on turning, impervious to the hurt
Into the VondelPark, only two miles left
A harrowing site, an athlete moments from death

A final kick, one last exhausting push
Into the stadium again, an exhilarating rush
Glancing up at the stands, the most welcome of views
My beautiful princess, my inspiration and muse

Must have searched for an hour for a means to get us home
Tired and exhausted we continued to aimlessly roam
Out of the pale blue, we were offered a ride
We never questioned it, or hesitated, before jumping inside

Perhaps we should have challenged the rationality of our decision
Within seconds it felt as if we were stuck in a prison
The told us they were from the state of Israel, the city of Jerusalem
My Palestinian sweatbands made it clear I didn’t agree with them

East Jerusalem, the future capital of a Palestinian state
Such a shame they don’t know how to fairly negotiate
In fairness, they were civil, and saved us a score
To judge them for the actions of others, I’m capable of more

So back to the race, not quite under four, but not far away
That landmark will patiently wait for another day
I had experience now, and was up for the fight
If nothing else it had further fuelled my appetite 

Paris - The city of blinding lights

So we marched onwards to the city of blinding lights
Resolute and stoic to continue the fight
This time, I was in much better physical shape
To take on challenge before bursting the tape

I’d put in an arduous and solid winter of training
Churning out the miles, when it was freezing, and raining
Thankfully by the time the daffodils flourished in spring
I felt energetically sprightly, and bursting with zing

First timers to the city, we had an awful lot to learn
We found the metro confusing, weren’t sure where to turn
Before it was too late, we worked out how to negotiate
Before it sealed our fate, and we became incessantly irate 

First night there, stocked up on red desperados, laced with Guarana
Made me feel as high as my first visit to the Dam, and to La Canna
Optimally situated just along from the place de la concorde
An abundance of choices if we became disinterested, or bored

A thriving hotbed of culture across the arrondissements
A place of poets, revolutionaries and intellectual savants
Once the race was complete, ourselves we planned to assuage
With a rousing night out at the carnivalesque moulin rouge

Dancing, and singing and can can girls in full flow
A once in a lifetime, spectacularly remarkable show
Celebrating in style, cracking open the champagne
Watching a show I can only describe as truly insane

But before we could get round to enjoying the sounds
Of the worldly famous, culturally revered, colourful merry go round
I had the not unsubstantial task of running twenty six point two miles
Purposively planning to smash four hours, and to do it in style

The hours before a race, rightly deemed as sacrosanct
Meticulously preparing to get to the start line, in order and in tact
Which the way our trip started, might not have turned out to be the case
Could have been wiped out, and killed, and flattened right there on the place
Considering running across the road to see the arc de triomphe, a misguided decision
Could have ended in grief, and carnage, and tears, and derision

Despite the trauma, I was at start line, feeling mightily confident and strong
Sparked a smoke to settle the nerves, that was categorically and morally wrong
Raising money in honour of my friend Helen, for research into cancer
A sneaky wee fag before I started, I really was a chancer!

A last kiss and cuddle from my queen before getting down to the nitty gritty
To traverse through an illustrious exquisite wonderland of a city
So many of my academic heroes hail from that intellectual bastion
The home of a fine educational institution, the world renowned Sorbonne

A surreal feeling to run down the Champs Elysees
Like a Tour de France sprinter, flying on the way
Past beautiful landmarks I’d always hoped I’d see
Opulent statues, decadently finished in gold filigree

Unlike Edinburgh, no beaches and thus no ‘sables’
Passing Notre Dame made me think of Les Miserables
Feeling in awe as I passed the lifeblood of the River Seine
A source of inspiration for a multiplicity of great literary men

Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Proust and Jean Jacques Rousseau
Like the water of the river, profound words from their quills did flow
Past the instantly recognisable structure of the Eiffel tower
A thousand feet and rising, up there I would cower

Like Amsterdam, you eventually veer off out from the city 
Through The Bois de Vicennes, Napoleons pride and joy, so pretty
Next up, the Bois de Boulogne, former hunting ground of kings
Knowing my heart, my soul, my everything was waiting on the wings

Now that it was coming down to the wire
The time had come to drape myself in my saltire
The goal was by forty to get under four
It felt truly amazing to have settled that score

A full fifteen minutes of a cushion I had to spare
I’d been brave, and courageous, and boldly dared
To push myself to the limits to attain my original goal
From now on no pressure to achieve, I could just go with the flow

