into the light, pain, tears and joy – first published 11 May 2013

The easy miles were over and I’d passed the halfway point. If this had been a training walk I’d be in Winchester and have turned for home about then but, as it was, I just kept going, blindly following the pink clad throng all around me.  The half mooners had gone and I couldn’t help imagining them all celebrating with coffee and cakes before toddling home to their warm beds. There was more than a touch of envy. Now for the hard miles, walking into the dawn…

11 May 2013

From Hyde Park Corner I walked in a tide of flapping, pink, see-through Walk The Walk plastic macs to Duke of Wellington Place. The Wellington Arch in the middle of the traffic island, confused me, for a moment I thought it was Marble Arch at the other end of Park Lane and couldn’t work out where I was. Maybe I was a little delirious by then. This beautiful triumphal arch was built in 1826 to commemorate victory in the Napoleonic wars. Of course it would probably help if the original statue of Wellington was still above the arch rather than the four horse chariot that replaced it in 1912.

Turning onto Constitution Hill I was glad it is a hill in name only. This road, bordered by Buckingham Palace Gardens to my right and Green Park to my left leads from Hyde Park Corner to Buckingham Palace and is named because Charles II used it for his ‘constitutional’ walks. Strange to think this quiet, leafy road was actually the scene of three assassination attempts on Queen Victoria or that Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel died there after being thrown from his horse.

Soon we rounded the Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace. This was dedicated to Queen Victoria in 1911 by George V and Wilhelm II of Germany, two of her grandsons. The white marble edifice is quite something to behold, with a statue of Victoria facing The Mall,  flanked by angels, Justice facing Green Park, Truth looking towards Birdcage Walk and Charity facing the palace. The whole thing is crowned by a golden statue for peace and victory. It felt as if there should have been one for pain too right about then. My feet were damp and they ached.

At least the rain had stopped. It felt as if it was getting lighter but it wasn’t even three o’clock, well before dawn. The illusion of light was due to the white globes of street lights imitating the dawn. At this point I was alone, the walkers behind a few yards back, those in front a few yards ahead. At the traffic lights I glanced at the palace and wondered if the Queen was at home. The window were dark so perhaps she was in bed. There was no chance to dally long because the lights changed and the Walk The Walk marshall ushered me across.

Down the Mall there was a mass exodus into the trees to go to the loo. The portaloos had all had massive queues so I, and it would seem many others, walked past them with legs crossed. It seemed strange to see hundreds of women crouching behind every tree along this most famous of ceremonial roads. This is where the processions for state occasions are held, where the Queen drives in her carriage. People packed the route to wave flags and cheer when Prince William Married Katherine Middleton in 2011 and for the Diamond Jubilee last year. This is where the Royals are filmed waving from the palace balcony. The Mall is paved in red to imitate a red carpet but all we could think of was nipping into the bushes to pee. It is quite possible this was an act of treason and we could all have been sent to The Tower.

The little detour took me to mile fourteen. This was when my right knee began to ache. A worry so early on but there was nothing I could do except carry on. Rather than walking to the end of the Mall tbrough Admiralty Arch to Trafalgar Square we turned onto Horse Guards Road, passing Horse Guards Parade where the trooping of the colour can be seen and, once upon a time, there used to be jousting, imagine that! Obviously this happens during the day and right then all was quiet. I found somewhere to sit and fished my knee support from the bottom of my rucksack. Hopefully that would help.

All strapped up, I limped onto Birdcage Walk, named for the Royal Menagerie and Aviary installed by James I. Right up until 1828 only the Royal family and their staff were allowed to walk along this road. I should have felt priviledged but the pain in my knee stopped me enjoying this beautiful leafy walk round the edges of St James’s Park into Mile fifteen. Buckingham Gate, Buckingham Palace Road and round into Bressenden Place where tall buildings take the place of trees was a haze of pain. All I could think of were the miles ahead and how I was going to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Somehow I struggled into Victoria Street and found a bench to sit on so I could fumble around in my rucksack for the pain killers I knew I’d put there. There were snacks galore and lip balm, along with more chocolate milk but no painkillers, I went through the pockets getting increasingly desperate. A marshal saw me and came over to ask if I was alright. Her concern made me want to cry but I kept rifling through the bag, afraid to meet her eye, pretending I was looking for a snack.
“Well done for getting to mile sixteen,” she said then nodded towards my knee support, “and with a bad knee too. Not too much longer now.” The pain killers were nowhere to be found so I ate one of the snacks, some chocolate buttons, and limped on.

