My day at the Jubilee

Someone's arse at the Jubilee Pageant

Yesterday I had a vision. I was going to go down to the Thames nice and early and get a good spot to take some pictures of the Old Girl sailing past as part of her Jubilee celebrations.

At midday – nearly four hours before she was due to finish her voyage – I set off to Embankment with long lens in hand. I even bought some patriotic newspapers to keep me occupied while I waited.

But when I got down to Embankment my vision soon got clouded. I couldn’t get out of the main exit towards the Thames and was directed towards Charing Cross. With every road towards the river seemingly closed, I ended up near Blackfriars Bridge. After about ten minutes walking up and down praying for a miracle, I settled on a very slight hill about ten metres from the riverbank. I couldn’t see a thing.  

You have to give it to the British people though, they love their Queen. The weather was nothing short of miserable. Yet crowds lined the Thames for hours, with at very least a flag, waiting to get a glimpse (and a glimpse is all that it would have been) of a family they have never met and, in reality, know very little about.

We patriotic crowd members kept warm by huddling together and not talking to each other with an impeccable politeness that can only be described as “British”.

We had a big screen in front of us, first showing historic footage of the Queen, and then cutting to live pictures of the Royal family getting on the boat up in Battersea.

First out of a Rolls-Royce were Charles and Camilla to light applause and some flag waving. The next car carried William and Kate along with a cheeky grinning Harry. This time loud applause and a warm fuzzy feeling as our minds were cast back to the Royal Wedding just over a year ago.

Then finally came the Queen, looking radiant in white, and joined by everyone’s favourite, but slightly racist Granddad, the Duke of Edinburgh. The crowd burst in to loud applause and what can only be described as vigorous flag waving. A young man with a trumpet belted out the national anthem and the crowd merrily sang along. People love Will and Kate, but on a day like today you can’t beat the top girl.

It took about an hour for the boats to reach my segment of the river. I didn’t have a clue when the smaller boats passed. Seeing those was too much even for my best tip-toeing view. But I could make out the Queen’s barge through the crowd as it erupted once again. And what’s more, through the flags and waving arms I could see a figure dressed in white waving to her loyal subjects (like me) on our side of the river.

My dream of an award winning picture was a stretch too far though. It was a 'hold your camera in the air and hope' situation. This was the result (these are the best)…

A boat big enough for me to see

"Can you see them? Can you see them?"

So were the hours in the horrendous weather for a restricted, momentary glimpse of a boat with an old lady on it, worth it?

Yes absolutely. Of course.

In the pub with my mate John afterwards I felt great – all warm inside. And there and then we agreed that if there was a tick-box in our employment contracts that said: “Do you want to make a contribution to help pay for the Royal family in the form of your tax return?” our answer would be unanimously, “Yes”.

I can’t think of another situation in our country that would bring out so many people with so much good feeling in the most awful of British weather. An election certainly wouldn’t. I’m proud to be British and I’m proud of the traditional dysfunctional family that represents us on a global stage. God save those royal blighters! Here Here.

The marathon diaries - Milton Keynes

My initial reaction wasn’t to do another marathon. But when I went on the marathon photos website to look at my pictures for Brighton I noticed that they were covering the Milton Keynes Marathon on 29th April – two weeks after Brighton.

I don’t know why, but I clicked on the link. And before I really knew what I was doing I was emailing the race director to see if I could get in. To his credit, he replied promptly and said that he would extend the application deadline just for me.

The way I justified my actions was I had nothing to lose. The entry fee was £40, but I had just won on the national so this seemed like a good investment. I wanted to run a better race than Brighton. Well I had done all of the training, so why not try again soon? And if I wasn’t feeling up to it, I wouldn’t do it. And to avoid the pressure I wouldn’t tell loads of people about my plans.

As time passed, I felt less sore about Brighton. In fact, I started to think that for someone who had never run before and only trained for about three months, 4:06 was perfectly respectable. And it was taking longer to recover than expected. I tried a run a week after Brighton and felt so awful I walked the last two miles.

Still I thought I would have nothing to lose by showing up on the MK start line and giving it a go.

The MK Marathon
That was before the rain. For the week leading up to the Milton Keynes Marathon it rained continuously. I arrived at my brother’s the night before and it was relentless. I remember trying to sleep but just hearing the howling wind and rain hammer against the window above my head.

