Over the moon after bra marathon

By Julie Broadfoot
BBC Scotland

Five months ago, signing up for the Edinburgh MoonWalk seemed like a good idea.

Thousands of women - and even a few men - hit the streets at about midnight

I was confident I could put one foot in front of the other and survive a marathon trek, even if it did mean wearing a bra in public.

I wanted an excuse to get fit, it was an opportunity to help breast cancer charities and it sounded fun.

This was a whole new experience for myself and my team-mates, Anneli and Natalie.

Even buying the correct trainers was novel. However, it soon became obvious that serious training was involved.

I remember our pride at doing four miles. It's funny how things change.

Our last training walk was the obligatory 20 miles, two weeks before the big day, but we met torrential rain and had to give up at 14 miles.

You haven't lived until you've seen 12,000 folk dressed in big trainers, bras, weighty bumbags, space blankets and clear plastic ponchos, all doing warm-up aerobics

The ensuing mental block of not completing the training programme was a real stress.

Over and above the registration fee (for T-shirt, bra and baseball cap), my team's costs of taking part included: three pairs of new trainers, a parking ticket, swollen feet, blisters, bumbags, sunburn, metres of pink fabric, train fares, taxi fares (thanks to erratic trains), knee supports, a lot of Ibuprofen, osteopath sessions and three badly-hit social lives.

We recently spent one sober Saturday night sewing sequins, flowers and feathers onto our bras. That's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

Magically, 14 June arrived. We were instructed to arrive by 2030 BST. As we approached The Meadows we spotted hundreds of pink baseball caps and excitement grew.

I soaked up the atmosphere and stayed in complete denial about what I was about to do. One step at a time.

We spent the next three hours in a giant pink tent, watching women of all shapes and sizes proudly display their unique bras.

Pink-lit buildings, including the castle itself, helped keep walkers going

You haven't lived until you've seen 12,000 folk dressed in big trainers, bras, weighty bumbags, space blankets and clear plastic ponchos, all doing warm-up aerobics. Badly.

About 1,000 men took part and deserve great respect for bravely donning decorated bras (we noticed that their disguises all included ample cleavages) and getting completely involved.

We set off at about 2345. Finally it was real. The atmosphere was amazing as we began to march around Arthur's Seat.

Saturday afternoon had been depressingly grey but we were treated to a dry, bright night sky, and landmarks across the city glowed with pink light for the occasion.

Seeing the likes of the castle and the observatory lit just for us was a real boost and made for some gorgeous views.

Feather trail

Walking through the city centre in the wee hours of the morning meant a lot of curious attention from late night drinkers. When they tailed off it was the fantastic volunteers who kept us going, egging us on with applause and kind words at every corner.

Collectively, we looked like a huge hen party. There were so many decorations that we found ourselves walking in a sea of pink. If we ever doubted we were on the right route, we could look down and follow the trail of lost feathers, space blankets and balloons.

One challenge our training couldn't prepare us for was the toilet queues. We now know why people started the walk so quickly - they were anxious to get to the portaloos before the rest of us MoonWalk virgins.

There were far too few toilets and we lost nearly two hours queuing. It's not a race but it was hugely frustrating, and we faced problems as we grew cold and our muscles started to enjoy the inactivity. It was everyone's biggest complaint of the night.

Sunrise over Portobello was also a welcome boost on the way to the finish

As the sun came up there were spectacular views. Walking by Portobello beach was stunning, but it was the 20 mile marker that meant the world to us - our training failure meant this was our big hurdle and it prompted cheers.

By this point, lack of sleep was getting to us and we had to fight to keep our eyes open.

Our audience was thin on the ground by Sunday morning but the passing traffic provided a few toots of support.

When we dragged ourselves back into the centre, the city was starting to come alive again and the sun was glorious. The sight of us must have confused the tourists but by then we felt no embarrassment and the finish line was almost in sight.

Words can't express how happy the 23 and 24 mile markers made us, and I got a second wind. I nearly cried at the 25 mile mark and when we reached the 26 mile marker we could see the end.

Another 0.2 miles and we crossed the finish line! Being awarded my first ever medal was worth every step. One long sleep later and it still feels quite surreal but my thighs and toes are screaming at me, reminding me it really did happen.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've said I'll never do this again. I've met scores of women who've said they'll never do it again... but as the pain ebbs away and we rake in our sponsorship money, thousands will think again.

However, I am hanging up my trainers... I think.