Five hours, sixteen minutes, thirteen seconds (part one)

I wake after a strained night of sleep at around half five. Toss and turn for a while. Eventually give up at seven, earlier than I wanted to wake. There's another guy in my dorm room running the Marathon, too. He's ready to go. I give him a thumbs-up as he heads out the door and start getting ready in the darkness.

The hostel is buzzing with activity. Many people are staying here for the Marathon. I see smiling faces and excitement. I'm the only one who looks like a man approaching the gallows. I take time getting ready - kit on, tracking tag in place, vaseline applied - and eat a bagel in the bar. Comments and good luck messages pour into my texts and social media. People want me to do well. I want me to do well, too. I listen to music and start getting pumped. Then I leave and follow the steady stream of people flooding the streets, heading toward Greenwich Park.

Even an idiot like me could find the right way.

Thousands of people flow into the park. Runners, supporters, and spectators alike. Tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds. The atmosphere is good. Positive. People are excited. My nerves begin to melt away. I call my nan to let her know I'm in the right place and things are going well. She promises to look out for me on TV.

So many people. All here for one reason.

After about ten minutes, we reach the race entrance. Runners only beyond this point. We are separated into areas based on the colour of our numbers - red, green, and blue. I follow people into the red zone, the main staging area for my group.

The organisers did an amazing job with this logistical nightmare.

The start zone feels like a carnival, minus the rides. There's a guy on a microphone somewhere, playing music and whipping the crowds into excitement. Giant screens show live footage from each staging area. People stand around laughing, joking, taking photos of themselves with runners in elaborate or amusing costumes. The atmosphere is amazing. I head over to the baggage trucks and drop off my kit. The baggage lady takes a photo for me.

Someone said that I look like Mario. Didn't see it until now. It's-a me.

There's a lot of standing around and waiting. The queue for the toilets stretches across the length of the entire area. There are several urinals in constant use. Overall, the atmosphere is positive, excited, fraught with nervous energy. I watch all the people around me and soak in the sights and sounds. As the speaker advised on Friday, I have not worn my headphones today. They're in the kitbag, on the lorry.

It's a cold, cold start to the day. The sun peeps through the thick, dark clouds every now and then, basking us all in bright, happy warmth. But these moments are few and far between. I start to shiver. Maybe I should have worn more layers. I could have worn my long-sleeved shirt, or my tights. But it's too late now. Those things are at home, miles away. I suck it up and suffer in silence.

It's a busy place, but a good one.

The giant screen displays the BBC footage from the start line. Andy Murray presses the button and a cheer goes up. The athletes have begun, Mo Farah among them. The 2019 London Marathon has started. Next, it's our turn.

The mass start is staggered in ten minute intervals, based on your own predicted finishing times, I said six hours, so I'm in zone seven, the last group to start. Zone one starts ten minutes after the elites, then zone two, etc. At ten fifteen, I head through the gate to zone seven and we wait our turn to start. I watch zone six walk past toward the start line. Nerves begin to rear up again. Am I ready? Can I do this? Everyone around is full of energy and looking good, ready, prepared. I feel like the odd one out.

Heading through the gate to zone seven.

I'll talk more about the costumes I saw later, but for now, take a look at the above picture. There is a guy in our group running dressed as Jesus. Not in a jokey Monthy Python way. He has a giant cross made of wood. It's hollow, but made of bloody wood. He wears a ring of leaves around his head and a white loincloth. On the back of the cross is a message about the recent terrorist attacks in Sri Lanka and a prayer of world peace. To top it all off, the man is barefoot. I hope he finished. Overtook him in the first mile and never saw him again.

Zone six clears through the barriers and my group begins moving forward. Excitement ripples through the air. People are laughing and joking, talking about the costumes they can see. I get chatting to a guy wearing a massive backpack displaying the list of challenges he's completing as part of the marathon. He spent three days running over fifty miles from Bedford to London to collect his number at the expo. Now he's running the marathon. In July, he complete the SAS-level Fan Dance, fifteen miles over mountainous terrain. All of this while wearing an army-regulation backpack. He asks me how much I've done before this.

'This is my first time,' I say.

'First marathon?'

'No, first running event.'

'We all start somewhere!' he says. I feel better about myself already.

Backpack guy - a hell of an athlete.

We're off the grass and on the road now, slowly heading up toward the main gate of Greenwich Park. The start line is less than a hundred metres away, but around a corner and out of sight. Spectators line the park on my right, waving us on through the fence. People strip off hoodies and long trousers now, tossing them to the left and the right. These will be collected and donated to charity later. The atmosphere is electric. TV cameras are stationed up ahead. Nobody knows if we're live, but everyone waves in the hope that we are.

Pace markers. Professional marathon runners and decent people.