Another building block had been added to my marathon story
Looked forward to the next block, a pursuit of further glory
Before that, a reward throughout the race I’d eagerly anticipated
Straight to the boozers to stock up so I could get ridiculously inebriated

Amsterdam - Unfinished business

A wee autumn visit to the Dam once again
Unfinished business to which I had to attend
Although the first time I thought I’d done well
I could have done better, I continued to dwell

A big opportunity for a personal best
A pancake flat course, something to which I could attest
The conditions were temperate, and unseasonably warm
Twenty two degrees and humid, perhaps ready for a storm

There wasn’t any pressure, having already went under four
The monkey off the back, looking forward to what was in store
When the morning arrived the temperature went down
A frost descended on the stadium, and the cold made me frown

Far too relaxed for the first half of the race
Sauntering round at much too leisurely a pace
By the time I’d reached halfway, my target was in jeopardy
Time to push on, nothing standing in my way

I ramped up the pace, moved into another gear
Plenty in the tank, and with nothing to fear
My body was sure to take a physical hit
As I threw everything at achieving that elusive negative split

I continued to accelerate and move up the field
Hoping my effort, a favourable result it would yield
A sense of déjà vu began to descend over me
The roads of the city once again I could see

I readied myself for a hard final push
To my surprise I was still remarkably fresh
With the wind at my back, and my optimism rising
Time to keep it in check, stop over aggrandising 

A quick look at the watch as I come under the funnel
Onto the track, vision focused like a tunnel
Just like twelve months previously, a customary glance
From my one and only sweetheart, set me off in a trance

Like an ostrich at full pelt I strode down the track
Another personal best upon which I could look back
Although it was in doubt for just a short while
A comeback for the ages, unfinished business done in style
A full six minutes quicker on the way back in
Glad to have pulled it off, a failure would have been a sin

Manchester – The reunion

After three on the row where a flight was required
Somewhere we could reach on a train, made me feel more inspired
The debate over the quickest course on the island
Manchester and Edinburgh claiming they’re the fastest to be found

Having done Edinburgh, upon Manchester we agreed to descend
A fantastic opportunity to meet up with an old friend
Our hotel sat quietly in the shadow of Old Trafford stadium
Last time I travelled down there it turned into mayhem

Went down for the Champions league, for a wee day trip
Every one of us proudly donning our green and white strip
The drunker we became, the more you could hear us shout
Drinking Southern Comfort straight out the bottle like a misbehaving lout
The stupidly excessive, and copious amounts of booze
Almost ended in tragedy, we very nearly did lose
A good friend, at the mercy of the gods in intensive care
Never knew if he would make it, a terrifying scare
Thanks heavens he turned out to be okay
Almost fifteen years ago, my last euro trip away

So back to articulating this story in verse
I’ll warn you before hand, I’ll bloviate, and not be terse
We checked in our bags, headed out for some drinks
A nice early dinner, and off to bed for forty winks
It had been a tiring trip, and exhausting day
Looking to conserve energy so we could go out to play

We took in some sights, including the set of Corrie
A reunion with a close friend and ex colleague, helped settle any worry
That may have niggled away at my sub conscious
It would all come down to how much I really wanted this
A thoroughly enjoyable lunch with Lily and Ruth
Wouldn’t be long before I faced another moment of truth

On the morning of the race I felt remarkably refreshed
Up for the challenge, and confident, after a revitalising rest
Some stretching, contorting and bouncing to warm up
The moment had arrived once again to step up
The starters pistol sounded, hordes of runners surged forward
Serendipitously, space opened up before it became a hazard

The tarmac covered roads were as flat as had been promised
It was over to me to deliver with the tools I’d been furnished
This time at halfway, ahead of schedule I was running
Keep it together, my time could prove to be stunning

Totally out of the water my time I did blow
Almost twenty minutes faster than a few months ago
Once again the saltire proudly had to come out
Another celebration on the horizon, of that there was no doubt

Straight to the pub for beers laced with Tequila
Perhaps later a cocktail, perhaps a refreshing Margarita
Jacqueline decided to go for a Tequila sunrise
She’s a cocktail aficionado, it can’t be disguised

On the way up the road, left from Piccadilly station
Memories of the last time, a story of frustration
Missed the last train to Glasgow by a matter of seconds
A night of roughing it like hobos for all us beckoned
Camping out in the train station, having a drink and a laugh
Left everyone of us needing a good scrub and a bath