On I went, not even realising I was in Parliament square because my knee hurt so much I wasn’t sure how I was still walking. All my concentration was on taking the next step and keeping going. There was no way I was going to stop unless my leg fell off. Even then I’d probably have draged myself along somehow. Then I remembered my bum bag and, sure enough the pain killers were in there hidden at the back by some yogurt coated fruit. I swallowed two with a swig from my water bottle and hoped they’d start to work soon.

The painkillers and the knee support begin to kick in along Victoria Embankment and I became aware of my surroundings again. There was the London Eye, the blue lights reflected in the Thames, so pretty. Pausing WalkJogRun, I stopped to take a photo and, while I did, the lights on the buildings changed from blue through purple then red. I was mesmerised and took lots of photos but most of them turned out to be blurry and useless. Walkers marched past in a series of pink blurs.

Just before Waterloo Bridge, at mile seventeen, the Wall The Walk people handed out tiny paper cups of hot coffee, quarters of oranges and water. The were also loos and they had no queues. It felt as if I’d died and gone to heaven. As I took my cup another walker said, “you shouldn’t drink the coffee, it will go right through you,” and refused hers. I laughed out loud and she probably thought I was mad. If she knew me she’d have understood. There was no time to explain because she was off, marching away from the mad, laughing woman. The coffee was like nectar of the Gods and the loos were much appreciated too. I went on my way through The Strand underpass sucking on a quarter of an orange smiling to myself.

In what seemed like no time I was on Fleet Street, home of journalists until 2005 but still synonymous with national newspapers today. This was where I saw the mile eighteen marker. Apparently Fleet Street is named after London’s largest underground river, who’d have guessed? Walking along The Strand, the crescent of Aldwych and on to Kingsway I was sure the sky was getting lighter or at least more navy blue than black. Looking skywards I spotted a road sign saying Twyford Place on the side of a pub, The Shakespeare’s Head. The name made me pine for my training walks, which suddenly seemed so much easier than this walk.

Turning onto High Holborn and nineteen miles I was looking at the sky more than the landmarks, watching it slowly go from navy to cobalt. In front of Chancery Lane tube station I snapped a photo. It was really getting quite light but sadly not light enough to do justice to the Staple Inn right by the station. This beautiful timber frame building dates from 1585 and, despite the name, is not a pub but the last surviving Inn of Chancery, used as offices for a group of legal institutions. Although it survived the Great Fire of London it was damaged by bombs in World War II and has been beautifully restored. Somehow it seemed incongruous amongst all the modern buildings.

Crossing Holborn Viaduct, into Newgate Street, where the notorious twelfth century prison used to be before it was demolished in 1904, I came to Cheapside and the mile twenty marker. Before I set off I’d promised Commando I’d phone him at mile twenty but, as it wasn’t even five o’clock, I felt bad to wake him so thought I’d leave it until mile twenty one. He’d still have plenty of time to get dressed slowly, maybe have a coffee and something to eat and run to the finish line long before I got there.

Cheapside was once the site of one of London’s biggest produce markets, cheap being the medieval English word for Market, and the nearby roads are testament to this with names like Bread Street, Milk Street and Honey Lane. All the food names made me hungry so I fished a chocolate milkshake out of my rucksack and drank as I walked. Today the Cheapside market is long gone, replaced with shops, offices and One New Change, the only big shopping centre in London. Of course everything was closed.

By the time I’d finished the milkshake I was on Threadneedle Street right by the Bank of England. Often known as The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, the bank has been there since 1734 but I’d never seen it before. From the outside it’s just another big stone building with arches and columns but I couldn’t help thinking a few of the bars of gold inside could do a lot of good in the hands of the Walk The Walk charity. No one is really sure how Threadneedle Street got its name but some say it comes from the Merchant Taylors’ Hall, which has been there since 1347. Apparently this was where the British national anthem was first sung back in 1607.

By Old Broad Street I looked at the sky again and it was palest blue and I thought I could detect a golden glow but the buildings were too high and narrow to really see the the sunrise. As I walked I kept checking the time on my phone and the sky, thinking about phoning Commando and then deciding not to. Because I was earlier than I’d expected it felt wrong to wake him but, selfishly, I wanted him there at the finish.

