When my running chum and I were still potential sub-3 hour marathon runners he offered to drive us from Leeds to run Liverpool Marathon, which was a reasonably fast, flat course. His car broke down on the way but - it being a quiet Sunday morning - he persuaded the AA man to drive us the remaining 30 miles to Liverpool (while his car was being fixed) and the AA man actually drove right into the park over all the grass right up to behind the starting pen, because by then we were incredibly late for the start.
We were so late we had changed into our running kit in the front of the AA van cab on the drive so we could leap out of the van as it halted, throw our day-clothes bag onto the pile and run to start fighting our way through the throng towards the start line - when the gun went off. We were dragged along by the herd and ran the first mile far too quickly. Eventually I realised a sub-3 wasn't on so the remaing 20 miles were purgatory. I think I did 3-05 so it was a completely wasted day.
After the race while I was on my hands and knees throwing up in the park my running chum was persuading another runner (whom he didn't know) to give us a lift back to where his car was being fixed - although this was not actually on the route home for the kind stranger.
Obviously with the excursion to pick up the repaired car I got home late and, all in all, it was by far the worst of my ten marathon experiences.
But as I walked into my house my young children shouted an excited "Daddy Daddy! We've just seen you on the television in your race" and thought I was the most famous marathon runner in the world.
Marathons eh?
And good luck.