This trip, although devoid of catastrophic incident, or event
Left us both tired, and exhausted, and fatigued, and spent
Another victory parade headed on our travels for home
Wouldn’t be long before we again had the freedom to roam

Sadly, A few months later, the course measured short
A result null and void, of the disappointing sort
Oh well, I still had New York in my sights
To see the State of the Empire, and its many delights

New York – The five boroughs

Fortuitously handed a place on the line
By a technical error, and not by design
The chance to go on the trip of our dreams
Someone up there looking out for us it seems

An undulating battle through the five boroughs beckoned
Still I fancied my chances, I could do it I reckoned
Staten Island, Queens, The Bronx and Brooklyn
A finish in Manhattan, I was in for a good one

Judgement day arrived, like a bolt from the blue
My pre race ritual had me up at around two
Despite my meticulous preparation
It all went wrong when I turned up at the station

My ticket never worked, it left me perplexed
After calling for help, I became even more vexed
No margin for error, needing lateral thinking
My synapses firing, my thoughts interlinking

I turned my attention to finding a taxi
Saw one straight ahead, so I jumped in its way
‘Take me as fast as you can to the Staten Island Ferry’
A voice panic stricken and riddled with worry

Once I’d caught my breath, and managed to relax
Soaking up that famous atmosphere whilst sitting in the back
Pulling up out front with some time to spare
Time to compose myself, taking deep gulps of air

Through some stringent security as anticipated
Standing on the sidelines as I patiently waited
A quick search of my stuff while trying to be discrete
Then onwards to the boat to take my seat

A short trip across the water, St George to Whitehill
A good job I’m not seasick and never fell ill
The chance to get a swatch of Lady Liberty
I’d like to get a closer look, may’be another day

For the very first time no support team at the start
My baby not being there really broke my heart
The prospect of seeing her would push me on through the race
It might cause me to speed up, to quicken my pace

Camped out at the start of the Verrazzano bridge
Colder than expected, it felt like a fridge
The expected fanfare before the crack of the starters pistol
The elites roared off, they set off with gusto

Adrenaline started coursing through my veins
The moment of truth arrived, I let off the reins
Enthusiasm clearly got the better of me
As I skipped up the incline, as fast as can be

I’d pay the price for my zeal later in the day
For now the challenge of Brooklyn stood in my way
At the ten k mark I was feeling quite fresh
Cognisant of the fact that was only quarter of the test

At halfway, I was still feeling solid and strong
Then seemingly out of nowhere, it started to go wrong
The Pulaski bridge sapped my legs and my zest
By the time I reached the other side, I needed a rest

Next up was a wee jaunt across the east river
The Queensboro bridge made my legs start to quiver
Upon entering Manhattan, my spirits took a lift
Only ten miles left through which my body had to shift

Heading North through the raucous crowds lining First Avenue
Horns, and drums and placards as I made my way through
Off towards the Bronx, the Wills Avenue bridge to negotiate
How I handled it would play a big part in my fate

A short tour of a neighbourhood with a fierce reputation
Still plenty of time for more trials and tribulations
The Madison avenue bridge, the last that needed to be crossed
Stay focused, stay sharp, stay solid and robust

Into Harlem, a district famed for its musicians
Forever moving forward, no time to stop and listen
Down fifth avenue, world renowned for its shopping
Getting harder with every step, my glycogen was dropping

Into Central Park for the final swan song
From there at least I knew it wouldn’t be long
West along fifty ninth street, and up to the South
Piercing screams of encouragement from spectators mouths

Toiling and struggling, in need of inspiration
Climbing over the wall, saturated with perspiration
When I seen the pacer ahead, the bib ‘seven forty nine’
With a laser like focus I made a beeline

Jacqueline played a blinder, as always she was there
Determined to secure her place before the wind played havoc with her hair
Full of angst and frustration, whilst she searched for the stands
A comfortable seat, is that too much to demand?
For the privilege we’d paid seventy five quid
About to blow a gasket and completely flip her lid

Crossing the line, beaming with pride that I’d finished
Exhausted, bedraggled, and utterly diminished
When Jacqueline saw me, the look on my face
Commenting I looked like I did after my very first race