Between the checking and sky watching I hardly noticed the streets I walked on or those I passed but when the walk led me to a small precinct between the tall buildings I saw the mile twenty one marker and there were the yellow jackets of Walk The Walk people handing out plastic cups of hot chocolate. Feeling a little ungrateful I asked if there was coffee as well but was told there was only hot chocolate. “Hot chocolate is wonderful then,” I said thanking the young man holding it out to me profusely. I couldn’t help smiling when I heard the next person asking if there was any coffee, a kindred spirit or did everyone need a caffeine burst right then?

The hot Chocolate was very hot so I stopped to drink it in case I spilled it and burnt myself. As I sipped I texted Commando. It was six minutes past five. The little text trill from his phone would go off a couple of times giving him a chance to wake up gently, or just turn over and ignore it. Phoning could wait a while, although I longed to hear his voice.

That was when I noticed the loos. There were no queues at all so, once the hot chocolate was finished and the cup binned, I took advantage of them and I took off my windproof waterproof jacket for the first time. I’d been walking with it open most of the night so my bra was more or less on display but now the sun was up I felt a little warmer and I wanted to finish with my bra properly on show. Even so, I kept the fleece on, it wasn’t that warm.

Going back past the hot chocolate stall I was offered another quarter of an orange. Empty loos, hot chocolate and oranges, what bliss and funny how small things mean so much at mile twenty one. The little precinct came out onto a large paved area overlooking the Thames and the Tower of London. Other walkers had stopped by the wall to take photos and one was texting, probably asking someone to meet her at the finish too. Musing on this I was a little surprised Commando hadn’t replied to my text but I guessed he was pretty tired from the drive to London so I didn’t worry too much.

Once I’d taken a few photos I walked on along Tower Hill and, as I approached Tower Bridge, I phoned Commando. It was almost quarter past five and I’d been calculating how long it would take him to wake up and get ready then run to the finish. The phone went straight to voice mail. Now I was worried, why wasn’t he answering his phone? Maybe he’d got my text and was in the shower. Surely he’d ring back soon?

On I plodded. As I stepped onto the bridge I phoned again. It went straight to voice mail. Crossing the bridge my mind was clouded by worry. Again I called and left a voicemail, “I’m almost at mile twenty two. Call me back.” On autopilot I took photos of the bridge but all sorts of things were going through my head. What if he’d lost his phone or been mugged? What if something happened to him when he ran back last night? By this time I was close to tears but I had to pull myself together, there had to be a simple explaination and I had to keep walking.

Walking and worrying I passed the Golden Hind with hardly a second glance but when I saw troughs of white pansys I stopped to take a photo. There have to be flower photos on my walks or it wouldn’t be right. Obviously I wasn’t thinking straight with all the walk and the worry, plus the pain killers were wearing off and my knee, bearable for a while, was beginning to really hurt again. This was mile twenty two.

For once I knew more or less where I was and what to expect next. Athough I recognise most of the major London attractions when I see them they usually take me by surprise and I’d be hard pushed to find any of them on purpose. Right then I knew I was getting close to The Globe. Ok, I confess, I love Shakespeare. The beautiful rose window of Winchester Palace ruins caught my eye. This twelfth century palace was built by Henry of Blois for the bishop of Winchester, an important man back then when Winchester was the Capital of England. My training walks were coming back to haunt me, first Twyford and now Winchester. In a way the familiar names were a comfort and I needed a little comfort about then.

The walk along the river’s edge past the Globe was a cold, windy affair, it always seems to be like that along there. I’d taken my jacket off too soon but I didn’t want to stop to get it back out of my rucksack. I walked faster. My knee protested and I fished more painkillers out of my bum bag even though I couldn’t remember when I took the last ones. It felt like I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep going.

At Southwark Bridge, by the mile twenty three marker, I rang Commando again and left another voice mail, hoping he was on his way. If he was, why hadn’t he called me back? When someone asked me if I was alright I realised I was crying. The woman and her friend looked at me with concern so I explained my husband wasn’t answering his phone. “There will be no one to take my photo when I finish,” I said, realising as the words came out how shallow I sounded. I was half worried, half angry by this time and filled with self pity. “You can walk with us,” they both said in unison and I appreciated the lovely offer but I wanted to walk alone and I didn’t want to talk so, after walking along for a while, I purposely got separated. I’m pretty sure they didn’t notice, maybe they were relieved, I must have been quite a miserable companion and I hardly said another word to them.

