London Marathon- better late than never.

 London Marathon- better late than never. 

How good must it have felt to be a Londoner yesterday. The winter nights may be drawing in very gradually and the coronavirus is still at large in some parts of Britain but we were not about to let a pandemic get in the way of our happiness and sense of relief. The fact is that the London Marathon, originally scheduled for last April, had hit the streets of London at the beginning of October and, quite frankly, who cares? There will always be a time and place for anything no matter which month it might have been pencilled in for. 

Yesterday London welcomed the most democratic, all inclusive, all encompassing, international collection of athletes, fun runners and people who lined the streets just to express their approval and cheer them on hoarsely. And they came from far and wide, members of the public, wild enthusiasts from ever corner of the world and demographic, young and old, short and tall, fit or just content to finish the Marathon. London smiled at the rest of the world, a human reaction that may have been impossible to find in the last 18 months or so. 

And yet 40 years ago, a wonderful visionary by the name of Chris Brasher, the man who once ran shoulder to shoulder with the good doctor Sir Roger Bannister in the first sub four minute mile race in Oxford on a windy afternoon in the early 1950s, brilliantly masterminded the first London Marathon. Brasher must have known even then that here was a germ of a novel idea that, quite literally, had legs and potential. He would prove to be absolutely right and must have felt like some kind of vindication when it all started. 

So on a wet and rainy morning at Greenwich in 1981, Brasher lifted the flag, beamed triumphantly and the first London Marathon was under way. History would be made. The fact that a waiter with a drinks tray accompanied by another professional runner were there to cross the finishing line somehow seemed irrelevant. Marathon running had made an indelible mark on the sporting landscape and in Britain running or jogging the streets and country lanes of this noble land, became the new fashion statement. 

Who though could have ever imagined that the London Marathon would ever become the cultural yearly institution that it has now become? In those days we may have been ever so sceptical about the advisability of a long distance race that left you absolutely shattered and exhausted. Having crossed the finishing line, you would slump over the tape, bend down to catch your breath only to have a huge medal hung around your neck by way of appreciation for your gallant exertions. Then somebody would give you a chocolate bar or a tub of margarine perhaps since both Mars and Flora have been steadfast sponsors of the event.

But it's a tribute to the London Marathon's longevity that every year hundreds and thousands of runners from every background, class, race or age, stroll up to the starting line at Greenwich, shaking their arms and legs to keep the blood circulation going and generally embracing the occasion like an old friend or a member of your family you hadn't seen for years and years. Then London comes into its own. A vast multitude of vests, fancy dress costumes and the most bizarre outfits set out for 26 miles of sheer enthusiasm, bravery, heroism and painful purgatory. But nobody minds because you were there to negotiate those foot sore moments when somebody keeps telling you about hitting the Wall. You keep going though.

In a sense accusations of madness and insanity have somehow become part of the territory for the seasoned runners and fun runners. They've heard it all before. What possesses anybody to run for 26 miles, pounding the pavements, laughing at the people who are laughing at you and driving you forward to carve out your own record and stunning achievement. Is it a come what may willingness and desire to just be with other people, enjoying the community spirit, the delightful camaraderie, the special rapport between the crowd and the runners. 

So it was that the runners and athletes all gathered at the starting point of Greenwich, London and then set off into the autumnal winds, with hope in their hearts and a feeling of immense personal satisfaction when you get to the end of the race. The club runners, built for stamina and endurance, think nothing of sprinting away into the distance, arms and shoulders pumping furiously, going flat out, disdainfully dismissing tiredness and fatigue, focused on the job at hand and determined to finish the race in under two hours while checking their watches constantly in case they happen to miss their last bus home. 

But for the fun runners the London Marathon is all about taking in the uplifting sights of the East End, Poplar followed by the magical Docklands and the outskirts of Canary Wharf. Then they wend their way through the London suburbs, jogging, slowing down from time to time, then plodding their way around the course laboriously but seriously. For the last 10 or so miles of the London Marathon,  they giggle, guffaw, pull faces before staggering to a halt to talk to the BBC or just indulge in some witty joking and badinage with the crowd. 

The London Marathon is undoubtedly one of the finest sporting occasions Britain has ever seen. It is London at her best, a London with inhibitions lost, a London flaunting herself like the plumage of a peacock. But above all, after 18 months of loss, sadness and suffering, it is London whose powers of recovery and resilience should always be celebrated. It is about London looking at you in the face and congratulating each other profusely because we've got there or almost if you were to believe in the doom and gloom merchants. 

We all know now that the London Marathon is normally dominated by the likes of Kenya or Somalia, countries renowned for the production of gifted athletes. Yesterday Sisay Lema won the London Marathon and bringing up the runners spot was Vincent Kipchumba. Then Mosinet Geremen finished third while Evans Chebet was fourth and Birhanu Legese a commendable fifth.  

In the women's race Joyciline Jeprosgei won the Marathon and in second place was Degitu Azimeraw while third was Ashete Berere. Fourth was Brigid Kosgei and fifth Lonah Chemati Salpeter.  In the women's wheelchair race Manuel Schar won her race and Merle Menje was runner up. In third was Tatyana Mcfadden. The men's wheelchair race was won by Marcel Hue, second was Daniel Roman Chuk and third was Scotsman David Weir, one of Britain's greatest of all wheelchair racers. 

Everybody who witnessed their first London Marathon must have been mesmerised by the vastness and immensity of the event since it continues to hold us all in thrall. From Greenwich through  London's back streets to the Embankment, the majestic bridges of London, Blackfriars, along to the final straight of the lovely Mall and then Buckingham Palace, the London Marathon recognises its excellence, the meticulous preparation that must have gone into organising such a huge occasion and then laughs out loud again and again. 

It should not be forgotten that the fun runners were also an integral part of yesterday's race. From all over the world they came in, displaying all manner of happy go lucky outfits. There were women in pyjamas who finished in three hours and 46 minutes, batteries that hadn't quite conked out, a man in a telephone box, an Elvis Presley impersonator and, incongruously, a man in a Statue of Liberty costume. Quite how Elvis and New York came to be representing their country in a London Marathon may defy explanation. Still, nobody minded and why should they have done? This was the 40th London marathon and this was just the most breath taking spectacle we could ever have wished for. Well done London. We're proud of you.