Monday 23rd July 2012- the 66th day of the Olympic flame’s marathon journey across Britain and the second of a frenzied 7 day finishing sprint through the capital, taking the flame to it’s eventual East London dwelling via the London Eye, Royal Navy Commando helicopter and Battersea Dogs Home. Monday also happened to be the day that I, a normal 24 year old bloke from West London, was transported briefly into a world of celebrity and frenzied excitement for the most surreal and inspiring afternoon of my relatively short life.
Waking up at 5am the next morning, I could barely move and really struggled to even walk to the bathroom. The thought of running another 60 miles when I could barely walk was seriously demoralising. At this stage, I was really beginning to doubt whether my body was actually physically capable of running, or whether I would be forced to try and walk the whole way. However, I left Retford running- albeit very slowly and gingerly- and began to develop a technique that minimised the pain and allowed me to move at more than 2 miles an hour.