Nangle Natters: Marathon fan

Credit: Martyn Thomas

Can I come down to stay?”, my friend A asked. Not an unusual request from London pals, until he added that it was so that he could be up in time to pick up his registration pack to run the Brighton Marathon. I’ve never had a marathon-runner stay over before. And could he bring his friend too. Yes, if he’s a very good friend because I’ve only got the one spare futon. And so it was arranged.

I, myself, was up in London the night A and M stayed over. I got back at around midnight that night, having said a quick hello in the afternoon when I’d handed over spare keys and the duo had headed off in one direction and I’d hastily put on some slap before hotfooting it to the station and fairytale hopes of trains that might be generous with my travel plans.

Sunday morning I woke up to vague movement noises around the flat, steadfastly ignoring them and any hosting duties. However, after both had left the bright sunshine pierced the moth-holes in my curtains, inching into my head the idea of joining M on the marathon’s sidelines in support of the runners. I’d never been in town on marathon day before. It might be fun. And I could get a tan.

The bright sunshine pierced the moth-holes in my curtains

I have never been so overwhelmed with good nature and enthusiasm. M had a spot with the charity that was sponsoring A – CALM, Campaign Against Living Miserably –right on Marine Parade. In-between the drummers of GOSH and the sweetness of a dementia charity. M was an old hand at supporting. M had run marathons and races all over the world. M was the best asset I could’ve found to be next to for my first marathon. I absolutely loved it.

Our small group of supporters supported everyone. We shouted cheers of general enthusiasm, whoops of triumph for those running victorious and others plainly struggling. M had brought 6kg of jelly babies, which we poured into small plastic bowls and held out as far as our arms could reach over the barriers, digging into our sides, for runners to get a sugar hit without sticky fingers or a large choking hazard. We high fived. We stayed just the right side of cat calling – enthusiasm for activity, not form. It was amazing.

A finished his first marathon with a good time, and a deep tan mark from his headband that promised plenty of humblebrags in the following weeks as people asked its origin. And I have an even deeper respect for all of those runners, every last one. Well done!