I am a marathon runner

Its taken much consideration on how to write my marathon blog. It feels like there was 42.2 different themes that appeared for me on the day. From flat out denial, early bird wakeups before a marathon, perhaps over resting prior to race day, extreme use of meditation, body to brain pacing (instead of watch interrogation). Toilet management with a case of the upset tum. How to manage heat and whirling wind over 42.2km Treating endometriosis at 22km of a marathon. Dealing with the crowds when you are seemingly the only runner left on the road and they would rather cross the street than wait for a slow coach runner while there were no cars on the street. When all the small cheering children make you desperately homesick for your own nieces and nephew. How to run in a foreign country whilst you don't understand the supporters cries. How to converse in English, Spanish and Italian during the course of a marathon. The love and support from around the world that motivates you in the final stages,

The best marathon supporters I could have asked for.

The brothers from other mothers who travel the miles to cheer from the side lines without being judgey at how damn slow you are as a runner (Thank you Evan and Mike my love for you both grew that day). How an Italian man helped motivate me for the last 9km holding my hand in triumph as we crossed the finish line together. How I now know how Ebola is caught (marathon toilets...runners will understand). How my name is Jo not Yo; but 'give me hope Joanna' felt pretty special sung by a cowboy costumed supporter. How I could hear my niece shout "Just. Keep. Running" over and over for the second half of the race after a pre-race Skype video message. How being told that I have a beautiful smile at 34km (all be it hand actions when he realised I didn't understand) made me realise I was smiling through the hardship. Perhaps I could have covered the Devil Jo and Determined Jo's I found in a portaloo at 30km, how deal making with these beasts got me across the finish line and on the plane home (currently mid-flight as I type!), by the Andrew incarnate offering Cervesa (beer) with a steel drum band at 31km....how my oldest friend pops up in my life always warms my soul, or the Scandinavian man's encouragement at 29km committing to seeing my 5km hence giving me a strange sense of responsibility.How taking on water from 5km due to the heat had me anxious I might over hydrate. The inspirational man who ran with me in his wheelchair using just one hand to propel himself. How I had an entire central city crowd cheering for me as I was the only person on the road - my very own Spanish crowd. How useful my friends words of advise were to follow the line which tracks the shortest route of the course which I found 300m into this epic race. How I dedicated a Km to friends and family and that helped to focus me (at times and distract me at others).How I am too polite to pee on the side of the road (my school mates might note I haven't changed from wagon days!), or how my body got into such a rhythm I felt I could run for ever. How I ruined my finishing photos by being an aeroplane.  By being embraced after the race by a fellow runner for helping to egg him along despite not sharing a language just pats on backs (Carlos !Olé!). How a young English runner told me he was going to follow bums to finish (as he ran beside me and my voluptuous Marathon bum). How old ladies blew me kisses several times and called me Guapa (result!). How I heard an English guy telling his girlfriend how tough it was being a supporter as he jogged briefly beside her....you cant imagine the expletives I withheld from him - a man who actually spoke the same language as I do! How I said Gracias and gave hundreds of thumbs ups to the kind supporters. How crying for 8km in the middle of race was a first (in a long run at least) and I that couldn't explain why the tears propelled from my eyes, but that I was mortified beyond belief. That I finished a marathon but all I could think was how I didn't reach my time goal by a long shot and how disappointed I was in my body and my soul. How I felt sad for days afterwards and didn't want to talk about it.

 The smile belies the emotion

 I could write about each of these things lyrically, critically but perhaps I should just sit with this accomplishment. And celebrate the lack of chaffing, for completing one of Europe's flattest marathons in my old home Valencia,  where the streets were lined with hundreds of good spirited (often still drinking from the night before) supporters and steel bands who engulfed me every few km's and as I crossed the line the PA rang through "Walking on Air".

I will try and remember it all, for what it was. A marathon. And I am now a marathoner.