Dany Robson on the London runWHEN a spotty dog overtakes you after 18 miles of the Flora London Marathon, it could be a signal to give up.

The hound bounded past, the fairy then danced through and a caveman, a bee and a policeman, complete with helmet, followed.

At this point, I could have just abandoned the whole thing but something in my mind, not my legs, made me carry on.

And it was worth it in the end, honest -- finishing Sunday's marathon in my best time of three hours and 41 minutes.

Mind you, they might have thought I was in fancy dress as I had a Rochdale football shirt on, being part of the "Football Challenge" where a representative from every football club, wearing the strip, competes over the 26 miles 385 yards.

I hadn't expected a good weekend if the trip down south was anything to go by. While the rest of the world was partying, I spent three hours on the M25 on Friday night, the entire journey from Blackburn to Surrey, where I was staying, taking nearly eight hours. Saturday was registration day at the London Arena where the man giving me my number said: "Running for Rochdale Football Club, I hear they've got a nose bleed at the moment 'cos their so high up."

But all this was forgotten by Sunday morning as I arrived at the Green Start nice and early at 7.30am, to avoid the 30,000 people rush.

There are three starts in the Marathon -- one for elite runners and wheelchairs, the mass Blue start and Green start for celebrities and the Football Challenge.

I started chatting to the only person there at that time -- who happened to be quite a nice looking male -- about how we were glad it was fine after the rain of Saturday etc. I thought he'd done his hair well for the race -- and then all of a sudden Katy Hill descended on him and I realised he was the Blue Peter runner. There has to be some perks to running a marathon!

I then met up with the Bury FC competitor Phil Thorp, my running partner, and chatted merrily with the Rotherham, Southend, Wycombe and Scunthorpe runners -- the higher the division, the later they seemed to arrive.

Former Bradford manager, and now Sky commentator, Chris Kamara came up to say "hello" and told us he'd only been training for six weeks but expected three and a half hours -- life's unfair sometimes.

Then Cardiff manager Billy Ayre, who was running for a cancer charity, arrived but was not in such a good mood.

"We got thrashed yesterday (4-0 against Cambridge) and I feel too demotivated to do the marathon," said Billy who decided, the way he felt, that he'd be happy with four and a half hours. Boxer Frank Bruno was also getting prepared in our tent. The former British Heavyweight champion is huge in the flesh but I wasn't sure how 26 miles would compare to 12 rounds in the ring -- and I don't think he was.

At 9.15am it was time to line up. It was quite pleasant as I got kissed from loads of men wishing me good luck and even Jeff Banks, the designer, was exchanging pleasantries in our little group.

Dermot Murnaghan, the newsreader was there, along with a couple of "famous" chefs -- who I'd never hear of -- before Big Frank pushed his way to the front, and nobody argued.

A big cheer went up for Aston Villa boss John Gregory who arrived a 9.25am -- five minutes before the start -- and he too raced to the front with a big smile on his face. I don't know if he was smiling at the finish.

So off we went and the first few miles seem to fly by. I had plenty of time to see the sights, which mostly involved men urinating wherever possible -- very pleasant!

The half way point came relatively quickly -- in one hour 52 minutes -- having ran past Cutty Sark and Tower Bridge, but I knew I still had to do the same again and this was going to be painful.

On 14 miles, the leading pack came charging up the other side of the road having completed 21 miles. It was great to get a chance to see the "real" runners but it didn't do anything for my confidence -- although I still felt relatively okay. After 18 miles, Phil decided to leave me -- I didn't mind, I'd slowed down, my legs felt like lead and I just had an obsession with finishing. And the "fancy dress" brigade were now racing past.

Instead of the miles coming thick and fast, they felt like they were never going to come at all, although I had the pleasure, on 21 miles, of seeing plenty of people -- including the famous rhinos -- just coming past the 14 mile mark.

I then started thinking what apparently every marathon runner thinks at some point: "What am I doing" and "Never again" -- and, at the time, I meant it.

I couldn't appreciate theTower of London although I kept going, glugging down the water, and my mum and sister were there, on 25 miles, to shout some encouragement.

Big Ben was a welcome sight with half a mile to go but The Mall -- about 800 metres long -- felt like an eternity. Two turns, though, and it was there -- the finish, and I had enough to put on a bit of a sprint. Well, that's what it felt like, although I'm sure it didn't look like one. I walked in, got my tinfoil, and then I heard Roger Black had just come in and me and a man who finished near me just smiled at each other, happy in the knowledge we'd beat the former 400 metre champion, but too tired to say so.

I had wobbly legs and just wanted to sit down but I met up with my Rotherham United and York City newly acquired friends, had my picture taken and then found my mum and sister, who was impressed as they'd just seen actor Johnny Lee Miller walk past (I think he'd finished in around three hours).

And that was that, months of preparation and it was all over -- although my aching legs and dodgey knees say it's not over for the next few days.