Running in the footsteps of legends, next to a bellend

Today a lucky few of us that made it through the website crashes to get a place in the National Lottery Anniversary Run got a chance to finish a race in the Olympic Stadium. For just over 300m, we could be Mo, we could be Jess, we could be Jo, we could be Hannah, we could be David. It was an incredibly special experience, one I am lucky to have and would want to repeat over and over again.

Most runners will never get to experience a stadium finish, a crowd roaring you on towards the finish line. Those of us that could run, walk, guide or be guided, push or be pushed today can say we have heard the cheers. I can only begin to imagine how much the noise of a full stadium, roaring them on, must have propelled our Olympians forward to their haul of gold.

The crowd waiting in the stadium was a welcome relief from the total lack of support on the rest of the course. The Olympic Park is essentially a building site at the moment, a work in progress, and members of the public can’t move about freely, let along cheer on their loved ones on the course.  So it’s the first time I’ve ever run a race with no supporters, and it’s an eerie sensation.

Arguably, the run up to the track was more exciting than the final 300m. Before you head onto the track, you run into the stadium and inside, through a tunnel, to get into the centre. The organisers had come up with an ingenious idea to keep the runners motivated in the echoing tunnel space – while I ran through, speakers played the Chariots of Fire theme, cut through with Steve Cram’s commentary on Mo’s first Gold at London 2012. For me, who has ‘Steve Cram commentating on my race finish’ at about no. 11 in my bucket list, this was incredibly inspiring. I spent most of my time in the tunnel either laughing like a loon or grinning like one of those Special Brew-addled loonies on the 207 bus, but I didn’t care. I loved every second.

The race was so much fun, even Mr Condescender couldn’t spoil it. Everybody has seen these people in a race, and many women will have suffered them (I don’t why, but the ones I see seem to think women are in greater need of their encouragement). You know the one: he runs next you, telling you how far you’ve run or how far you’ve left to go (because you can’t see the mile markers and do the maths, as you’re a woman). He tells you ‘you’re doing great’ or assures you ‘you can do it’. Most of the time, I think this is misguided but quite sweet. Today I was on the end of it, and I didn't feel quite so charitable.

I’d already heard him doing his mile marker impersonation to a couple of women at the 3 mile mark. After that, I’d gone past and thought I’d seen the last of him, But then he came up alongside me for the first time.

‘good pace, good pace’

It was good pace. I was bloody delighted with it, actually. So I accepted this compliment cheerfully and gracefully, then gradually accelerated to leave him and his neon headband behind.

Then he came up alongside me again under the Helter Skelter construction,

‘You’re breathing a bit hard, you should save a bit for the end’

Ok, complete stranger, I thought. Thanks for the coaching. I’m just off trying to maintain my pace on an incline so yes, I’m breathing a little bit heavier than usual but feeling great, thanks.  But I told myself he meant well and I assured him I was fine. For this, I got another round of ‘good pace, good pace’ so I left him behind again for a bit of peace.

But there he popped up again, just before the 4 mile marker.

Him: ‘You ok?’

Me: ‘Yes, thanks’

Him: ‘good girl, good girl’

It’s a testimony to what a wonderful time I was having and how excited I was about my impending arrival into the stadium that I didn’t a) smack him round his neon headband or b) scream ‘I’m a 40 year old woman, not a bloody pet dog.

I wasn’t going to let a bit of casual sexism ruin my day.

Because it was a bloody marvellous, once-in-a-lifetime one.