Volunteering at the London Marathon

Yesterday, I had front-row seats to one of the biggest events on the running circuit — the London Marathon. Though I wasn’t, unfortunately, running it myself, I was doing the next best thing — volunteering!

Sutton Runners, the running group I belong to and occasionally show up to the training sessions of, were manning two spots on the course, one of which was a crucial crossing point for spectators and Londoners caught up on the wrong side of Westferry station.

The thing that struck me immediately as soon as I donned the high-vis reflective vest was how much perceived authority it bestowed upon me. I was being asked how to get to places, whether certain things were allowed, or just being stopped for marathon updates. The answer to most questions was a resounding, “I really don’t know”.

We started our day at 5:30 in the morning to make our way to the volunteer meeting point for 6:15, where a bus took us all the way to Westferry in East London. We grabbed our pre-packed lunches at a local church, where the lovely nun in charge gave an impassioned speech about the importance of community, and headed out to set up the crossing point.

Once it was ready, we waited for the first marathoners to come through. It started with the wheelchair race, the leader of which — Marcel Hug — was so far ahead that it took several minutes for the rest of the pack to show up. Turns out, he completely obliterated his own record, finishing the marathon in 1:23:44.

The women’s elite athletes came through shortly after, but the surprise winner of the event — Sifan Hassan — wasn’t among the first four at that stage. We had to watch the drama unfold at home once the race had finished. Kelvin Kiptum was holding a significant lead when he passed us at mile 20, but it was Mo Farah a few moments later that made the strongest impression — he looks exactly like the photos.

We stayed until six or so, but there were still a few runners coming through when we began packing up. I feel guilty, because everyone deserves to be cheered if they’re going to do something as momentous as a marathon, but at the same time, after more than ten hours on my feet, my own legs were aching. We cheered everyone remaining on the route until we saw the 8 hour car, and then boarded our bus and headed home.

I’ve applied for the ballot, so here’s hoping next year I’ll be among the runners!