Now that this race was finished, the challenge was through
Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Paris and now New York too
But now that I had had my taste of my first major
Stopping at that point there was never any danger

Berlin - The home of the world record

Next up on our odyssey, a city drenched in history
Berlin the choice was obvious, not shrouded in mystery
The fastest course on the planet, absolutely no doubt
Of going sub three I hoped I was in with a shout

For the first time I added some structure to my plan
Long runs at race pace, sub seven minute miles I ran
A focus on strength, and speed, and agility
I hoped to see a resultant uplift in my ability

Taking my place in the same field as my hero Bekele
I could never have dreamed this would happen one day
The undisputed home of the worlds fastest time, ever
Under threat once again, flowing like the Spree river

He would face up against the former holder Kipsang
A battle for the ages, sure to go off with a bang
At the time he held the records for the 5 and 10 k
Could he make it the treble, was it going to be his day?

Enough about the elites, they had their own story
This proficient display of prosody is about my quest for glory
Up the Tiergarten, towards Strasse de 17. De Juni
Quick smoke to settle the nerves, and get myself ready

Conditions were perfect, about fifteen degrees
Not a hint of wind, not so much as a breeze
Some words of wisdom from Jacqueline before she departed
The big show was on, revved up to get started

The Brandenburg gate provides a stunning backdrop
As the mind turns its focus to the time on the clock
A victorious column dominating the immediate horizon
The atmosphere forming, and evolving, and rising

I took a place at the back of my section
A schoolboy error in retrospective recollection
Hindered in my progress it never really flowed
Hemmed in and surrounded, my rhythm was slowed

I continued to focus, and to stick to the task
At around the six k mark passing the famous Reichstag
Past the site of JFKs speech ‘"Ich bin ein Berliner"
Like all US presidents, an accomplished propaganda spinner

Desperately trying to carve myself some room
So I could put the hammer down and give it some vroom
Ten miles rolled by, still in a with a strong shout
Then the first real sign of weakness, a niggling feeling of doubt

The stomach troubles I’d always somehow avoided
Crept into the mix, my confidence corroded
A half of the race had gone by in a flash
Needing a negative split, but careful not to be too rash

The clock sat poised …one thirty one fifteen
My holy grail still achievable, my sub three dream
Then the wheels came off in spectacular fashion
For the rest of the race my wee arse I’d be dragging

My pace dramatically slowing as I approached Kurfuerstendamm
Into the wall I was about to catastrophically slam
Nausea settling in like an unwelcome squatter
Still pushing on, determined not to become a quitter

Gastrointestinal distress, forever waiting in the wings
When started to take hold, I could feel my guts sting
At eighteen miles, that’s when it really hit
I thought I was going to have to stop to take a shit

Digging in like I’d never had to before
Spurred on by the crowd and their cacophonic roar
Making a historical crossing, that separated east from west
The former site of an iron curtain now thankfully laid to rest

The famous PotsdamerPlatz came into my view
One last burst of resilience would surely see me through
Past the controversial ruins of the Palace de Republik
The way my legs were feeling I could have been running for a week

The long push for the line started in earnest
Every last bit of energy I had to squeeze, and to harness
Then the Brandenburg gate, for the second time
Could mean only one thing, I was approaching the finish line

Although it had went off the rails and deviated from my intentions
I couldn’t help but be proud of my guts and determination
World Marathon Major number two, now under the belt
To boot, thirteen minutes off my PB I did skelp

Despite the troubles I’d had on the way
I’d live to fight another day
Next up on the schedule, the big homecoming
Roll on Stirling – for sub three I’ll be confidently gunning

My Battle of Stirling

A battle in Stirling took place over seven hundred years ago
The first war of Scottish Independence, we repelled our English foe
My own battle of Stirling would unfold on a different field
Supremely confident that on the day, the right result it would yield

The usual pre race ritual adhered to that morning
My nerves swirling, swishing, stirring and storming
Getting to the start without incident should have been a done deal
Unable to find my bus, are you kidding me? Are you really for real?

