Ugly Win.

So there is something I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I write this blog to. In fact, I didn’t want to admit this to myself.  After Blenheim and the glory and pain that was a personal best I managed to come down with a nasty cough and cold.  As the day for the Royal Parks got closer I downed medicine religiously and did every mental calming exercise I could think of.

By Friday the cough had reduced enough that I felt comfortable.  On Saturday I Boris biked over to the packet pick-up and settled into the flat where I pretty much coughed through the night.

I woke up in a rough state Sunday morning.  But, as the British say, my face was on the tea towels. (Okay, so you have to be a Royal to get your face on tea towels, but you get the idea.)

I went over and got my team photo with the JDRF.  I wished everyone luck.  I queued, because we love that sort of thing.  I stood hopefully with the 2:40:00 pace maker.  The gun went.  We waited. It took so long to get to the start I actually was able to go to the bathroom and line back up again.

Then the gun really went.

For close to 9 miles I stayed neatly between 2:30 and 2:40 pacemaker.  The course is magnificent.  All the pretty parts of London.

After seeing the cheering crew at mile 9 the coughing started.  It got so bad I briefly pulled to the side to hack it out.  Volunteers approached.  I became scared.  Really scared.

But then I thought not of my grand personal best.  In fact, when pace maker 2:40 passed me I was almost relieved.  There was, instead, two people who entered my mind: Uncle Steve and Mike.  I found myself asking out loud if they would please help me finish.

And then I started walking.

I cried a lot, and coughed, and hugged my husband, son, and friend at mile 11.  And then I kept walking.  And crying.  And walking.

And I finished in under 3 hours. 2:57 in fact.  Believe it or not it wasn’t a bad time for me.

On the way I thought of all the anonymous donations.  All the motorways and people with weird senses of humour like me.  I want to thank everyone who believed in me.  Who still believe in me.  Who thought of me, who sent their love or tossed a few pounds at an awesome cause.

As I approached the end people were yelling and cheering my name.  I waved and cried and swore up and down I saw Uncle Steve and Mike in the crowd waving and screaming for me to get across the finish line.  I have never run in memory of anyone before.  It was truly a powerful experience.

I got my medal, a pile of goodies, and a good sit with the JDRF fundraisers.  Here is my photo:

When the trees shed wood they collect it and make it into medals.  Sort of a fitting theme to this whole experience.  You take the bad, and you make it good.

And I did good.