A marathon journey through the streets of London

The eccentric outfits, spirited competitors and raucous spectators make the London marathon one of the cities many sporting and cultural highlights.

Source: http://everywheremag.com/articles/911

Beating Spiderman to the last empty seat in the carriage, Fred Flintstone sits down beside me. Opposite, a lady wearing some Fame-inspired leggings, is devouring her second banana of the journey. Next to her, a man washes his down with a swig of Lucozade while chatting to his friend who, with his fuzzy red wig, looks like he is going to entertain children at a fifth birthday party.

Something is not quite right. Apart from the fact that I always thought Fred had thick, black hair - close inspection proves I was wrong, it is clearly light brown and slightly thinning - the London Underground is supposed to be boring, full of commuters and tourists. Today, however, is marathon day and heading towards the start at Blackheath, I was about to experience the race at close proximity for the first time.

Winding my way from the station towards the common I can feel the nervous anticipation of the runners. The usually quiet streets are packed with competitors and supporters making their final preparations before crossing the heath, past All Saints church, to the start line.

The London Marathon began in 1981 but Blackheath had witnessed many important sporting occasions prior to that. In 1858 the first rugby club in England was formed here and the club helped to organise the first ever rugby international, with the team being selected in the Princess of Wales pub which still stands today. Continuing the theme of firsts, Blackheath is believed to have been the place where golf was introduced to England, as well as being home to the first ever hockey club.

As the runners make last minute alterations - a support bandage here, a final drink of water there - and say goodbye to their friends and family, I cut through Greenwich Park. Sitting raised above the city, the park provides magnificent, sweeping views across the Thames. In front of me are the bright, white buildings of the National Maritime Museum; then rising from the river the vast cityscape expands to fill the horizon. Descending from the park I head towards the seven-mile marker to get my first glimpse of the runners in action.

The narrow streets of Greenwich Village provide the first focal point for spectators, who gather in large numbers around the Cutty Sark. Usually this is the first of the many famous sites which line the marathon course, but the old ship is undergoing repairs following a fire and is surrounded by boarding. Despite this, the atmosphere is jovial as spectators await the leaders whilst enjoying a few drinks and tapping their feet to the tunes of the street-side jazz band. The rising applause in the distance signals the approaching runners and the crowds strain for a better view of the road. Huge cheers greet the leading athletes as they speed past but when the slower fun-runners arrive minutes later the noise is louder, as if the crowd realises who needs the support more.

Having witnessed the early part of the race, I decide to skip a few miles and walking under the Thames, via the Greenwich foot tunnel, and then by tube, I arrive at Tower Bridge and the 13-mile marker. Rising from the underground station, the weather has turned. The spring sunshine has been replaced by menacing storm clouds and heavy winds but the rain has not dampened the spirits of the spectators and may have come as a relief to some of the runners. The ancient bridge is lined with spectators and a man equipped with a megaphone shouts encouragement from the roof of an adjacent building. As he screams “come on, keep going, only 13 miles to go!” I wonder whether he would spur me on or fill me with despair.

As one of the great sites on the course, Tower Bridge forms part of the television coverage of the race. Gazing up at the tower I can see a group of protestors waving a ‘Free Tibet’ flag in front of the cameras. It is one of several campaigns along the course echoing the more substantial protests which greeted the Olympic torch the week before.

With the runners heading off towards Canary Wharf, before looping back past the bridge and along the Embankment, I decide to get some food and head into one of the many packed pubs lining the route. All the talk is of the race: which celebrities have been spotted, how family members are progressing and who they are raising money for. Indeed, the London marathon raises over £35 million every year making it the largest annual fundraising event in the world.

The final three miles of the course are the most spectacular and walking alongside the Thames, the crowds begin to swell as everyone heads for the finish line. Many of the competitors have their names printed on their tops and as they pass spectators shout encouragement, spurring them on; they do not know them, will never see them again, but for now they have the respect of the crowd.

Blackfriars Bridge is covered with people looking down on the race and as I emerge from underneath a band strikes up the Queen epic, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Many of the runners do not look like they are having a good time, as they grimace their way through the final stages, but none of them are going to stop now. Along the Embankment, bands, clowns and Indian dancers entertain the crowds, adding to the carnival atmosphere. Drawing my eyes away from the race to the river, I can see the Globe theatre a replica of the venue where Shakespeare’s plays were performed in Elizabethan times. Further upstream, old turns to new as I pass the Tate Modern and the London Eye.

The Thames is the main reason why London became England’s capital and largest city. Providing a means of trade with the rest of the world it attracted people to the city in search of work. It is also the setting for the world’s most famous rowing race, the Boat Race, which sees Oxford and Cambridge compete annually.

