Day 301: Pain is nothing compared to what it feels like to quit.

Things I expected Sunday to be:

Wet.

Long.

Painful.

Things I did not expect Sunday to be:

SobFest 2012.

I think I've just about stopped crying for long enough to tell you about one of the hardest days of my life. At 9:45AM on Sunday I took my place on the starting line of my fourth London marathon. I wish I had known then what I would know just seven hours later... that this was to be my last London marathon. 

The first few miles were great; the sun was shining, Team Cat was on top form, and I had an overwhelming urge to high five every child/adult/object in sight. But, as ever, RA was determined to do it's best to ruin my day, and chose mile 7 to start to attack my knees. By mile 19 I could barely even get my leg off the ground, let alone run, and for pretty much the first time in the history of my life I considered letting the disease win. Had it not been for Team Cat pushing me to carry on, walking with me and, at one point, literally holding me up, I genuinely believe that I wouldn't have made it across that finishing line. But, somehow, I did it. 

I have never cried at a marathon before, even under the influence of the mile 16 cider last year. But this year I think it's fair to say I more than made up for it. I didn't cry because of the pain, though. I have always said that I will run the London marathon every year until my body won't let me anymore. Well this year, at mile 19, I realised that this time had come, and I made the heartbreaking decision that this marathon would be my last.  I think people think I'm being dramatic when I use the word 'heartbreaking', but the marathon has become so much more than a 26 mile run to me. Over the last four years it has become my way of regaining that little bit of control over my body, and proving to myself that I have the strength and courage to beat this disease. As it turns out, pain is nothing compared to what it feels like to quit. From the moment I made that decision every time I saw friends, family, or ARUK supporters cheering me on and screaming my name that was it, I booed it big time. With the finish line in sight Team Cat joined me in walking down the Mall. But I did not want my last memory of the London marathon to be of me hobbling over the finish line so somehow I managed to find the strength to run. And as I crossed that line for the fourth and final time an almighty cheer erupted from Team Cat behind me. That feeling at that moment is worth the 26.2 miles of pain every time, and I will carry it with me for the rest of my life. 

Thank you to every single person who has come to support me, sent me messages of support, or sponsored me over the last four years, and to everyone at ARUK for giving me the opportunity to run for such a great charity year after year. Who knows; maybe in a few years I'll be able to give it another go. But for now, over and out.