“Hello Ladies and Gentlemen. Unfortunately due to person being taken ill on the train in front we’re being held at a stop signal outside of Lewisham.”

Nothing.

“I’m being told this means that we might have to divert and will not be stopping at Blackheath.”

Panic.

I was on the 9:31 from London Bridge with Elenor and hundreds of other runners when we got the message and every just looked at each other. Then got their phones out and tried to work out how they might get to the start pens of the London Marathon without being able to get off the train.

“Hello again Ladies and Gentlemen. I’m pleased to announce that situation in front has now been dealt with and we will shortly be moving…and stopping at Blackheath.”

Applause.

I do hope the person in front was alright.

Wakey wakey

As Elenor and I were likely to be relatively slow, our start time wasn’t until after half 10 but the participant guide said to get there at quarter past nine.

I took a semi educated guess in the hope that there would be no hiccups on the way (like trains) which gave maximum time at the hotel so get prepared. And if you’ve done a marathon, you’ll that I basically means eating and going to the toilet.

Rice Crispie Squares and porridge in. A weeks worth of carby dinners out. It’s a delicate balance at the best of times but with a lot less of my colon than the last time I ran a marathon, I was comforted by the fact that I had ample time in my own quarters rather than a portaloo or more likely, a queue to get into the portaloo.

Along with a large quantity of immodium, I tried to get ready in silence while my partner slept.

Clothes and race gear took care of themselves. The only accessories were suncream and Squirrel’s Nut Butter to hopefully prevent any soreness later in the day although in very different places I’d hope.

I was wearing a Salomon Sense Pro 6 vest which carried minimal water and had small pockets as I was fully expecting to make the most of refreshments on the course. I did have a couple of Tunnocks Caramels stuffed in to keep the carb levels up.

For a city of nearly 10 million, its amazing how many people are either running the marathon or supporting others on that Sunday. Out of every alley and street, it felt like people were making their way onto buses or the tube to be involved in the same thing I was, like a silent army all marching with the same goal in mind.

My particular walk took me from Finsbury Square, to Moorgate and to London Bridge for the just about unscathed train to the start.

Back in Blackheath

You have to read that subheading like you’re in AC/DC for it to really work. Or maybe Amy Winehouse would be better given the race.

It’s the second time I’ve used it and slightly beginning to lose faith.

And the worst part about it is that when I did the London Marathon last time, I don’t think I actually made it to Blackheath.

Because the race is so huge, there are two start lines and two routes which converge after just under three miles.

In 2010 I alighted the DLR at Greenwich for the walk up the hill. This time it was just a short (still uphill) wander to Blackheath which as Elenor pointed out, is lovely. It’s also the first time you really get any sense of what 56,000 converging in a park looks like.

The logistics around the race are phenomenal and the volunteers on the day are absolute saints for putting up with a thousand questions from people who have travelled from around the world just for this one thing.

It’s not even the one day, it’s the hours and hours and hours of training that have gone into the training prior to marathon Sunday. Well not for me but for most people.

This year I was in the Green Zone, a newly launched initiative designed to make the race more sustainable. It basically meant I didn’t have a drop bag which would then be transported to the finish, saving the lorries and associated carbon from that trip.

In total there were 5,000 people in the GZ and let’s be honest, the sustainable aspect pales into insignificance compared to the colossal amounts of energy spent getting to the race and putting it on. But isn’t it better than nothing? And might change some behaviours in the future?

Apparently some keyboard warriors were very irate (aren’t they all) about the initiative but given the choice of reducing my impact a little bit or not, surely you’d choose to?

Whatever your thoughts, I was in a separate pen to the masses and SEPARATE TOILETS! That’s not to say that there weren’t queues but they were so much smaller than I remember first time round.

And as I hadn’t ever run this kind of distance with my reduced colon, I was super happy with the arrangement. My only gripe about the Green Zone was the lack of bins/recycling facilities in which to discard my now severely melted wafer wrappers.

Start slow

My start wave was 10 minutes before Elenor’s so I said an emotional goodbye and then stood about three metres away from her, separated by the fence and some vigilant volunteers.

It was time to think about life that I probably could’ve done without to be honest. Stood in the increasing sunshine, on a beautiful day in London surrounded by such a diverse range of people who had all come together to run for 1,000s of charities.

Oh plus I’d just had cancer and stuff.

So I should probably be sensible in my pacing. After all I’d not run more than 13 miles since the beginning of 2024.

My grand plan was to walk/run. I’d read about the Jeff Galloway method (Jeffing) and I could even do 7 minute miles with the right ratios. That felt excessive so I thought I would stick to running 5k followed by maybe 5 minutes of walking if that felt ok, roughly water station to water station.

