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My First Marathon - the 1982 Mersey Marathon
In June 1982, the local radio station started advertising for the first Mersey Marathon. 1981 had seen the start of mass participation long distance running in England with the first London Marathon and The Great North Run. Now fundraisers for the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital saw a road race as a means to raise funds and so organised the first Mersey Marathon. It was to be run on 24 September 1982.
When I heard the advert on the radio, I said to a colleague in work that I would like to run in it. He said that I would never be able to do it. Rather than putting me off, it made me determined to run it.
I was twenty six and had not run since I was thirteen in school. Even then, running was something to be endured not enjoyed. I had three months to get fit. How hard could it be. I was already quite fit, I played five-a-side football twice a week, judo twice a week and jujitsu once a week. I put on my Reebok Classic trainers and ran. Two miles later I felt like I was going to die. Running a marathon needed so much more than just putting on a pair of trainers. I bought some running magazines that contained training plans. The plans were either sixteen or twenty weeks long but I only had twelve weeks left to train. I decided on a sixteen week plan but started on week three. There were many times during those twelve weeks that I felt like giving up but by now even more people knew that I had a place in the Marathon.
The day soon arrived. A friend had also decided to run the marathon so we decided to run together. I knew most of the route but I still felt like I was running into the great unknown. At least I would not be alone. After about a half of a mile my friend informed me that he was not going to be overtaken by a girl and off he went. I didn’t see him again until after the finish.
For the first couple miles there were large crowds encouraging us but then the crowds started getting thinner before increasing again as we neared Liverpool City Centre. The crowd was short lived, it was thinning out again as we left the City Centre to run along side the north docks. There must have been about five miles when we did not see anyone. By this time there was also some distance between runners and the phrase “the loneliness of the long distance runner” seemed very appropriate.
The noise was incredible as we approached the City again. Running past the crowds lifted me. I would need it because Parliament Street was approaching. Parliament Street was a steep climb that seemed a lot longer that it actually was. Well before the top, I was walking. The last six miles was walking and running at a speed not much quicker that walking.
At about twenty five miles somebody shouted “Keep going, you are going to finish in under four hours”. I had read that finishing in under four hours is quite an achievement but my thought was “I’m going to finish”. Up to this point I knew that I wanted to finish. Now I knew that I would finish. The final mile was great. Painful but great. The last fifty yards was incredible. The crowds were cheering just for me, well that’s what I was imagining. It was on grass so it became easier. I knew what I had to do. I had to sprint. The faster I went, the louder the crowd cheered. I crossed the finish line in 3 hrs 57 minutes and 25 seconds. I had proved the sceptics wrong. I had finished in a good time and I had a medal to prove it.
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