I’d built in some slack in case this turned out to be the case
Worst case scenario a taxi could take me to the place
With a little more searching, I located my bus
Still not in a position where I had to rush

The banter was flowing like whisky from a bottle
Driver put the foot down, and gave it full throttle
Of the challenge ahead, the reminder was stark
As we pulled in at Blair Drummond safari park

A far cry from the place de la concorde
Or the Olympic stadium which I left with the hordes
Or Old Trafford – home of a famous football club
Or the Brandenburg gate – a German cultural hub

A picturesque environment, filled with a wide variety of wildlife
Surrounded by elephants, tigers and monkeys, my chances balanced on a knife
The queue for the toilet wound round like a snake
Luckily a shite I never needed to take

I did however have a requirement to urinate
Searching for a private spot ended up making me late
A quick slash behind a tree, trying to stay out of view
The eager front runners, the start they went through

Panic set in as they set off on their way
Trying to catch up, zig zagging frantically
No time to check my gear was properly secured
Resulting in the early loss of an energy gel I had procured

Clipping and fastening everything into place
Trying to get settled into my intended race pace
Although at the start it had proved to be chaotic
I struck up a perfect rhythm that was almost metronomic

We headed towards Doune, the River Teith and Ardoch burns
A village with its very own castle, world famous for producing guns
A Doune pistol started the American war of Independence locals will verify
Some believe a far fetched story but why would they lie?

Tales of fairy dancing parties at a place called Ternishee
Frolicking playfully, but loudly like screaming banshees
Rolling along the road, filled with hills and undulation
I’d done my research and was prepared, so no frustration

Lots of attractions still to see, let me explain
We headed towards the famous town of Dunblane
Home of Andy Murray, one of Scotlands most famous sons
A chance to see his golden postbox, a former world number one

Some still argue whether a town or a city
Either way its cathedral is reverent and pretty
The site of many prayers, for the souls of innocent
Lost youthful spirits who were truly magnificent

The spectacular aesthetics of the hills of Ochil
Into view they come, ten miles having trundled
Bofa, Drochaid Ailein, The Bridge of Allan
Along the east bank of the forth river we collectively ran

Still maintaining the required pace, still steady and strong
The halfway mark was coming, it wouldn’t be long
The toughest part of the course, faced with real and immediate adversity
The hilly grounds encompassing the establishment of Stirling University

Huffing and puffing as I took a fleeting tour of the campus
Knowing the hills would start to subside generated a buzz
The mile marker came into view, stating thirteen point one
One twenty eight and thirty two seconds since the sound of the starters gun

I’ll come back to a battle I mentioned at the start of the poem
Featuring a famous Scottish hero, William Wallace, you might know him
Erected is a famous monument for his courage, sword and shield
Dominating the skyline, just as he did the English on the battlefield

Unlike Berlin, I’d built a cushion and some slack
Gave myself a bit of breathing room on the way back
The latter miles – fifteen, sixteen, seventeen and eighteen
Comfortably floating along without a problem to be seen

Into the city centre, throngs of people lining the streets
Some out for their shopping, some with runners to greet
The hard work I’d put in during training was showing
A sense of destiny, of believing, of hoping, and somehow knowing

My pacing as precise as a strontium optical lattice clock
Heed first intae the business end, feeling solid as a rock
I saw a familiar face up ahead, a bit of a surprise
Was I hallucinating?, I couldn’t believe my eyes!

The legendary Robert Gilroy looked to be struggling
A horrible sight, and one I found troubling
I offered him a gel to help make him strong
Hoping it would give him the resolve to dig in, to push on

As I steadily approached the end of the first loop
I became confused, and nearly followed the wrong route
The first lap in the bag, but starting to feel the pinch
I was never under any illusion this was going to be a cinch

Powering on, fully cognisant of what to expect
Just sit on the threshold, no need to break my neck
Only four miles left, and with plenty in the tank
Unless something happened, it was surely in the bank

It felt like a dream as I continued my approach
The wheels continued to spin, it was tantalisingly within touch
The watch told me I had about a mile and a half to go
Out of the blue, Café del Mar began blasting full flow

No wall was forthcoming, wide smiles and full of spark
Cranking up the gears and speed coming down towards kings park
A result was on the cards I could never have conceived
Unless I wholeheartedly, unabatingly and truly believed

Twenty six point two was on the horizon
My arms by my side I could feel them both rising
The tongue came out to mark the occasion
Imitating Henrik Larsson as my sub three celebration

Two hours fifty seven fifty four on the clock
At first it never registered, I never really took stock
Spotted a club member straight up ahead
The unmistakable colours, the famous white and red

He’d also run a blinder, it was big Iain
The first time we’d met, both our faces were gleaming
With relief, and satisfaction, and unrelenting pride
It had been a tough day, and one hell of a ride

