nohtaraM nodnoL ehT

Runners are an eccentric bunch. Over the past few years as I've ventured into Ultra running and become more aware of what folk get up to in their trainers, very little surprises me now. The distances, the routes, the ideas that are conjured and subsequently conquered are of great inspiration to me. I first came across nohtaraM ehT a couple of years back, such was the randomness of the event my brain didn't quite absorb the concept and with exhalation and a smile it passed me by. When it came around last year, it clashed with another race I had already entered - The London Marathon - so I vowed that 2015 would be the year of the reversal.

A ghastly morning

Alarm set for 2 a.m. (2:15 for the girlfriend - I allowed her a lay-in) I sprang sprightly having had only a couple of hours shallow sleep. Questioning the point of breakfast, three hours after dinner, I went for it anyway with a little coffee and porridge. With bags packed the night before (well done Craig) and clothing set out ready to slip into we were out the door faster than you can spell The London Marathon backwards. God love the girlfriend, offering to drop me off at St. James Park in the pissing rain at silly o'clock. With the road closures around The Mall (The London Marathon's finishing stretch) I was dropped off in the shadows of Big Ben. Head down, I scurried towards the park searching for hi vis and lycra where a Marshal directed me across the street to a dozen or so bodies huddled together under a doorway. Exchanging pleasantries and introductions we awaited the final runners for the 4 a.m. group, the last of the night. 

I must buy a running hat

As the clock struck four, we lined up on the road for the ceremonious photo and without further ado we were off...for the start line. No M People, just the four chimes of Big Ben. I was unsure of the correct running etiquette to apply. Would I just run at my own pace, would I remain with the group, would I strike up conversation, would I lead, would I follow? Would it ever stop raining? 

Fifth from left in a sea of enthusiasm

I found myself running alongside a chatty young chap who spoke of his ultra tales, in particular his experience of GUCR (a 145 mile race from Birmingham to London) a race I one day hope to complete. I was in my element, doing running and talking running. We swapped tales (his far bigger than mine) as we ran through the city toward Docklands, a route I run most weekdays, alone.  For such a ghastly hour I was quite talkative (I usually thaw around noon). 

Nobody it would seem knows that awkward Canary Wharf bit off by heart, especially backwards. For easy navigation it had been decided that we would 'simply' keep to the blue lines, those laid down for the elite's benefit. Well, in the dank dark night they were barely visible and collectively we right royally f***ed up. Leaving The Highway, we entered the Docklands on the non-backwards route and ran our own little course, each too English to disagree. Where some had dropped back to christen the portaloos, the group fractured into smaller packs. Running in different directions we passed runners from earlier start times, they themselves unfamiliar with it all. Dejected by our omission, we agreed to make the mileage up with an additional add-on loop before heading for Tower Bridge. 

Men at work at Tower Bridge

The organiser (Rich Cranswick) had incredibly managed to lay on an aid station on Tower Bridge at half-way. This was a godsend as I had somehow decided a handheld bottle would be sufficient for the day, so the top-up was much needed. Later, I heard tales of cheese and pineapple on sticks that I had unknowingly passed up. It may have been too early for party food though regardless.

Now light, though not quite six in the morning (oh all this time I've been wasting asleep) a foursome headed off for the second half south of the river. From that point onward it was rather a head down and concentrated affair, though with a slower recreational pace there was no discomfort at any point. After the loop at Surrey Quays I found myself all but alone which was kind of nice, whilst passing and greeting those from earlier starts. The southerly stretch to Greenwich was particularly familiar having spent many a grim evening during February's RUYD event racking up miles there. Free from the pressures of time and pace the miles clocked up and arrival at the Red Start was soon in my sights.

Mile 6 aka Mile 20

I had imagined running through mile markers to hoards of water station helpers manically setting up for the impending mass of runners, but it simply wasn't the case. Such is the VLM's logistical genius that it all comes together in an instant. Much of the roads were yet to be closed and it wasn't until gone 20 miles in that even the chance of a cheeky bottle steal was possible - not that I ever would. Proof of my utilitarianism was evident in a mile 24 detour to a petrol garage for liquids. Poor girl having to take a sweaty ten pound note as payment. Man, if I dropped those bottles on the forecourt once, I dropped them thrice. The CCTV footage should be destroyed.

The first mile marker, as lonely as it gets

The twist in the tail was had those final couple of miles as what was a downhill start for the main, was an uphill finish for little old me. Passing marshals and marathoners with their drop-bags, I received a few strange looks from those clearly perplexed by this drowned young man looking like he'd ran a marathon! Surely not. Crossing the 'finish' line and stopping the Garmin at 26.2 miles (textbook) there was no applause nor recognition of any kind. What a brilliant thing to have done.

Oh the fanfare

For me, running this eccentric little event, is everything I cherish about being a runner. Whilst I continue to push myself to run further and faster, the real delight of it all is the ability to 'just' go run a marathon. Fortunate as I am to have an able body that stands up to the rigour of long distance running, I take great pride in the training I've put in over the years to reach such a level of fitness. 

There were still a good two hours before the mass start and it dawned on me that this was without doubt the earliest I'd 'arrived' for a race - A few years back, running the Snowdonia Marathon I crossed the start line ten minutes after the gun. God love chip timing! - Aware of my sogginess, I headed for a thankfully queue-less set of portaloos where I set up stall for a wet-wipe-whores bath and change of clothes. Refreshed, dry and warm I headed to a greasy spoon by the Cutty Sark to meet up with the crew for a fry-up and cuppa. Catching up on the day's experience had by others and plans for future races, I later headed to mile 20 to help out at a water station. 

The elite ladies zooming past

In the end it seemed over-staffed and reeling from the realisation that I had in fact been overcharged £9.45 for what was a £5.45 breakfast (still reeling if truth be told) I chose to spectate and natter with the marshals for an hour or two as the elites and faster runners (including Paula) passed through. The low temperatures, brilliant for runners, but standing around I began to get the shivers so took this as excuse to wrap up the day and I ran the three miles home in show-off glee.

If I get a place in the London Marathon proper next year, I may just do the double. Though there have been rumours of a nohtaraM ehT double itself, so that would then offer a triple. Hmmm...

My thanks goes out to all who contributed to the organisation and running of this year's event. You are all two sandwiches short of a picnic.