Professional marathon runners carrying flags marking their projected completion time are scattered throughout the zone, in roughly fifteen minute intervals. I happen to be behind the six hour guys - and make a mental note to get in front of them as soon as possible. They're hilarious, warming us up nicely and dispensing advice. The best thing I hear from them - which sticks in my mind for the duration - is not to high-five everyone who offers. You'll injury your arm. I slap hands with a few young children (and a brigade of cheering police officers near Tower Bridge), but otherwise stick to the middle of the road. Backpack guy says this is a good idea, too.

The start line. Dark clouds above, but bright smiles all around.

Then we're through the gates. One sharp left turn and suddenly the start line is up ahead. The crowd begins to thin out. Cheers go up. The race is on. I cross the start line and begin my marathon. I'm doing it. I'm really doing it. I feel nothing but excitement and relief. It's on.

A handful of spectators are at the side of the road, standing in the field. They cheer and clap as though we're professional athletes. It feels incredible. I'm already glad I decided against headphones.

Within the first mile, I pass a familiar face. My old university friend, Colin. He's here cheering on his sister-in-law. He says, 'Keep going, it's that way.' Thanks mate.

We enter a residential area. It's all houses and shops here, but spectators are out in force. Some stand on the pavements, others hang out the windows of their flat. Some sit in fold-up chairs in the front garden, some sit on bus stops. They all clap and cheer. Children hold their hands out for high-fives. Music blares from pubs, from speakers, from people playing instruments in the street. If the staging area was a carnival, this is a full-blown party.

We're still in the first mile, gathered together pretty closely and passing through residential areas.

Most of the marathon is pretty flat, but this first area has a single long hill, followed by a lengthy slope. My training around the hilly parts of Bristol comes into play and powers me past several people here. Once we hit the downhill section, I hear a cry behind me - 'Watch out!' It's a wheelchair racer, gaining speed. He gets things under control again as the road evens out.

The downhill section. Runners clogging the street. A man carrying a Spider-Man dummy on the left, there. He moved at a good pace. I got in front, but he overtook me again later and disappeared into the distance.

We hit the first water station. Refreshments are available in some form at almost every mile - water, Lucozade, even jelly beans. From this point on, the sides of the road are littered with thousands of bottles. Some runners squeeze out a quick gulp and toss the bottle away. I kept hold of mine. Can't be too careful with hydration. Little and often, that's the way.

Thousands of volunteers had the sole task of gathering these together, squeezing them dry, and dumping each one for recycling. A thankless job, so I'll say a massive THANK YOU to them. Amazing people.

By this time, we're about three miles in. Everyone's looking good and the atmosphere is relaxed. The crowds are good. We take a hard left turn and are joined by the other runners from the blue and green start zones. This is it now, everyone is together in one enormous, fast-moving mass. I call my nan again to let her know I'm on the road. She sounds excited.

Four down. Twenty two to go.

The roads get wider and the scenery starts to look a little more London-esque. Still residential, but distinctly London. There are spectators cheering us all on everywhere I look. I can't stop smiling.

Five miles deep. Still fresh. Still feeling good.

For the moment, the roads are pretty long and straight. A couple of gentle turns, but nothing especially awkward. Later there are some weird bends and turns, but for now it's all smooth. Everyone is doing well. Paces are slowly starting to become set. Some people enter their own little cool down cycles. I obey the rules I set myself weeks ago - run five, walk one. It takes me about a quarter of a mile to actually slow down, though. With all the people cheering, it's almost as hard to slow down as it is to keep going in the later stages.

Now we begin to enter the more well-known parts of London. I spot the familiar signs of sails ahead. We're nearing the first major landmark on our whirlwind tour of the city, the Cutty Sark. Never seen it in person. Now I have. It's a big ol' ship. The crowds now deepen. Before, they were spread out fairly evenly. Now people are two or three deep, nestled in shoulder-to-shoulder. They applaud and cheer and ring bells and let off klaxons and scream individual names. I see so many signs I can't read them all.

The Cutty Sark. We loop around it and head northwest to the Thames.

Along the way, I see various people in amazing costumes, and even a few runners attempting certified world records. I see a man in a giant foam shoe. Several people in dinosaur costumes. A man singing karaoke. The rhino runners. Big Pink Dress. A bloke running as Big Bird (shoes and all). The guy from an earlier photo, carrying Spider-Man on his back. A chap running dressed as Elsa. I draw alongside this last man and ask, 'How did you train in the outfit?'

'I didn't,' he says, and laughs.

Karaoke guy. Jogging, singing, and breathing. A man of many talents.

One of the rhino runners. Amazing people. Utterly inspirational. Everyone cheers them on as we overtake them.