It had been worth every stretched sinew to see my lady in waiting
For once finding her post race was only mildly frustrating
She’d had my back every step of the arduous journey
The prospect of seeing her made me flutter, and stagger, and sway

More stunning than the ramparts of the famous Stirling castle
Always there for me, courageously leading me into battle
A joyously magnificent homecoming, you really couldn’t write this story
To make it all the more special it came on my wee maws birthday

Five years of dedicated training, had gave me a badge of distinction
Something that could never be taken away, a historical construction
Eighth place in my age group, the fifty second person to finish
El capitano and Ali G on the podium, an achievement not to be diminished

My debut in the colours of the famous Cambuslang harriers
Made it feel more special, as I cast aside the mental barriers
Sub four had always been the original target
Somehow, sub three, I’d eventually smashed it

My battle of Stirling had also resulted in a victory
Cemented and reinforced my running legacy
From here it seemed as if there was nowhere else to go
But my time qualified for a London age group, a ticket to the big show

I’d put myself in a position I had nothing left to prove
I could go down there and enjoy it, and get into my groove
With Berlin and New York, an opportunity for a majors hat trick
Why not take a chance as an automatic pick?

London – the majors hat trick

Like Berlin my next race choice was no mystery
Unexpectedly it was touted to be the hottest one in history
The weather on the day was the least of my worries
My chances of making it were firmly sitting with the gods

The start of the year had filled me with fear
Injuries just kept coming, my body wouldn’t adhere
First it was the shins, they were highly inflamed
Next up was the iliotibial band, it wasn’t playing the game

My best friend in the lead in was a trusty foam roll
Could it bring me to the start line, could it help me to my goal?
The go or no go call was left until just seven days before
Would I get to hear the crowd raise the roof as past Big Ben I roar?

I had to take the gamble, there was nothing else to do
With grit and stubborn determination, I was sure I would make it through
So we made our way to London, our first trip together to the big smoke
We agreed to get the train, so we didn’t leave ourselves broke

We met a family on the train who turned out to be wonderful company
Nige and Joshua, and Jude, she was running it for charity
She’d had a rollercoaster ride with injuries, a real tough time
One of the most determined people I’ve met, knew she’d make it to the line

We’d booked a wee flat in the centre of Fitzrovia
A place that sounds more likely to be located in Russia
On the Friday we took a wee tour of Regents Park
In full springtime bloom, a kaleidoscopic spectrum illuminating the dark
On the morning of the race, comfortably pushing twenty degrees
The predictions were conditions would bring runners to their knees
My wee princess had looked out instructions to get me there
The tube, then a train following a short walk and a wander

Although it may sound slightly self congratulatory
I took a sense of pride from the fact that I’d qualified
Fast for my age group, a speedy old crony
I’d decided to dedicate this race to my auld Uncle Tony

When I arrived at my section, the athletes were swarming
Unfortunately for us all the temperature was also warming
I spotted a collection of red and white jerseys on display
Hoping we all made it round safely, got a result on the day

JP, The two Iains, Tony. Kenny and Simon flying the cambuslang flag
Expecting our training endeavours to sew it up, surely in the bag
I didn’t feel under pressure, I’d lowered my expectations
As my run up was filled with such trial and consternation

Greenwich park was the starting point for my trip into the unknown
Eight marathons under the belt, I’d matured and I’d grown
To successfully negotiate the challenge of number nine
My biggest adversary might prove to be the ferocious sunshine

Met up with the guys, big smiles for a customary portrait
Of us looking splendiferous and proud in the famous red and white
It felt like a huge accomplishment to qualify good for age in advance
Gratuitously thankful to have been picked and given a chance

We started to assemble somewhere in the middle of the pack
The scorching heat, smoke was rising up off the tarmac
A bang punctuated the air like a startling sonic boom
As we made our way off, as we jockeyed for room

I set out in rhythmic harmony, feeling good for the first few miles
Erring on the side of caution for the first half, before turning on the style
The crowd as we passed the cutty sark as we approached ten k
Rambunctious and obstreperous, lifting our spirits on our way

Skipping across tower bridge, towards thirteen point one
It was starting to bear heavy, the blazing heat from the sun
At that point I made the very conscious decision
To take the foot off the gas, or risk soul destroying derision

