Page 134

Laura said, ‘Juliette Duffy you can do this. Come on.’

She hopped under the safety barrier, grabbed my hand and off we went.

The next five miles were bad.

I felt every step and my lungs burned.

But Laura was with me. And she gave me strength somehow.

Then some stupid jumped-up usher noticed Laura wasn’t wearing an official name bib. He blew a whistle at her and shouted, ‘PEDESTRIAN! REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THE RUNNERS AREA IMMEDIATELY!’

So Laura had to go.

God, the marathon is so emotional!

We both had tears in our eyes.

I said, ‘I can’t do this, Laura. I can’t do this on my own.’

She said, ‘Juliette Duffy, you are going to finish. I will see you at the finish line.’

All I had left then was pain and hopelessness. No Laura. No strength left. And no more jelly babies.

It was horrible. Awful.

I looked around and saw nothing but misery – all the runners looked so unhappy.

I thought, ‘Why on earth am I putting myself through this? Why put myself in such pain? Why don’t I just stop?’

Then someone shouted out, ‘Come on, Juliette!’

And someone else yelled, ‘You can do it, Juliette!’

And the crowd started clapping for me.

It was such a beautiful thing. All these strangers willing me on.

And miraculously, I carried on running.

One step at a time.

Slowly, the miles went by.

And step by horrible step, I made the twenty-five-mile mark. Then the twenty-sixth. And suddenly I could see Buckingham Palace up ahead.

I knew I could do it then. No matter how much pain I was in, I could manage the last little bit.

But just as I was turning into Piccadilly, the man in the snowman suit came careering into me. There wasn’t even any ice or anything, but I lost my footing.

I fell down and felt my ankle twist under me.

God it hurt.

I tried to stand but I couldn’t. At least not without crying.

I had a crazy idea that I might crawl over the finish line.

While I was mulling it over, a crowd gathered around me – generally elderly or overweight people. People who were never going to make a good time.