DIARY: MARATHON AGONY WITH ... CAMPAIGN MEDIA BUSINESS - Jonah Bloom Vaselines his nipples for 26 miles of hell

6.25am Wake up in cold sweat following nightmare about running down an endless road.

6.25am Wake up in cold sweat following nightmare about running down

an endless road.



6.45am Ignoring failure to train properly, suddenly get professional and

knock up a bowl of pasta and energy drink. Select most comfortable

pants.



7.45am Get on veal-train to Greenwich along with thousands of punters in

shiny clothes. Woman with feathers in her hair tells me not to look

worried. ’Look you patronising fruitcake ...’ I start, before

apologising, muttering something about pre-race nerves and ducking under

the legs of a shoeless Gurkha. Feel odd.



8.45am Smother bits in petroleum jelly, drink more energy gunk.



9.30am Gun goes off, and everyone immediately stands still.



10am Finally cross start-line. First ten miles strangely pleasant. Lots

of banter, lycra-clad bottoms and dodgy sound systems.



11am Still no sign of media bods such as Western’s Pru Parkinson - she

later explains this was ’just a training run’ for her, and that she was

in front of me the whole way - but I pass Capital’s ’Dr Fox’. Bizarrely,

some fans are screaming his name. I’m starting to feel bitter - probably

nicotine withdrawal - so I offer some discouragement to Foxy’s

groupies.



12pm Pass a Jimmy Saville, two Elvises, three black rhino and a couple

of wombles. Feel better for that, although later find out I was beaten

by a rhino, a Nelson Mandela and a turkey. Reach 19-mile mark and crowd

shouts some crap to the effect that we’re nearly there.



1.45pm Things take a wobble for the worse around 24-mile mark.

Shuffle-jog turns into a walk. A 17-minute mile.



2.15pm Muster a sprint for the line. Four hours and 15 minutes on the

watch. Find doctor friend and drag him off for pints .



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