The full report

The international battle lines were drawn, and all was set for a bruising encounter. Not exactly the way I thought I'd start a marathon report! I'll elaborate as the tale unfolds.

Now let me offer my one and only excuse: it was hot OK! Good. I've got that out the way!

And now the good news and bad news: the good news is I achieved my qualifying time. The bad news is I've qualified for the London to Brighton 54 and not the Flora London Marathon!

To avoid this becoming a piecemeal report of pithy soundbite style clips, let's backtrack a little.

First bruise of the day came on the coach up to London when I stood up to let my friend Kath out of her seat. I caught my left kneecap on the fold-down tray. Ouch! Fortunately it didn't affect my day, but it's sore enough now for me to think that this could have been one of those bizarre accidents that takes you out of a marathon at the last minute. (James Cracknell and a towpath?)

We arrived at Blackheath in good time and settled down on the grass to enjoy the sun. This was going to be a warm day! Brendan Foster take note: bright sunshine is not perfect marathon weather for the majority of us, particularly if we are due to finish at the height of the day!

Having done my obligatory second toilet visit, (wouldn't want to have to crouch on the side of the road now would I?), I joined the start a good 10 minutes before the off, only to find the line was already moving forward and I was a little further back than I would have liked. Looking around, there was a big mix of pen numbers: 3,4,5, 9!!. This might take a while for everyone to settle to their pace and position!

Soon underway, and mercifully we didn't have to stop half a mile in as we did last year. As I suspected, the further forward you are (pen 4 this year, pen 6 last), the smoother your journey. Despite the slow pace of the start, not a bad thing anyway, I was already up on my pace plan!

A feature of this year's race was that I saw various international groups of, usually, 3 runners. They all had their country, in English, on their back in the same white lettering. Was this some sort of international marathon challenge, or just the same travel firm? There were teams from France, Belgium, Italy, and 2 from Portugal. At 2 miles in, I encountered the first of the international teams: Transylvania! I would have just run past them oblivious, had I not heard the shouts of "Cheeky cheeky" from the crowd. Yes! My first ever celebrity spot in a marathon: Monica and Gabriella - the Cheeky Girls!

Fun was had as the blue and red starts merged at 3 miles: the traditional booing! I don't know if this is just human nature, booing the other runners on the other side of the barrier, or whether the old lags initiate what is now something of a tradition. Whichever it is, it's quite funny and causes some puzzled looks on the faces of the FLM virgins.

I was relieved that my pace seemed relaxed and I was very comfortable at 8:15/mile. My heart rate, as ever in London, was a little higher than usual for that pace. I knew this would be the case, but cracked on, knowing that a) I was no higher HR-wise than last year and b) I had to stick to my pace plan, if I was to get the 3:45 qualifying target.

I spotted someone wearing the same outfit as me. For the men reading this, I should perhaps explain that when we go running we pick an outfit. We don't just smell the laundry bag and wear whatever we think we can get away with. For me, this was a Nike crop-top, a la Paula, in Victory AC colours, printed up with the club name and ship logo, and topped off with 'Susie' in silver letters. I was wearing the matching lycra shorts, not briefs 'a la Paula' but the sort that cover the thigh. I was to discover later that there are practical benefits to running briefs, but I fortunately didn't get any stomach cramps! The lady ahead of me was wearing the identical shorts and top, minus lettering. I complimented her on her fine taste, and established that she too was aiming for 3:45. I wanted to avoid running with anyone, as I wanted to run my own pace, and also not waste energy chatting, which those who know me probably appreciate could be major energy expenditure. I wished her good luck and pushed on.

Team Portugal 1 was now in my sights as we neared Cutty Sark. Fortunately there was plenty of room to get round them. People running together really bug me, as they tend to block your path making it difficult to run round them. They should run in single file! UKAA rule change maybe?

Cutty Sark was much easier this year, the crowd being thinner in the rarefied atmosphere of the sub-8:30/mile brigade. I had much less delay than I budgeted for. Quids in! I was now nearly a minute inside my pace plan. Lots of jostling though, as we all tried to stick to the blue line. This was a physical marathon!

I like a good moan. This year, apart from formation running, there was very little to moan about. I had a great time! Allow me then, to vent my spleen at the mobile phone users. I know it's probably very useful for the spectators to know where you are, but spare us the race commentary! I heard this classic: "I'm coming up to mile 9. Yes, I'm taking it fairly easy, otherwise I'd be up with the leaders." - !!!!!!!!

10 miles arrived, as it usually does, at the 10 mile marker, and as I had done continually in training, I broke my 10-mile PB. I guess I need to race 10-milers a bit more often!

Next milestone was Tower Bridge, magnificent as ever, and then we wound on to the first of the new course variations as we joined the right hand side of 'The Highway' heading for Wapping. This was an unexpected milestone. On the other side of the road was the new section heading north of the Tower of London and there were the leaders of the men's race! For the first time ever in the London Marathon, I had reached the crossover point before the elite men! There was a huge roar as I watched the leader, who I didn't recognise, but later found out was Martin Lel, go by. I recognised Paul Tergat, but was surprised to see he was out of touch with the lead in maybe 6th place. I would have recognised Jon Brown, but didn't spot him. What struck me about the elite runners was the huge gap between the first group and the rest of the field. There was a trickle of elite women tail-enders, but very few men until the pack a long way back. It doesn't appear obvious from the results, but by the road side the professionals appeared to be literally streets ahead of the club runners.