Big Pink Dress man in the flesh! Not a pink dress this year, but it was great to meet a legend. He posed for pictures with everyone, all while keeping up his pace.

The first world record attempt I encountered. A man running the marathon in freaking ski boots. Must have ankles of iron.

Another world record attempt. Six people in one team. If you think running it solo is tough, imagine this!

The last record attempt I saw, the world's fastest jukebox. Massive costume, blaring music the whole way along the course. Brilliant and hilarious. Probably not for the guy inside, though.

We head in a horseshoe around Rotherhithe. We've been running for about an hour and a half now, but the atmosphere is still good. Relaxed, happy. Everyone is all smiles. That will change over the next few hours. But this is what we've trained for.

'Smile and wave, boys.' I pump my fist in time to the fantastic street musicians. Great people, all of them.

Everyone has friends and family in the crowd to cheer them on. Some held up signs, or screamed like maniacs. Seeing people break away to greet their supporters is almost as uplifting as meeting your own fans. These fine folks came all the way to cheer me on:

My family! They rushed around from point to point and managed to see me four times on the way. It was amazing to see familiar faces on the way and get much-needed hugs.

I meet them for the first time on mile 8. Stop for a quick hug and a greet. Tell them I'm doing fine and pose for pictures. It's all fun and games. All good.

A photo of yours truly. This is what the spectators see. Lucky them.

We wind through Rotherhithe, still heading northwest toward Tower Bridge, entering another residential part of London. This is the last time we'll see houses and homes on the route. People line the streets. I see cake stands, barbeques, parties. People spill out of pubs. Spectators offer sweets, bananas, orange slices. Others offer sips of beer. Their faces are hilarious when people grab the pints and keep running. Don't offer if you don't want to share!

Sixteen to go.

The scenery is good, despite the overhead clouds. In some ways, it's a blessing. Nobody is overheating today. The wind will get colder later on and most of us will try to dodge the sprinklers set up on the roadsides, but for now it's quite pleasant. I'm not overly sweaty or having trouble monitoring my water intake like I do in extreme heat. This is probably perfect running weather. I'm glad I chose this outfit for today!

Toilets are stationed roughly every mile or so. I stop briefly once about twelve miles in. Note the girl on the left offering Haribo. Lots of people offer sweets to the runners. Lots of runners gratefully accept, myself included.

There must be somewhere between forty and fifty thousand people running the marathon today. I am somewhere in the second half of that number at the moment. All I can in both directions are hundreds of runners. Everyone bears the logo of a charity. Everyone is here for a reason. Everyone has determination on their faces. I still maintain my five-one rule, walking mile eleven to twelve.

Behind me, in front of me, all around me. You can't stop. Nobody wants to stop.

Twelve miles deep and we're back in the midst of central London. Tower blocks and bustle. Crowds thicken every few hundred metres. The noise gets louder and louder. People pick out my name and shout at me - 'Go on, Adam!', 'You can do it, Adam!' The feeling is indescribable. When you slow down, they cheer you more. I've been told that people like to cheer those who look like they need support. This explains why I hear my name called so often in the latter stages of the race. I must look like a sweaty zombie by that time.

Now we're nearing two more major landmarks. First is Tower Bridge, our path across the Thames to the other side of London. Right after this - after a sharp right hand turn along the cobbled streets - is the halfway mark. Thirteen point one miles are behind me now. I am offically halfway through the London Marathon. Before the race, I had expected to feel a tinge of dread at this point, with so much left to do, but instead I'm excited. With so many people around, it's impossible to feel less than ecstatic. I'm not wearing headphones, so the tracking app can't relay my time, but later it transpires that two hours and twenty eight minutes have passed by this time.

Tower Bridge. People clog the pavements thicker than ever at this point.

Our Hero and the halfway marker. The first half is done, but there's a long, long way to go yet.

Now I realise that my phone battery has taken an absolute pounding due to the sheer amount of messages I'm getting from everyone watching and tracking me on the app. I have to stop taking so many photos and videos if I want to record myself at the finish. This ends up being the right choice - my video across the line is filmed with less than five percent battery.

This stretch of the course has two parts. We're heading east along the Thames, to Carany Wharf. On the other side of the road, people are running west, toward Tower Hill and the finish line. I try to take a guess at how long it will be before I'm there. I suggest an hour. This estimate is way, way off. It's actually closer to two hours.

Somehow I hear my name over all the din of cheering spectators. I turn to see my friends on the other side of the road. I pose for photos and keep moving. They'll see me later, but I'll be in a very different mental state by then. Right now, I still have my wits about me.

One for my fans.

At this time, I'm still in good shape. Breathing well. Plenty of fluids. No aches or pains. I haven't hit the wall. But that's about to change. Things are going to get much, much harder.

I have reached the limit for posting. The second half will come later.