From Rumana Chowdhury…
It takes a village.
And so I found myself, 4 weeks after a quad injury, having barely run recently, at the start line of my 1st marathon. I had planned to just take it slowly, be thankful to have got this far, soak up the atmosphere, and retire as soon as my leg started to get sore. Obviously however I got completely carried away and soon found myself 8 miles in with the niggle in my thigh getting stronger but managing to run, so on I went. For those who don’t know the course, the crowds fade away pretty quickly and from about mile 15 it is an unrelenting slog, an endless road, with no redeeming views (we are so lucky getting to run in Ilkley!) coupled with a headwind, which meant I was starting to walk a bit, with a horrible shooting pain every time I started to run again. And then bang, my leg seized up and found myself 18 miles into a marathon with no easy escape and being overtaken by a minion, superman and a man juggling…I tried to hobble on but by 21 miles I could barely run at all. The word ‘failure’ was now shouting loud in my mind and to my dismay I felt my eyes getting wet. Now I was crying – great! One of the few people at the side of the road called out ‘Don’t worry love, only 5 miles to go’. I didn’t know whether to punch or hug them. ‘Are you ok?’ called out the paramedic. ‘Yes’ I muttered through gritted teeth, trying and failing to hide my grimacing. What was I even doing and how on earth was I going to get out of this mess? But, instead of curling up in ball which I really really wanted to do, I called on the village. I thought if just one person could will me on, I could snap myself out of this, and so I popped a message on the Ilkley Harriers WhatsApp group asking for encouragement. And there it was – buzz buzz buzz went my watch as the messages came in. With one more glance at my husband and kids’ names, hastily scrawled on my arm in biro in what felt like a lifetime ago, I resolved to get this done. The last few miles were painfully slow, the final hill a killer, but then there it was – the finish line! So what if I was an hour slower than planned, so what if my leg was about to drop off – I was at the end of a marathon!! My brain did that wonderful thing of tucking away the pain and I smiled and shuffled along as strangers called my name and clapped their hands, and then it was done. If it wasn’t for the fact the person handing out the medals was a bemused spotty teenage boy I would have been sobbing with joy, but instead I bowed my head as the shiny 26.2 medal was placed around my neck, smiled and thanked him, said a quiet ‘Well done you’ to myself, and then hobbled off to find the train home.
Well done to all the Harriers who ran that day – some amazing results. And thanks to the Harriers community for getting me through marathon number 1, guess I’m going to have to sign up for another now!