'Don't tell me it's a cakewalk'

By Paula Dear
BBC News Online

It seems to be a fairly widespread opinion among those who have completed the Moonwalk marathon that it's not unlike childbirth.

It's generally long, drawn out, extremely painful, and does disturbing things to the mind.

More and more women are walking the Moonwalk every year

But the euphoria felt afterwards means the agony is rather too quickly forgotten, and before you know it you're volunteering to do it again.

Having only crossed the finishing line less than 36 hours ago I'm still firmly in the 'never again' camp.

However I'm acutely aware it is the third time I have made such a vow.

I can't speak for the other 14,999 women who took part in the 26.2-mile 'power walk' on Saturday night, which raises money for breast cancer research and support.

The nine hours that followed saw us lurch through various physical and mental states

I know much of my pain must be down to a woeful lack of training.

When my two walking mates and I arrived at London's Hyde Park at around 2130 BST on Saturday, we looked around at the crowd and surmised that most looked like they'd spent months preparing for the event.

We were probably being paranoid.

Our 'training' had consisted of a couple of leisurely strolls in the direction of tea and cakes, and we were feeling pretty ashamed.

But the party atmosphere in the park lifted our spirits, and we were soon being carried along with the crowd.

Drivers honked

Many women, and a few men, were there to celebrate the life of someone lost to breast cancer or to take action in the name of someone who had the disease now.

We first did the Moonwalk in 2000 after a relative of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Remembering that fact spurred us on and we joined the group that was to depart first, just after 2300 BST.

The nine hours that followed saw us lurch through various physical and mental states.

It was clear to them we had lost our minds

The first couple of hours - energised and euphoric. As we spilled from the park, supporters cheered and clapped, and drivers honked their horns.

It's safe to say most of them hadn't expected to see thousands of women in bras marching down the street as they made for home after a Saturday night out.

At around miles 8-10 we agreed the old legs were starting to feel it, but kept up the pace with the half way mark in our sights.

Mile 13 - celebration time. Half way there, brilliant! But as we watched the half-marathon lot peeling off towards the finish line I couldn't help thinking of the hot bath and duvet awaiting them at home.

Seeing a beautiful sunrise over the Thames was a boost to morale

Miles 13 to 19 - the excitement wore off. Sleep deprivation kicked in. Boredom and hysteria took over.

We tried to play a simple word game, but my brain refused to function after two rounds.

Our walking companion Jenny was doggedly determined to put a positive spin on everything, but inside all I could think of was the distance and time ahead.

The sun was rising from behind the London skyline as we hit a major milestone - the 20 mile mark.

For what seemed like hours I'd been dreaming of seeing the number two in a mile sign.

'Homicidal thoughts'

I started to cheer up as I limped along the river path; the view was breathtaking, we chatted about how great London was, and marvelled at the long trail of pink Moonwalk baseball caps bobbing along the riverside in the sun.

Mile 22 to the finish - agony. Muscles froze, blisters burst and every time one of the wonderful marathon crew members clapped and told us to keep going I was close to tears.

I had homicidal thoughts about those people who had dismissed the Moonwalk as really easy, because it's not as punishing as running a marathon.

Sure, a different kind of stamina is required, but I'd say it's always best to try something before declaring it a cakewalk.

The last half-mile - the longest walk of my life. As we passed the finish line together just after 0800 BST the feeling was one of overwhelming disbelief. Within half an hour, as we collapsed in the sunshine, I started to feel like I'd dreamt the whole thing.

Our partners, who had come to meet us at the finish, looked on bemused as we fantasised about the magic carpet that was going to come and take us home.

It was clear to them we had lost our minds.

And they'd be right. Because before long we were talking about how it might be better next year, if only we could manage a little more training.