London Marathon 2013

What an emotional roller coaster. The joy, celebration and elation of the start. The waving, clapping and hoopla of it all, the sea of colour. The smiling faces. Everyone's happy. But as the race goes on, and the bitumen and tarmac takes its toll, a serious bent takes hold. The sea of runners segregates. At twenty miles you see the professionals, lean and athletic, focussed, powerful and steady pacing towards that finishing line. Behind them, club runners plod, strong in step, but troubled in the face. Then, finally hundreds and thousands of people, wincing and grimacing through every step. Will collides with the fact of the body. Many are running as if to cleanse themselves of a personal tragedy. One runner wants to run 223 marathons, to commemorate the death of his nephew. Some carry photos of lost loves on their shirts. People pull up, some hobble, others exhausted, collapse and fall to the floor, some falling into unconsciousness, some never wake up. You, the audience, are there to do nothing more than give love. For just three or four hours, you become a showpiece for humanity. You give unquestioningly. Come on Bob. Come on 3521. A stranger, in need, looks up as you call his name, you make eye contact, and he smiles, for a second you run with him.

I lıke thıs marathon :) www.transfersx.com