My final blog entry; I completed the marathon in 3.31,22 my time was objectively somewhat off target and although not quite over the disappointment of not achieving my target for possibly the first time ever. I have learnt a lot from the whole experience.

The majority of my training went according to plan, my shorter race times were on target, my nutrition was a well balanced diet, and my carbo-loading in the last week was all on track. A major setback was a throat infection 5 days prior to the race including on the race day, probably contributing to my stomach problems due to the shear quantity of medication I consumed to try to rid myself of it.

The first 13 miles of the race seemed to roll by although a little slower than expected at 1 hour and 35 minutes at half way, I knew the course was downhill for most of the rest of the way. Then the problems began, I tired to take on a glucose gel and some drink but I couldn’t stomach it. Shortly after my legs had started to cramp up to my thighs. I tried a glucose tablet and a caffeine jelly block after a few more miles but had to immediately spit them out. As the magnitude of the problem started to dawn on me I knew I was helpless, rapidly dehydrating with the heat of the day, the running and unable to take on anything, every step was a painful struggle, I cant quite describe the experience. Pulling out was not an option I would allow myself, but the rest of the way was a delirious muddled memory of pain, with some recollection of being overtaken by countless women, as at one point in the race I had been the 4^th lady, as you know by now I am somewhat competitive to put it lightly and then to be overtaken by 4 superheroes, it is a memory I think I will never forget. At mile 26 when you would like to think that I was at the end of my treacherous journey somehow I found myself on the floor with my right calf in a severe cramp. Lay there for several minutes as people ran over me all I could think about was crossing the line, two women helped me up and supported me for a few meters I mustered up the will power, with the encouragement of another runner and the crowd, I jogged over the finish line, to be met by my anxious perplexed father, who had been expecting me half an hour earlier. The second half of the race had taken me just under 2 hours, as the dehydration had taken its toll on my body, the next few hours were a misty haze of a trip to the first aid team with my loving fathers support and a private double-decker bus journey back to our hotel.

A marathon, a journey, never again until the next time…