My first and last(?) marathon

The official time says I ran the 26.2 miles in 4 hours and 50 minutes. Sean ran it in 4:26 and A in a fantastic 3:40.

It was wet and cold waiting for the 9am start on Princes Street. As usual, Sean turned up wanting safety pins to attach his number to his shirt. One day I'll learn, but that wasn't the day. I gave him two of the pins hold my number.

Did the start go well, or badly? It went badly. Okay, I was glad when the race actually started. As I said, it was cold and wet. Add to that a guy next to me bouncing up and down and Sean telling me to smile. (Has anyone ever smiled when they're told to?) The race started, Sean set of at a fast pace, and I kept up. There was the problem. I shouldn't have tried to keep up. It didn't even worry me when we caught and passed the 4:15 pace setter. So much for being mature. I kept up with Sean's pace for as long as I could, but I gave up and let him run off after we'd left Port Seton.

Past Port Seton? I don't know why, but I'd got it into my head that we turned around and ran back to Musselburgh at Port Seton. I became more and more demoralised the further past Port Seton we ran. The course actually turned around just beyond Gosford House.

The run back towards Mussleburgh was a mixture of pain and fatigue. I passed two water stations and found it amusing that I hadn't drunk the water I'd collected from an earlier station. That's not amusing. That's a sign you're not thinking straight. I think the picture on the right was taken towards the end and that's the bottle that wouldn't empty.

I crossed the finish line 4 hours and 50 minutes after crossing the start line. Did I feel I'd achieved something? No. I was just glad it was over.

Sean's aunt gave us me a lift home. Thank God for that. I was having difficulty walking. I got home, removed my running clothes, and found my chaffing shorts were bloody. Ouch. Pain and blood.

Would I do it again? I've got a bad feeling that I might be going through the same thing next year.