London calling.
And today… lace up your trainers.
Because we’re going running.
Not just any run.
The first ever London Marathon.
March 29th, 1981.
Picture it.
A crisp spring morning in Greenwich.
A few thousand runners –
some serious, some hopeful,
some already wondering
what on earth
they’ve let themselves in for –gathered at the start.
No great expectation.
No global spectacle.
No millions watching on screens.
Just an idea.
And a city.
The idea came from a man called Chris Brasher.
Olympic gold medallist. Journalist.
A man who’d run the New York Marathon and come back thinking—
Why not London?
Why not bring that same mix of sport, community, and sheer human theatre to this city?
Now here’s a lovely detail.
This is the same Chris Brasher who, years earlier,
had a hand in one of the great moments in sporting history.
May 1954.
Iffley Road Track.
Roger Bannister breaks the four-minute mile.
But he doesn’t do it alone.
Brasher is there –
setting the pace,
holding the line,
making it possible.
Not “I did it.”
“We did it.”
And you can see the thread,
can’t you?
A man who helps make the impossible possible…
and then looks at London and thinks –
Let’s do it again.
And so they did.
Now here’s your first delicious number.
About 20,000 people applied to run that first race.
They only took 7,747.
And on the day?
Just over 6,200 actually made it to the start line.
Which tells you something about human nature right there.
The course.
Ah, the course.
This is where London really comes into its own.
They wanted a route that would show the city off.
Not just as a backdrop –
but as a character.
So:
Greenwich to start.
Then along the Thames.
Through Blackheath, into Deptford, Bermondsey.
Across Tower Bridge –
one of those moments where even the runners forget the pain for a second.
Then east, out towards the Docklands –
very different then, remember, still rough-edged, not yet polished glass and steel.
And then back.
Back along the river.
Past Big Ben.
Past Westminster.
And finishing along The Mall, with Buckingham Palace looking on.
It’s not just a race.
It’s a tour.
And the crowds.
This is the bit that made it.
They weren’t quite expecting it.
But London turned out.
Hundreds of thousands lining the streets.
Cheering strangers.
Clapping, shouting, laughing.
A city discovering –
almost in real time –
that this was something special.
Now.
The race itself.
Who won?
Well – this is where it gets properly lovely.
The men’s race was won by Dick Beardsley and Inge Simonsen.
Except –
“won” is not quite the word.
They came down the final stretch together.
And instead of sprinting past each other in some last-ditch dash…
They held hands.
And crossed the line together.
A deliberate tie.
Time?
2 hours, 11 minutes, 48 seconds.
You couldn’t script it better.
The women’s race was won by Joyce Smith.
Time?
2 hours, 29 minutes, 57 seconds.
A home winner.
In a brand-new race.
In a city just discovering what it had created.
And what it had created…
was enormous.
Fast forward.
Today?
The London Marathon is one of the great marathons of the world.
Applications?
Into the hundreds of thousands.
Finishers?
Regularly over 40,000.
Spectators?
Around 750,000 lining the streets.
And millions more watching around the world.
And it’s not just elite runners.
That’s the thing.
It’s everybody.
People in costumes.
Rhinos. Teapots.
Telephone boxes.
People running for charity.
Running in memory of someone.
Running because they said they would and now,
well… there’s no backing out.
And that charity element – huge.
The London Marathon has raised over £1 billion for charity since it began.
Think about that.
A billion pounds.
From people running 26.2 miles.
There have been rough patches.
Heatwaves.
Logistical headaches.
The occasional controversy about places and fairness.
And more recently,
the pandemic years –
when the race had to be postponed, reshaped, reimagined.
But it endures.
Because the idea endures.
A city.
A distance.
A shared experience.
And the route?
Largely unchanged.
Because they got it right first time.
That sweep from Greenwich to the West End.
The river as companion.
The landmarks as witnesses.
Best place to watch?
Ah.
That’s a Londoner’s question.
Tower Bridge – for the spectacle.
Canary Wharf –
for the surreal contrast of runners threading through glass towers.
Victoria Embankment –
for that late-stage grit,
when it really starts to hurt.
And the finish, of course.
The Mall.
Where exhaustion meets elation.
But honestly?
Anywhere.
Because anywhere along that route,
you’re seeing something extraordinary.
Ordinary people doing something… extraordinary.
And it all began on this day.
March 29th, 1981.
With a few thousand runners.
A hopeful idea.
And a city that said –
Yes.
Now let’s unfurl this banner.
London Calling – this podcast –
is a marathon of sorts.
Indeed a London marathon.
Same goes for London.
Yes, when you get right down to it London itself is some kind of marathon.
By resurrecting, retelling, reminding, revisiting, regaling, rejoicing in… we keep these stories alive.
London calling.
And running.
Another London story along at this time tomorrow.
And tomorrow…
A surprise.
Vincent van Gogh.
In London.
Not the blazing sun of Arles.
Not the sunflowers.
Grey skies.
Lodgings in Brixton.
A young man, unknown,
often short of money,
walking the streets of this city
and falling – rather painfully –
in love.
Before the fame.
Before the paintings that would sell for fortunes in London.
Van Gogh.
In London.
See you then.