Leaving the river behind, the course heads past Westminster and into St James’s Park, where it passes Buckingham Palace before finishing in the Mall. In the past, Britain has seen many eccentric royals who have used their powers in peculiar ways. Indeed, it was due to the royal family that the now internationally recognised distance of the marathon is no longer the 25 miles it used to be. During the 1908 London Olympics, the organisers moved the starting point to Windsor Castle, making the race 26 miles. Then the Royal Family requested that an extra 385 yards be added to this so that the princes could see the start from their nursery.

Watching the runners pass the looming clock tower at Westminster, it is clear from their faces that many of them wished the royal family had never interfered; they would have finished by now. None of them, however, are in the same state as the two leaders of the 1908 Olympic marathon, Charles Hefferon and Dorando Pietri. With two miles to go, Hefferon was so far ahead that he accepted a congratulatory glass of champagne from a spectator. Soon after he developed stomach cramps and dizziness, allowing Pietri to catch and pass him. Entering the White City stadium, Pietri became disoriented and started to run the wrong way round the track; partly due to exhaustion and partly due to the bottle of wine he drank before the race. Supported by doctors he staggered to the finish and was pronounced the winner, only to be disqualified later for being helped over the line.

Luckily today’s competitors have received better dietary advice and the only liquids on offer at the roadside are water and energy drinks. The final section of the marathon is certainly the most picturesque. St James’s Park, one of central London’s lungs, is the prettiest of the capitals green spaces. Offering breathing space from the hectic streets it is a place were joggers, cyclists and children exercise and relax amongst the immaculate flowerbeds and tranquil lake. From here I can see Buckingham Palace but due to the size of the crowd I cannot get a view of the runners finishing on the Mall.

Taking the tube back to my hotel many of the passengers are wearing marathon medals. One of them, Tom Livingstone, has completed the race for the first time. “I could hardly walk at the finish, my legs were cramping up. I’m so glad I did it though, the atmosphere’s fantastic and I’m really pleased to have got round,” he tells me.

Walking the marathon streets it is apparent that London is the one of the world’s most cosmopolitan cities; influenced by many cultures it has absorbed many influences from around the globe. It has also, mainly during the time of the British Empire, had a great global influence which is reflected in its sporting institutions. London claims to be the home of football, rugby and cricket and the rules for snooker, boxing and hockey were formalised in the city.

At the end Olympic Way, sitting on a raised plateau, the glass of Wembley stadium shimmers, sparkles and dominates the skyline. Strolling around the ground so many memories fill my mind: those magical FA Cup moments;
great goals and legendary players; footage of England’s World Cup triumph. The only problem is that none of these memories stem from this ground; they were created at the old stadium.

Standing next to the statue of Bobby Moore, captain of the 1966 World Cup winning side, and surveying the surrounding area, I feel a sense of disappointment. Two years after opening, and a decade since plans were unveiled, much of the complex is still a building site. Perhaps I was expecting too much. The old stadium had decades of history and the new one needs time to create its own. Structurally it is superior, and in time the Wembley arch may replace the twin towers in the football fans consciousness.

If Wembley lost some of its historic magic by developing into a modern stadium then Lord’s certainly has not. Entering the ground through the Grace Gate, named after W.G. Grace, the legendary England cricketer, I head towards the Museum of Cricket. Located on two levels the museum charts the history of cricket from its early days as an amateur game to its modern incarnation as a professional sport.

On the first floor of the museum I find various cricketing artefacts, from the oldest bats, to the Ashes Urn, but it is on the second floor that the displays become more interesting. A look at the history of the players and spectators of cricket reveals that, much like the rest of English society, cricket has been obsessed by class distinction. From the days of the separation of gentlemen and professional players to becoming the game of all the classes, cricket has reflected many of the attitudes of class through the ages.

When there are no games being played visitors can enjoy a guided tour behind the scenes and walking around the ground, I can see a strange mix of old and new styles. Aesthetically it should not work, but its spaceship like media centre, old style pavilion, famous clock and tented Mound stand fuse together to make an intriguing spectacle.

In ‘Sporting London’, British historian Richard Tames expresses the unique place that London holds in the sporting world. “Mention Wimbledon to a Swiss, a Swede or a Spaniard and they will equate it with tennis. Say ‘Lord’s and half a billion males from Brisbane to Barbados will instantly think of cricket. Wembley means football from Reykjavik to Rio. From Rotorua to Otago the All Blacks of the future snuggle down at night to dream of doing the haka at Twickenham.”

With the Olympics in 2012 looming, London’s plethora of sporting sites is set to expand. It is this mix of old and new, traditional and revolutionary, which makes the city so special and the marathon is a unique way in which to see the English capital and its residents in their best light.