On past Blackfriars Bridge I walked, tying to ignore my knee and my worries about Commando and concentrate on finishing. Near Waterloo Bridge I saw a woman rubbing her back. She looked like she was in pain so I stopped to ask if she needed painkillers. She told me she’d already taken some and “I WILL finish,” with a look of steely determination in her eye but she was close to tears and almost pathetically grateful that I offered to help. There were a lot of teary faces around at this point, we had all made it to mile twenty four.

Just as I was about to ring Commando again my phone rang. It was him. His phone had been on silent and he hadn’t realised until he saw my messages. He was sorry and upset but when I said I was at mile twenty four he said “I won’t have time to run the four miles from the hotel to the finish before you get there.”
I was relieved and angry all at the same time so I snapped, “don’t bother, I’ll get a taxi back, stay at the hotel,” and cut off the call.

Walking through Jubilee gardens past the London Eye I didn’t take any photos. Nothing looked as pretty in the light and I was in a black, self pitying mood. I was crying but I didn’t care, no one would be at the finish to take my photo so who cared if there was mascara all over my face? Then Commando rang again. He was so upset about missing my calls and text. “I’m going to get a taxi so don’t come back to the hotel. Slow down so I can be there when you finish.” My mood suddenly lifted. I was by Westminster bridge and the dawn light was so beautiful I had to stop to capture the Houses of Parliament and the bridge in the golden glow.

WalkJogRun told me I was almost at mile twenty five. When I passed a little coffee stall selling hot drinks, burgers and things I remembered Commando saying slow down. There were empty benches all along this stretch of the river so I went back thinking I’d get a coffee and sit on a bench to drink it. I smiled as I ordered a latte, feeling great all of a sudden. A man next to me, not a Moonwalker but maybe there waiting for one, told me I was wonderful to do this walk and paid for my coffee. I beamed at him.

When I turned round, all the benches were full of Moonwalkers clutching coffee or food but I saw a little wall with a grass bank and trees in blossom so I went across to it. The wall was rough and hurt my tired legs so I climbed up onto the grass and sat. As soon as I did I realised my mistake, the grass was soaking and now my bottom was too. There was nothing I could do about it though so I stayed sitting there with a wet bum drinking my latte with petals falling on me like confetti. There were petals sticking to my trainers and leggings and others joining the stars still left on my puffy skirt. Never has a latte tasted so good.

The sign for mile twenty five was on the underpass going below Lambeth Bridge Although it was a while before WalkJogRun caught up. For most of the walk the buzz of my phone had come a little while before the marker, but I suppose the markers have to be placed on the nearest available place so they can’t be exact. Either way I knew there was just over a mile to go and it felt good. There were smiling faces all around me.

Along Albert Embankment I could just see the Power Station and I took photo after photo trying to capture the moment and the feeling. Now I was walking fast, pacing it out and feeling great. On Nine Elms Lane I stopped to snap the mile twenty six marker. Commando called to say he wasn’t allowed on the finish line but he was close to it and he was ready to take my photo. I took a couple of my own as the power station loomed above me then started looking out for him.

 

 

Seeing him there and crossing the finish line were moments of pure relief. The clock on the pink balloon arch said six hours fifty four minutes, a great time, considering the stops and my knee. My phone battery died as I went to take a photo of the arch before I walked under but it couldn’t dampen my spirits. I collected my medal then stopped, fished another battery pack out of my pocket and took one from the other side. Then I walked straight through the exit, snapping photos of the tent and the joyous faces as I went.

It took a while to get through the bemused crowds of tired walkers but, eventually, Commando and I met outside and I hobbled off with him in search of a taxi. Because of the dead battery I thought I’d lost the WalkJogRun data but, as we walked, I checked again and it was still there running. I stopped it and saved the data, even though the time was way out by then at least I had the map of my walk which was pretty handy or this blog would have been a lot less detailed, I really do not know London well.

So that was the story of my second Moonwalk an emotional saga of joy, tears and pain and just one story amongst the seventeen thousand that night. Women far braver than I walked those twenty six point two miles, women with more pain, women suffering from breast cancer or survivors of breast cancer. Each one has their own story to tell but maybe mine can give you a flavour of what it was like. The knee still hurts a bit but it will recover with rest. There are a few blisters in the same old places but they’ll heal. The point of it all is not about me getting fit, losing weight or beating my time, all of that is a bonus. The point is to raise money for Breast Cancer Research and save women’s lives. If you’d like to help with that you can donate to Walk the Walk, then again you could always do the Moonwalk yourself.

In the taxi on the way back to the hotel I said “never again.” Commando just smiled and shook his head. He doesn’t believe me. We will see but for now I’m still saying never.