The car will not be washed today, no visiting inlaws

Grass to stay uncut, don't want to be outdoors

Yes I know it's not me. Sunday morning on the sofa,

But I'm always uplifted when us humans start to motor,

There is a great turn out in colours of thier choice

They are ready they are ready, but nervous is their voice,

Good wishes can be heard to the runners looking strained

Who wonderd if the journey is going to leave them lamed.

The gun has gone elite away all grace and style,

Followed by the masses counting down the mile

From Greenwich and Blackheath on and out they stream

Heading for the city, a twenty six mile dream,

Club runners train when no chance of winning,

Sixty miles a week, plus trying to earn a living.

Chariot riders early, determined to take part,

Loss of legs no problem when twice the size the heart.

African men dominate the places one to ten,

Oh how to see a Londoner emerge to challenge them.

Thank heaven then for Paula. Britain's fair heroine,

The girl next door she looks but has steel inside to win.

Marshalls out, drinks galore, even smile the old bill!

And thousands line and cheer with humour and goodwill,

Boat race seems  elite, football teams not British,

But relate to us the friend trying hard just to finish.

On they go, on they go, familier landmarks pass,

Cutty Sark, Tower bridge, the leaders fast, fast.

Canary wharf, Catharine's dock, a race against the clock,

But further back it's just to much,  some  have to stop,

Leaders finished, interviewed, showerd and their gone,

While office man and desperate Dan, plod, on and on and on.

Waiting by the embankment, family man and daughters fear

Then Mum strides by smiling, there cheering through their tears..

So what a race, what a run, to try and reach the end,

Journey and experience when a stranger comes a friend

Past Big Ben, then Buck house, but the mall is ever long,

They want to walk, want to stop, but the crowd just spurs them on.

Girl goes down, picked up by four, none she's ever seen

There all in this together, one long distance human being.

There's the line, there's the clock, done there bloody best,

So take them home and fete them, a marathon success.

Four hours on the sofa, and the memory can't diminish,

The rain on the road and the elation of the finish,

Cause I'm a runner too, eighty one, three and four,

Proof are the medals in the bottom of a draw,

Greenwich I remember frozen like a fridge,

How wonderful it was to run over Tower Bridge,

Training in the dark, weekend longer preparation,

For a time I felt at home, in a one world nation.