It was around now that we discovered Paula had won in 2:17: what I knew to be a women-only world record. The mood this time was different to the cheering of 2 years ago. This time we had knowing nods of approval. A "job done" attitude, rather than frantic adulation!

Another milestone at half way as I took nearly 3 minutes off my half marathon PB - see previous comment about frequency of races!

As we neared the next water station, another limb copped it. I got elbowed rather hard in my right forearm. I meekly apologised, and then, realising the insanity of apologising for getting hurt, let out a loud "Owww!". No apology was forthcoming! It's now rather sore!

Another minor moan: Why put the signs "Showers ahead" on the opposite side of the road, implying that the showers are on that side. I missed the first lot of showers, in the Surrey Quays, because of this. Now I was more prepared. I ran through the second showers - a tunnel with rows of sprinklers - giving blessed relief from the heat. It's lovely! I just wish they had them every mile. So refreshing!

We now headed towards the Isle of Dogs - I will resist the temptation to use the "I love dogs" joke from last year. I now had to overtake the country of France. In the narrow lanes here, having 3 people abreast, blocking the way, was a bit much. Fortunately they all decided to irrigate the brickwork, rather bizarrely without breaking formation. What is it with men and peeing in public? (I just know you are thinking the name Paula at this point - stop it!)

As we headed down into the tunnel onto the Isle of Dogs, another limb copped it, this time though it was my GPS on my left wrist which took the force of the guys elbow. The impact broke the pin holding it onto the strap, so that it was now flapping loosely, held by the other pin. I wondered whether to take it off. I feared I might lose it. I knew it was fairly useless around Canary Wharf, but figured it would be of some use in the rest of the race. Wrong! At one point it read 1:20/mile, enough to catch Paula up if not for the fact that she'd already finished. With hindsight I should have stowed it in the pouch of my bottle belt.

We were now heading towards mile 17 and the Runner's World support point. There would be loads of folks I knew on-line, but how would I know who they are and how would they spot me? I knew that 'lp' (Lindy) had lots of bright red hair, so kept my eyes pealed. Towards the end of the long line, there she was! "Lindy!! Susie" I shouted like a mad thing. She spotted me. Contact was made. It was a brief encounter, but it seemed to matter to me. A virtual pal became flesh and blood in a brief glimpse. Sweet!

Things were now getting serious. I was ahead of the pace plan still, but I sensed that it was becoming a struggle. My GPS gave no clue, but I was having difficulty keeping my heart rate up, so knew I was dropping off the pace. Mile 19 took me 9 minutes, which surprised me. "Push Susie! How much do you want this? Push!"

Mile 20 came up a mere 1 second behind plan. With an 8:37 for the mile I was still OK, but I was starting to struggle. Would the crowd lift me back onto pace like last year?

No!

I think last year I still had reserves which just needed unlocking. This year, I needed an extra 30 seconds/mile and it simply wasn't there. Even the sight of James Cracknell at Blackfriars didn't lift me. "James!" I got eye contact!! "You really should be running this you know!" Possibly a bit harsh considering the guy was on crutches!

Time was slipping away from me as we emerged from Blackfriars tunnel. My final miles were going to have to be faster than 8:00/mile to rescue my qualifying time. I was determined to keep pushing, but knew that only a miracle would save me.

Then the miracle happened! The lady with the same outfit, and the 3:45 target ran past me at what seemed like the required pace. If only I can hang on to her, I'll do it. I summoned my reserves and managed to stick with her for a while. With a big effort, I still only managed a 9-minute mile at the 24 mile marker. I let her go. I kept pushing, giving my best, but realised that 3:45 was not on. Good-taste-lady would have got very close to the mark, but I suspect she missed it too. I hope she wasn't just seconds outside it; that would have been awful.

A shock for me as we neared Big Ben. I passed my friend and club-mate Alex - the pink fairy (cute!). He's a quality runner so clearly was having a total nightmare. I tried to pull him along, shouting encouragement, but realised he was spent. Poor guy! An awful lot of my clubmates had bad days. I suspect the heat may have been a major factor.

I pushed on as best I could, still determined to give my best, and soon I was rounding the corner by Buckingham Palace into the Mall. No sprint finish this year, but a job well done. Don't laugh, but I wanted to make sure I pressed my stopwatch button on the line to get a true time. Trouble was I did that last year, and the finish line photo was me gurning at my watch - awful! I had resolved beforehand to remember to take off my watch so that I could stop it with my arms outstretched in classic pose. I had the presence of mind to undo my watch as I raced down the Mall. Finger on stop button. Arms outstretched. Here comes the line. Remember to smile for the camera. Bingo! Job's a good'un. 3:47:07. A huge PB by over 18 minutes. Bloody good effort!

I marched straight off to the Parkinson's reception on the Strand. Hot shower. Fantastic! Massage. Lovely! Lasagne. Magic! This is FLM in style. I rejoined my friends back at Horseguards Parade ready for the coach home. Lots of war stories, but generally a good day had by all.

Now how the hell did I get the graze and 2 bruises on my right knee?