That plan lasted approximately zero minutes as I went against everything I knew I should do and just ran. Incredibly slowly but I ran.

I ran past the start line with its grandstand full of marathon VIPs (?), past a Palestine protest, past a church with singers outside.

I got cheered on by volunteers warning me about speed bumps (there were bloody loads of them) and high fived so many kids my hand hurt. I even managed to “boo” someone in a Pompey training top near Queen Elizabeth Hospital (they did laugh).

What I’ll never be able to articulate, and have never seen or heard anything that does, is the spirit that follows you around the course. This video comes close.

But the characters you see and hear and feel at every corner make the running a breeze. There were people hanging out of windows, vegan pick n mix, drum n bass, cans of Red Stripe at 11am. If I was an estate agent I’d describe the early miles as edgy or “up and coming”. As thankfully I’m not (I work in finance so only a couple of rungs up the scumbag ladder), I’ll just say that there felt like 100s of different lives coming together to cheer strangers on. As I’ve said before, it is THE most positive experience you will ever have. It’s the closest thing to being at Live Aid or the original Woodstock.

Dropping down to towards the Woolwich Ferry is roughly 5k, the point where I was supposed to walk but instead I swooped slowly round to the left towards Greenwich. I felt good, why not keep going?!

One of the great benefits of running slowly is that you have more time to make decisions like which side of the road run on which was particularly beneficial as the temp was getting up to the 20° mark. The downside was that I was weaving across the road adding extra metres to my run but there were fives to be highed and mushrooms to be touched for extra power so in the end I reckon I came out on top.

I don’t really remember Greenwich from the last time I ran London. I’ve got more memories of the Surrey Keys business park for some reason, maybe cos it was bleak and I remember wondering whether I’d been duped by all the hype around the race.

This time though, the sun was shining down on the Royal Naval College and somehow, the crowds were getting deeper and louder. It was like they’d closed the roof on a stadium as the noise just rocked back and forth between each side of the road with my head swaying in the middle.

Round to the right and around Cutty Sark. It’s hard to take in a massive tea clipper when you’re running next to it but I remembered sitting in the park near it while drinking cider out of a can which brought fond memories. There are so many pubs in London, and today all the punters seemed to be outside with their pints, tempting me to join them. Some runners were actually having a swig which is mental 10k into a marathon…

The Middle

Ask most runners about their standout memory of the marathon and I imagine 90% will say Tower Bridge.

Not to flex but I used to live near it so have crossed it loads. No biggy.

But this time, you’re passing under those fantastic blue arches in the middle of the road, not dodging selfie sticks and tour groups. You get to see the architecture from a unique angle which changes as you go through, tracking the structure above and around you as it morphs and changes depending which part you’re on.

What those 90% fail to mention is that from just after the Cutty Sark, you’re already thinking about Tower Bridge. And every turn around the (in)famous Surrey Quays brings you closer to that highlight. You can see the skyscrapers of The City so you know it’s getting closer but it always feels like it’s around another corner.

It was beginning to look more familiar though, and as Tooley St turned into Tower Bridge Road, there it was.

For no particular reason I was running almost exclusively on the left hand side of the road, and with touching distance of the crowds which must’ve almost filled each walkway of the bridge.

There was a City of London policeman tucked into the wall of humans like Homer Simpson into the hedge and I instinctively high fived him. It’s just like that.

The other thing that the 90% will DEFINITELY mention though is that Tower Bridge is just before half way and crucially, you head away from the finish line.

Tower Bridge feels like a finish line in so many ways but as you turn onto the Highway towards Canary Wharf, you suddenly have a crushing sensation that you’re not even 50% through.

At least my partner was going to be around there. Or apparently not. I kept searching through the crowds almost person by person but couldn’t see her.

I passed all of the highlights of my former haunt: the Royal Pharmaceutical Society, the Texaco garage, the Dominos Pizza, and McDonalds. Still nothing.

As I ran slowly passed St George-in-the-East and the swimming pool (not connected), the faster runners were flying past on the other side of the road, just over 5k from the end.

There was a long way to go and I hadn’t stopped running yet. My walk run plan had failed massively.

Into Narrow St, I was confused by people shouting “Go Romesh” at me, especially as I had Sam written clearly on my top. Turns out that I was low key overtaking Mr Ranganathan.

Finally, Victoria spotted me and in a similar level of confusion, I almost missed her having given up on seeing her. I then saw an ex-colleague from my time in London and then my mum popped up just as the race entered the Isle of Dogs.

And that is where my lack of walking caught up with me.

Finish Slower

Canary Wharf has always been known as a low point for runners and I was fully prepared for it.

