The one that didn’t go to plan

And then just before Tower Bridge… cramp!

It’s almost a year since I was on the start line at the London Marathon and with the runners counting down the days until this weekends event, it feels like the right time to reflect.

Because while last year didn’t go to plan, it taught me a lot and if you ever get the chance to run it there are definitely things I’d tell you (and things I’d do very differently myself).

Looking back now, some of the biggest lessons have nothing to do with running itself.

The first thing? Stay near the start.

If I could go again, I’d book a hotel as close to the start as possible. It might cost a bit more but it removes so much stress. Trusting transport on marathon morning is a gamble and last year I found that out the hard way when the Elizabeth Line was shut at Paddington. And then the train to Greenwich was stationary for 10 minutes.

It’s just not what you need before 26.2 miles. On the morning itself, getting there early will make a big difference. If it’s your first marathon, you want time to settle nerves, warm up properly and make multiple trips to the toilet without feeling rushed. It has crossed my mind several times that had I been there earlier and had more time to do a proper warm up, the calf issues wouldn’t have surfaced.

I’d also take someone with me to the Running Show a few days before. There’s so much going on that it’s easy to miss things and having someone else there means you get more out of it (plus, they can double up as your photographer which you’ll appreciate later).

Small things but they matter.

Some parts of marathon day are exactly what you expect and some really aren’t.

The crowds, for example, are unbelievable. They’re constant. Loud. Relentless. Apart from the tunnels, there’s never a quiet moment.

I wore bone conduction headphones and at full volume, I couldn’t tell you what song was playing. The crowd completely drowned it out. If anything, I’d skip headphones altogether next time, you don’t need them.

Then there are the random details like the Lucozade stations leaving the road ridiculously sticky for a stretch afterwards. It genuinely feels like running across a nightclub floor.

Not something you plan for… but something you remember.

Up to halfway, things were actually going to plan and I was very much enjoying the marathon experience.

It was warm but manageable. I’d adjusted my pace slightly, stayed on top of my nutrition, and felt in control. Running past the Cutty Sark was one of those moments where it all hits you. This is the London Marathon. That was a real high.

For a while, it felt like the day I’d trained for.

I’d felt a few small warning signs earlier, little twinges in my calf around mile 10. Nothing major, just enough to make me aware of it.

But just before halfway, everything shifted.

The cramp hit my right calf properly. It felt like I’d been shot in my right leg and it didn’t visibly look right. From that point on, the marathon, for me, became something completely different.

I knew it would get hard at some stage. I don’t think anyone goes into a marathon expecting it to be easy. But for it to unravel like that, that early… that wasn’t in the plan.

The second half of that marathon is, without question, the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done. Mentally, I was at war. Constant thoughts of “this shouldn’t be happening” “this isn’t fair” “what happens if you can’t finish?” would take turns to torment me.

The cramp never fully went away. It came and went, controlling everything. Running turned into a mix of hobbling, walking, and the occasional attempt at jogging.

By mile 20, both calves were experiencing cramp.

And that’s when the doubt really hit.

There was a moment where I genuinely thought: I’m not sure I’m going to finish this.

After all the training, all the preparation, that’s not a great place to find yourself mentally.

It wasn’t the experience I’d hoped for. Not even close.

And I think part of that was the pressure I’d put on myself beforehand to run it well. In my mind, I wanted to cross the line in a respectable time, be safe in the knowledge that I had worked hard for it and enjoyed the day. I wanted to finish going “I did it and I’ll never do it again…”

Looking back a year later, that definitely affected how I experienced the day especially when things started to go wrong.

If you’re running it now, especially for the first time, I’d say this:

Make your goal to finish.

That’s it.

Because despite everything, the cramps, the frustration, the moments where I thought it might be over, I did finish.

We got round. We got the medal.

And I’ve got that medal framed and behind my desk. I see it every day. A reminder that perseverance and grit will see you a long way.

London ‘25, Chase the Sun ‘23, LEJOG ‘16

The day after last year was a strange mix of emotions.

Physically, I was in pieces. Mentally, I was trying to process a day that hadn’t lived up to what I’d imagined.

A year on, the frustration has faded a little and there is a growing appreciation for my marathon experience.

There is still a big sense of injustice. I trained hard, put the miles in and prepared well so I still feel like I warrant a better experience. I will need to go back and do it again in the years ahead to silence that demon.

What’s left of last year is the memory of doing something genuinely difficult.

It was long. It was hard. (That’s what she said!)

But I finished.

Mum and Dad’s sign!

I thought my sign idea was better. What do you think?