Last week I had the privilege to take part in the London Marathon, and I wanted to write some thoughts on the day, the event, and perhaps some of the aspects that you don’t get to see or experience as a spectator, or on TV. I have never run London before, or been to watch in person, so this was all new ground for me, but I took away with me memories I will hold for a very long time.
I was running the marathon with the incredible charity Bowel Cancer Uk. This was a poignant personal occasion for me, having lost my younger sister Hannah to the disease in late 2024 aged just 42, and the marathon was an opportunity for me to both honour her memory, but also raise money and awareness for an important cause. My London ‘experience’ with them actually started several months before the race… the charity were incredibly supportive, organised, and informative with both the process, with what to expect in the run up to and on the day, but also in bringing together a group of fundraisers and sharing some of their stories behind why they were running for the charity.
This theme of human connection and shared experience is without doubt the most overriding emotion I had, in both the run up to the race, on the day itself, and in so many of the different interactions along the way. For some this was a shared purpose in grief, a desire to give something back or show respect for loved ones; for others an ongoing battle with disease, raising awareness of disability, community needs; for some just the sheer personal challenge of taking on a marathon, others keen runners pushing themselves to a limit of physical performance. But all there to take on a challenge, whatever the route to get to the start line, all with their own race to run.
Yet despite this being an individual sport, aside I am sure from the very front of the field (!), all unified in an overwhelming sense of mutual support, respect, comradery, and collective human spirit to go out and overcome the monumental task of taking on a marathon. If perhaps this sounds fuzzy and altruistic, well, so be it… it is hard to know how else to describe being part of a race where you can feel so individually challenged, and yet so part of something collective, all at the same time.
As you travel to the start pens, by tube and train, and then walk up the hill to the holding areas, there is a crackle of nervous excitement, trepidation, shared jokes and anticipation of what is to come as a sea of runners all with throw away dressing gowns, and other mad outfits on, clear bags with their kit to collect at the end over their shoulders, make their way to the fields. This continues in the pen… some runners try to lie down and get some more sleep; others are already jogging around, some are chatting nervously with those around them, and the queue for the portaloos is a sight to behold. Finding a quiet spot in the shade, I chat to an International Tax Lawyer from Ecuador who is sitting next to me, and never run London before, just arrived 48hours before in London! On the other side a chap in a 3-piece suit, tie, and dress shoes who is about to try and break the Guiness World Record for doing it in under 3hrs 20. He has already submitted to the fate his feet are about to suffer, but this is his mission… having previously held the world record for fastest half marathon in handcuffs, someone bettered his target earlier in the year, so this was his latest attempt to write history!
I chat with a man who is about to also try and run a record completing the marathon with a road vehicle costume… a homemade costume which has to meet all sorts of criteria, running under a frame with shoulder straps and a small bus over him! We laugh about some of the prototypes he has unsuccessfully tried out, but then we get in to his ‘why’, his son, who is autistic, and he is raising money and awareness for the National Autistic Society. It will be hard, hot work, but he will get it done!
The atmosphere starts to build, the announcers begin to give some time updates for when the runners can start to get ready in their waves, and on the big screen we see the wheelchair elite race starting, as a huge cheer goes up! Next the elite races are off, and then the moment has arrived… you are loaded into your pen, head round to the start, and every 5 minutes the next batch of runners are released! The first few miles are reasonably peaceful, through some residential streets, and with the 3 different start points now the race doesn’t fully merge until about 5k. There are already an incredible number of volunteers on the course, marking speed bumps, manning crossing points, but when you hit the merge point and the race really comes together for the first time, the crowds start to build. Before long it is 3, 4, 5 deep at points, there is constant music, bands, DJs, amazing cheering, signs of support, comical signs (‘pain is temporary, telling everyone you ran a marathon lasts forever’), and just thousands and thousands of people out on the streets supporting every one of the runners taking part. Many there I am sure for a 2 second glimpse of ‘their runner’ going past, but they will be there for hours cheering and shouting for every single one of those that pass them.
Running past some of the iconic landmarks on the way, the Cutty Sark and over Tower Bridge is special, the energy on the embankment as you head down the final few miles is almost overwhelming, before the right hand turn at Big Ben signals a mile to go – the crowds are deafening by this point! The final bend before heading down the Mall to the finish is amazing… the crowd support here is of course still there, but it is here where you also hear runners shouting, spurring each other on, willing themselves on to get to that finish line! Some, in fact maybe most, are limping, hobbling, fighting through the pain to make it there, some helping each other over the line, but here, in this moment, crossing that line, the comradery and the human connection is what I am going to remember for ever. Random strangers hugging each other, some in tears, some shouting for joy, all exhausted, all proud, all with their medals, and all connected in a mutual sense of accomplishment.
As the dust has settled in the last week, the legs have returned to an element of normality, and I no longer need to walk sideways down the stairs, these moments are the overriding memories that I am left with and am going to hold on to, and a reminder of how powerful human connections can be.