We checked the MK marathon Facebook page and the organisers were adamant that it would take place, even if they had to change some of the route at the last moment due to flooding.

We drove to Milton Keynes and got there just in time for the start. As I’ve learnt is always the case at these events, I quickly relieved myself behind some bushes and joined the start line right at the back. Freezing cold and wet, my ambition was to get round rather than run an amazing time. And if I didn’t get round, well I wasn’t going to give myself a hard time about it. It was biblical.

The MK marathon was very different to Brighton. It was around the ‘redways’ – a network of cycling and running paths that run through the parkland and forests that surround Milton Keynes, before finishing in the football stadium. This meant it was extremely wet and muddy. Many parts of the course were flooded, meaning you would have to run round the path on the mud. It reminded me of the Longsands Cross Country.

I started at a steady pace, trying to dodge the slower people who I had been at the back with. And I gradually increased my pace as I got to about eight miles. According to my watch, which I had purchased especially for this occasion, I ran the first half in just under 2:04 minutes, making a four hour marathon extremely unlikely. But I wasn’t disappointed. Under the conditions, I was delighted to have got that far.

The second half of the race obviously got more difficult as I got more tired and more wet. After Brighton, I was expecting to fall apart at any moment when I reached 18 miles. But it didn’t happen. At about 20, I found a pacer who I kept pace with for the next four miles. Still feeling strong, I quickened my pace and left him behind.

The marathon comes out of the parkland in the last mile and heads towards and then inside the stadium, finishing alongside the pitch. I finished as strong as I started. In 4:08 minutes. That was two nearly identical halves.

I was delighted, with no hint of disappointed this time. It didn’t matter that I didn’t do it under four hours. And it didn’t matter that it was slower than Brighton. I was delighted that I ran every step of the way at a consistent pace in the most trying conditions. I couldn’t imagine managing my race any better or finishing it any quicker.

Like last time, Stephen was there to meet me (a little late), load me up with McDonalds and take me home (including carrying me up to my front door).

In reflection
In hindsight, two marathons in two weeks was probably a bit over the top. And I’m not sure I would do it again. Recovery the second time was definitely more difficult and two weeks later, I’m still not feeling 100 percent.

But I’m glad I did it. I enjoyed Brighton most and with my mother and uncle doing it as well it will go down in family history as one of the best days ever.  And with Milton Keynes, I am proud of running a good marathon in extremely difficult conditions that would have added minutes (approx. 9) to my time. I put the Brighton demons to bed. On top of all that, I raised nearly £1000 for my mum’s charity (thank you everyone).

And what next? Well amazingly, I got a place at the New York Marathon. This time I want to train slightly longer and break four hours. And once I have done that, I may well retire.

The marathon diaries - Brighton

My mum picked me and my two litre bottle of water up on the Saturday before the marathon to take me to Brighton. I mention the water, because it seems I had over-hydrated, which had my mum pulling over a couple of times on the way so I could water the bushes on the side of the road. We met my uncle, registered and then went to my auntie’s where the rest of my family were staying to load up on carbs. 

My uncle, mum and I stayed in an apartment about 20 miles outside of Brighton to avoid sleeping on the floor. Despite this, I hardly slept a wink that night, such were my nerves (and some mysterious noises echoing through the apartment kept me awake – thanks mum).

In true Webster/Stephens style we got there just in time on race day. I lined up in my start area and once again found I had over-hydrated. This is definitely something to learn from next time. This time I leapt over a barrier to water the bushes metres before the start line.

The run
I set off at a brisk pace. And despite my lack of sleep, I felt great. As I reached seven miles I could see the four hour pacer in the distance who had started about eight minutes in front of me. By 11 miles, I was passed him and crossed the halfway points in about 1:52.

Before I started the marathon I had no real idea how quickly I could do it. But it was evident at halfway that I had cracked it. I was a natural. I was going to do it in about 3:45.

By mile 17, when I saw my family on the side of the road, I was still feeling strong and confident (as you will see from the picture). All the training had been worth it. I was motoring.

But at about mile 19 things changed in a matter of moments. I just felt like I couldn’t go on. I believe they call this the wall. I tried smashing through it, but my pace slowed so much that people started overtaking me at an alarming rate. My adulation went to despair. I thought I had messed it up. I went from thinking about 3:45 to 5:45. This was crazy, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought it was all over.