The infamous tower of London was as imposing as the rising heat
The temperature so high at ground level it was beginning to burn the feet
A world heritage sight, the same year as the battle of hastings it was founded
Where the crown jewels were held, and prisoners viciously pounded

One of these prisoners was the subject of a previous part of this tale
They hung, drew and quartered him, yet he refused to wail
William Wallace, they burned his bowels, in front of his very eyes
Their disdain for our right to self determination, they truly despise

Canary wharf, a symbol of destructive and rampant capitalism
Depending where you come from, how you view it, from which prism
At eighteen and a half, taking shelter under Canada Square
The second tallest building in London protecting you from the merciless glare

By the time we had reached the Isle of Dogs
For many it was becoming too much of a torturous slog
Runners melting in the heat, and dropping like a stunned boxer
On the receiving end of a knock out punch, unable to outfox her

The spectacular St Pauls cathedral another spectacle we passed by
A distracting glance across the River Thames, to see the London eye
Slightly jealous as we took in a view of the O2 arena
Had it not been for a pre booked trip to the Dam, I’d already have seen her

Crossing the bridge into the heart of the blackwall basin
Under the blackfriars bridge, still focusing diligently on the pacing
For the second race in a row, I thought I was having a hallucination
Big Iains wheels had come off, robbing him of the chance of a PB celebration

As I steadily passed, gave an encouraging shout of support
Running the marathon distance can be a heartbreaking sport
Along the Victorian embankment, under a bridge named a after a famous battle
Waterloo and the defeat of Napoleon, an almighty score it did settle

Less than a mile to go, too focused to notice Big Ben
Or the shadow of Westmonster, anathema to moral men
Past Buckingham Palace, luxury swelling from the ranks
Whilst thousands upon thousands are reliant on food banks

Down the final stretch, famously known as the mall
On quite a few instances its witnessed world records fall
Three hours, four minutes, eleven seconds as the clock stopped its tick
Not the first time at a finish line I’ve been violently sick

Great camaraderie, met my clubmates in the grounds
Always great to see everyone had safely made it round
El capitano had led the way by example
Not quite as fast as Stirling, but a performance well above ample

The highlight of my day, as always on these occasions
Was a hug from the light of my life, so we could share my jubilation
A majors treble in the bag, it had been safely secured
Would I give Edinburgh a go in five weeks, could I really be lured?

Edinburgh – the last dance

Unfortunately I never knew in advance
That this could turn out to be my last chance
To set an enduring marathon personal best
In retrospect, I was glad it was coming home to rest

The dust had barely settled on our exploits in London
Which had been exhausting, and draining, whilst the sun went down
The heat had sapped us of everything we had left
Of enthusiasm and gusto we were sadly bereft

The message from Iain, I should have really known to expect
Shouldn’t have come as a surprise or left me perplexed
You only had to ask me once, I never took much persuading
To throw my hat in the ring, in Edinburgh we’d be parading

The two of us concurred, of punishment we were gluttons
Five weeks gave us time to heal so we were no longer hurtin’
Even if we were again faced with unfavourable weather
We had acclimatised, London had allowed us to prepare

We’d found ourselves in exceptional shape
But now our goal race was done, was it really too late?
To limbo under the bar of the sub three mark
We both knew we had it in our locker, that necessary spark

As the day of reckoning came closer to arriving
I found myself strategizing, and planning, and plotting and conniving
I knew the course well, though six years since that torturous endeavour
That should have prepared me for London, such was the ferocity of the weather

I twisted, and stretched, and contorted myself
To make sure I would arrive at the start line in good health
London, if I’m honest had been a premature return
I had to finish rehabilitating myself, or watch my chances burn

Telescopic tunnel vision fixed on a very specific number
Maintain six forty miles, or the goal will go asunder
The next stage in the marathon milestone journey
Sub two fifty five was the required order of the day

On the morning of the race Iain turned up on the money
Despite sleeping in and having to get ready in a hurry
I was sat at my doorstep, primed and ready to go
For the first leg of the journey, a drive to Linlithgow

Everything slotting into place like the pieces of a jigsaw
Then all of a sudden we were struck down by Murphys law
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong
We found ourselves crammed and hemmed in, surrounded by a throng

Crushed to the point its was difficult breathing
I kid you not the train was absolutely heaving
Clearly everyone had been of a similar notion
The bodies densely packed together, no space for a commotion