The crowds thin out and even the small lull in noise seems to be met with a drop in adrenaline and that’s just the point that your body decides to remind you exactly how many parts of you hurt.

With around 15 miles done, already three more than I’d run in one go for over a year, the pain was mostly in my legs, mostly.

But it wasn’t too too bad. It just hurt. And because I knew I wasn’t going for a particular time and had no real goal in mind apart from finishing, I could just walk and enjoy it. I could take the time to listen to different music and hear the different accents.

I was back in full London fan boy mode, just thinking how lucky I was to be taking part in such an event and having strangers come out to support all of us. Even walking around through Millwall and Mudchute, areas often maligned was a sight to behold. And as you hit the bottom of the Isle of Dogs, just metres from the Cutty Sark but on the other side of the Thames, you know that you are turning for home.

All races are easier if you break them down into smaller pieces. From East Ferry Road, get back to the stifling stillness and sun beating off the glass of Canary Wharf. I was lucky to see my mum again and randomly Rob from Jersey shouted out to me around mile 19. I also managed to see Victoria again which was another boost. You can’t underestimate how much seeing a friendly face means at every stage of the run.

Exit the Wharf at Blackwall and head West through Poplar, again areas you wouldn’t necessarily go normally but are filled with well-wishers and cheering.

From Poplar to mile 21 and the amazing Run Dem Crew cheer squad, one of the loudest and most colourful on the course, with Pride flags and drag queens welcoming runners past Limehouse and on to the finishing straight – almost literal direct line to the end.

I was still walking when I wanted and running when I felt I could, hovering in the middle of the road so I being cheered into action by either side of the road which felt at least 10 deep at this stage.

I was also now on the other side of The Highway, looking at those who had just got to halfway. I thought that I might feel sorry for them, knowing what was to come, and some were definitely struggling. But mainly I felt inspired that they had showed up, that they were still going, and so many were smiling as they went, with the crowds still cheering them on.

Mile 23 at the Tower London brough back memories of cheering on Mo Farah, and David Weir, and my friend Duncan, and countless others as they did what I was about to do. The cheers of Sam sounded double as loud until I realised I was running next to a fellow Sam who was raising money for MacMillan.

Now it was time to smell the barn. Or in this case, Buckingham Palace.

Down the hill on to Lower Thames Street, and under London Bridge, past my old office at Cannon Street, the firefighters spraying the runners with their hoses and bumping into Stu from my last company in London. I was now walk running like I should’ve done at the beginning, short recovery walks and longer runs.

There is tunnel as you get to Blackfriars which commands you to stop running.

It is the single quietest part of the race and it’s just two miles from the end. By this point everything is aching and you get one final moment to compose yourself before emerging once again into the cauldron of noise, like a gladiator entering the coliseum.

As I pulled myself together, I saw Martyn, a friend who I met at my first real job in 2001. It was so nice to see him, plus as he is a photographer, I knew he might be taking pics and so I would have to run.

So run I did. And I just didn’t stop. I realised I was within touching distance of my 2010 time and so technically on for a personal best.

The road climbs out of the Blackfriars underpass and on to the Embankment, a route I had done so many times that I could’ve closed my eyes and run the final miles. Only then I would’ve missed the colours and sights that crowded the whole way.

Balloons, streamers, flags, huge cutouts, banners, those bangy stick things, and so much more as I went past Temple and Somerset House, past Cleopatras Needle and Embankment, across from the Southbank and under Hungerford Bridge, and opposite the London Eye.

I kept going past New Scotland Yard and looked up at Big Ben as I rounded the corner into Parliament Square next to Portcullis House, onto Birdcage Walk, the longest bloody way when you feel so close and the finish is the other side of St James’s Park.

Under the magical sign that says “Only 385 yards to go!” and onto The Mall.

As I rounded the corner I wanted to make sure that my charities were as visible as possible so I undid my vest and then as I crossed the line, I did something weird.

Usually I have my finish line celebration all worked out but this time it was a bit off the cuff. A kiss blown to the camera, fingers pointed to the sky and then a tip of the hat. It was like a footballer not knowing what celebration to go with.

I’d like to think it was this: a kiss blown to all those that had supported me through the cancer diagnosis and treatment to say thank you. I’m still coming to terms with it mentally and will never truly be able to thank everyone sufficiently.

The fingers pointing skywards because if I believed in heaven above, I’d be saying “I love you” to my grandparents – Moggy who died just before I ran in 2010, and Tony who died on my birthday in 2017. Alan, who died in 2019 and Olwen who died in 2021, both of whose ashes we scattered earlier this year in the Yorkshire Dales.

And then a tip of the hat to say it’s done.