I struggled on for the next two-three miles, but at a much slower pace and still with lots of people overtaking me.

But at mile 23 my perspective changed again. The four hour pacer that I had passed about 12 miles ago passed me.  I tried to keep up with him, but to no avail. But rather than disheartening me, this was a positive moment. I realised that I hadn’t lost loads of time. I still had the chance to finish around the four hour mark.

With an extra impetus, I struggled through the last three miles and crossed the finish line in 4:06 to my brother’s applause.

I was exhausted. Dead on my feet. And despite feeling amazing about finishing (even a little tearful), I couldn’t help feel a little disappointed about falling away so badly at the end. I felt like I was fit enough to run sub four hours, but poor race management had let me down.

Someone said once that ten percent of your life is determined by the things that happen to you and 90 percent is determined by how you react. Well I was about to react….

The marathon diaries - training

I have just run two marathons in the space of two weeks. It wasn’t the plan. But it is what happened. And here I will tell that story…

In the beginning

It all started in my grandparents’ front room. I was minding my own business and eating some chocolate fingers my nan had bought me. Very nice they were too. And my mum was talking her usual nonsense, this time about doing the Brighton Marathon for her charity, Dementia UK.

My uncle, often keen to take on a challenge, said he would love to do it as well. Having just turned 50, he was looking for a new challenge.

I have no idea what possessed him, but he then said: “And I’m sure Andrew will want to do it too, he’s the youngest and fittest out of all of us.”

Well that was it. With my family’s gaze upon me I was signed up to the Brighton Marathon in a little over three months.

The training regime
I’ve always played sport, mostly football and golf and a bit of cycling more recently. But I have never been a runner. My maximum, before this whole ordeal, was about 20 minutes on a treadmill at the end of a very rare gym session. I can only recall going on one run before starting my training. And running a marathon was not something I had ever seriously considered.

I let Christmas get out of the way first, using it as a last opportunity to stuff my face guilt free. And then on a cold and quiet day I decided to venture out for my first run wearing my football kit and £18 trainers I bought in India about nine years ago. 

The route was just less than five miles. And despite pretending I needed to look at a map at a bus stop half way round to give myself a rest, I got there.

The next run didn’t go so well. I got a mile down the road and decided I really wasn’t ready for this and turned back.

But surprisingly, that didn’t deter me.  I managed to get into a routine. Nothing silly, just three runs a week sometimes substituted by a football match and sometimes in addition to one. I started off with five mile runs and stuck pretty closely to the training programme I had signed up to through a training plan website that is still sending me daily emails saying ‘how was your run today?’ (PISS OFF!)

By the time I went to America on holiday in February I was up to about ten miles. And America was a good boost because it was warm and I got to feel good about myself as I ran over the Golden Gate Bridge with the San Fran mums (even though that was a horrific experience – it looks far more serene in pictures).

Stepping up the committment

With six-eight weeks to go disaster struck. I got an injury. My regime was such that I didn’t have time to waste. But I couldn’t put proper weight on my right leg when I ran. I nursed myself to fitness by using a death trap contraption known as a ‘cross trainer’ in the gym.

But I decided this warranted a greater commitment to the cause. It was time to have my gait analysed and buy some trainers that actually fitted me. The man in the shop (obviously qualified medical practitioner) said he thought it was my Achilles that was giving me a problem. But some extortionately priced trainers should help, especially by supporting my over-pronating left leg. I paid the man without asking too many questions. 

The final preparations

With my new trainers and my leg feeling much better I embarked on my long runs in the build up to the marathon. After a disastrous day dodging shoppers on Chiswick High Street, I decided to do these along the canal.

First I did 14 miles, then 16, then 18 and finally 20. Although they were gruelling days that I would dread in the days leading up to them, I did the mileage with two weeks to go before the big day. I also have Keith Richards to thank. His audio autobiography got me through some dark dark times.

Speaking of dark times, it was on these long runs that I learnt the hard way about the need for a big tub of Vaseline. On the 16 miler it started hammering down with rain about eight miles away from home. By the time I finished, my sodden erect nipples were bleeding to the extent that they stained my white shirt. I had bought an industrial size pot of the lubricant by the time I went on my next run.