The train arrived at Princess Street, we’d got there in one piece
Room to expand our lungs once more, and enjoy the sweet release
Our times meant we were good enough to start with the elites
As we set of on our quest through the historical capital streets

When we descended on the start area, ready to get cracking
I was deflated to find out the toilets were lacking
Nowhere near sufficient to deal with a crowd that size
I had to go before the start, to neglect would be unwise

The anxiety whilst waiting was almost too much to take
Then came my turn, for the cubicle I made my break
I’d left myself barely a moment for reflection
Before the gun went off at Potterow and I charged in a forward direction

A statue of a folkloric black Skye terrier, a very famous dug
Greyfriars Bobby cheering us on from outside a well known pub
He epitomised the assertion that a dog is mans best friend
Loyally guarding the grave of his owner, till he met his own tragic end

Polished cobbles on the Royal Mile, gives a Dickensian feel
Taking advantage of the downwards slope, early seconds to steal
Into view comes the iconic building of the Scottish Parliament
When we run the show, we’ll vote for nuclear disarmament

Past Holyrood palace, historic home of Scottish royalty
An independent republic, that’s where lies my loyalty
Into Holyrood park, in the shadow of the volcanic Arthurs seat
Starting to hit a rhythm and get into my groove, into my beat

Toward Portobello beach on a steady downwards trajectory
Speedily bouncing along with an effort that’s perfunctory
A chance to take in long gulps of the seaside air so unique
My race tactics were simple, and measured, and far from oblique

A long straight stretch along the road of Musselburgh I ran
Past Cockenzie, and Port Seton and on to Prestonpans
Gold coast, Golf coast you could say are really just the same
Apart from the incessant, soul destroying and never ending rain

World famous courses such as Gullane, Muirfield and North Berwick
The most famous, or at least oldest of them all in Musselburgh links
The eighteen mile mark approached, negotiating the turn round the cone
I’d been so mindfully focused, I hadn’t realised I wasn’t alone

Iain was hovering comfortably right on my tail
Two men on a mission, determined not to fail
We’d had many close fought battles during our time
Now a fascinating one to see who’d be first to the line

Having comfortably swept round the momentum sapping corner
The time had come to engage the after burners
Through the stately grounds of Gosford house, onto the long final straight
Back the first time I’d ran it, by now I was completely prostrate

Things now were very different, my endurance levels had soared
Which meant I might be strong enough to achieve my just reward
I put the hammer down, started to increase my pace
Confident I could hold on, I had a good feeling about this race

From there it was like a ten kilometre time trial
Customary glances every so often at the watch dial
It looked as if it was going to go to the wire, going to be tight
But I had it in my gift, so long as I executed things right

Back along the coast to Port Seton promenade
The miles ticking down made me mightily glad
I hadn’t looked back to see if Iain was on the attack
But the prospect of him doing so made sure I didn’t slack

Approaching the school, I broke into a sprint
If you could call it that – by then I was truly spent
The sun was blinding me, sweat was pouring down into my eyes
By now nothing could stop me, to the occasion I would rise

Throwing every bit of energy, every little last ounce
Into the glory leg along the finish mat, one last final bounce
Across the line, I’d made it, I’d finished number ten
Had I hit my target time? I was about to find out then

Two hours fifty four, forty five seconds I visualised
It was everything I’d been hoping for – I’d gone sub two fifty five
A brief moment to catch my breath, to try and avoid being sick
Before my attention turned again to the clock as it continued to tick

Iain was still out there, a PB very much still on the cards
It was getting tight though, and he would have to drive hard
Then not far behind me, and to my delight
The baseball hat and red and white jersey was finally in sight

I stood like a sports photographer, just beyond the line
Capturing the moment, one that was truly sublime
We’d both walked away with a PB on the day
Less than five weeks after London, we’d done it the hard way

My performance second time around was such a contrast
To my first time when I was much closer to last
This time I was amongst the first hundred to have finished
Ducking under my target, an effort not to be diminished

For now this looks to be the end of my story
The conclusion of my incessant pursuit of marathon glory
If it does turn out to be the end of the road for me
I can’t help but smile when I consider all that I’ve achieved

Contemporarily my chances of a comeback look to be slim
My hip still clicks and crunches, and makes noises grim
I refuse to give up hope, stubbornly resisting and won’t submit
In my vocabulary one word that doesn’t exist is that of quit