London Marathon 2

22-04-07. 6.30am
D Day. Lazy in bed. Felt stiff from all that driving from Birmingham to London. Shower, and then adjusted my coral beads. (My latest fashion statement- the South-south look). The necklace had to be shortened and held down with safety pins to make running easier. (See photo). At this point, I thanked God that I didn’t have breasts.
Was getting late. Left by 7.10am with cousin who had now returned from night shift. He didn’t have a clue how to encourage someone about to undertake a big task (or perhaps was too tired to care).
At Sutton station there were no trains (Up British Rail!) and I was soon on a Coach to West Croydon to arrive 8.10am.
I was late and sweating. The race starts 9am for elite women, 9.25am for the Wheel Chair Marathon and 9.45am for elite men and the masses (me). And you sabi say the only African time that will be on display will be the victory times of the Black athletes. I began to calculate and pray at the same time. A skill all Nigerian have acquired while driving on Nigerian roads.
I had hurriedly put just £5 in my pocket and left my wallet and credit cards back in my cousin’s place. Train transport was free for all runners who display their running numbers so I thought I didn’t need money. I began to rehearse how I would convince the cab drivers to take me to my Blackheath starting point on credit. I began to blame myself. Why was I late? Why did British rail close Sutton station. It will be sad to go home without a medal.
As I came off the bus, a chap called me. He was looking lost. Was from Northampton and needed get to the Marathon starting point. I on the other hand had lived in Croydon before. Off to the cab office. £23 to Blackheath. His mum brought out the cash. Hallelu..Halleluyah.
God said I will go ahead of you….
Race. 10am.
I ran for ages and got very angry at the first sign. ONE MILE. Only?? With all this sweat and thirst? 25 miles to go. God help us. At 3 Miles I saw the Vittel water sign. The shock. The water had finished. Na lie. People started looking on the road at the empty plastic bottles for remnant water. Some spectators were tipping water into bottles to make up a good quantity for drinking. God alone knows what mouths had been on the bottles before they got thrown on the dirty road. Omo, I rush the bottle. Disease no dey kill African man; (only poverty and Aids).
Where are all those Lagos street hawkers selling ‘Pure water’ when you need them? Make dem give dem Visa now!
I even wrote a poem for them in my book- My Time and dem come let me down like this.
Pure Water
Pure water, pure water
The little boy said
Will quench all your thirst
And cool down your head
It is good for madam
Perfect for Olga
Pure water pure water
The little boy said
Dr W Orhiunu
My Time
2005