I’m currently sat on the sofa not allowed to eat ahead of a colonoscopy tomorrow morning. This time nearly a month ago I was about to cross under the Brandenburg Gate to finish the Berlin Marathon 2025.

It had been a long journey to get there.

“The Berlin Marathon is flat”. “The Berlin Marathon is quick”. “You’ll definitely get a PB”. “Maybe I could get a Boston Qualifying time”.

That last one was me but the first three were the usual responses to my news about getting a ballot spot – itself an extraordinary achievement.

So extraordinary in fact that I had booked an ultramarathon the following week, I was THAT confident I wouldn’t get in.

And if this was a film, you’d easily spot what was coming next…

I dug out my Boston Qualifying (BQ) training plan, sat on the laptop and plotted my path to sub three hours, adapting the mileage for people that have real jobs and don’t like mornings.

I then did nothing. Well not nothing. But not much in comparison to the plan.

I went for a “nice” cycling holiday with my brothers, got some new coaching badges and did a dumb nighttime ultra on the cliffs. Not ideal prep for a personal best which would nearly 40 minutes off my previous.

But then PLOT TWIST! I got cancer and so the PB wasn’t really a priority. Or going to Berlin. Or running.

As ways out of achieving a goal go, I wouldn’t recommend it. What followed, if you’re new to this blog, was major surgery and months of chemotherapy.

It also meant that I had lost my €200 as I had not chosen insurance because, well who does. With more than a little bit of wishful thinking, I wrote to the organisers hoping that they might recognise colon cancer as slightly more serious than runner’s knee, and also not the kind of thing you would make up to get out of training badly (quite easily provable as a reason).

Instead of a straight deferral, I was offered a confirmed place for the following year BUT would have to pay again. Given that ballot places are more rare than me actually training for races, this seemed like a good compromise providing the whole cancer thing went OK (colonoscopy results pending, it has).

We go again

The major benefit of knowing I had a confirmed place is that I could actually book flights and accommodation before the ballot result was announced. I’ll list some of my recommendations at the end of this in case you are lucky enough to run it.

We chose to stay near the Zoo and coincidentally Adidas, Nike, New Balance and Hoka had chosen to host their own expos at nearby Kurfürstendamm. It was also a single S-Bahn ride from the airport and barely 15 minutes from the Expo at Messe Berlin.

Sizewise the Expo was probably similar to London but with maybe half of the exhibitors which meant that it had a more laid back feel. I met Katie at the entrance, only to lose her again in the official merch section.

You have to hand it to Adidas, their stuff looked great but I just didn’t need more running stuff that I didn’t wear (did get a cheeky retro t-shirt though). When I first did London back in 2010 I bought the full tracksuit but never found a time to wear it so was comfortable with my decision, if a little jealous of those in their pink and light green outfits.

Jumping back on the train, I opted for an early dinner at pre-marathon favourite Vapiano. It was probably the worst organised chain restaurant I’ve ever been in. For a venue which is built on speed and choices, they seemed to be randomly turning away people while also being late with all food.

We weren’t even sure if the place was open when we walked in. As always though, it did the job, despite the mayhem. For the most part, pasta is pasta.

The next morning we had a “Beans in Berlin” for some of the Jersey runners which was a nice change given that the Berlin parkruns had all closed for the weekend due to size constraints. It was a nice way to run around the area and chat through final prep details.

After that, we watched the 10k runners fly around the course and walked down to Checkpoint Charlie. One of the issues with marathons is that they’re really hard. And quite often you go to nice places to run them if you can so it’s always a balance between sightseeing and running.

We walked through the museum and along The Wall, to Potsdamer Platz where thousands of kids were somehow being herded towards the children’s race and back along the river Spree to our hotel – just over 26 thousand steps the day before a marathon!

Race Day

It probably goes without saying that I was slightly underprepared for the actual race itself, both in terms of training and also well, everything.

My approach to nutrition seemed to be buying random dough-based products from the supermarkets around Zoologischer Garten station. Pretzels, doughnuts, biscuits, this was to be my breakfast of champions.

Annoyingly, you can only access the starting area through a gate near the Reichstag building. This meant a 50 minutes’ walk from our hotel or 25 minutes to the Central Station and then a short walk to the start, so I opted for the latter given that we have four days of free travel included with your entry.

The excitement was building with each station as we got closer, with more runners joining.

Now, I’m something of a runner myself (Berlin was my 10^th), so this next bit may seem like a rookie error.

As we headed down the escalator and out of the station into the sunshine, a sea of runners and supporters spread as far as I could see. I walked through the gates, still amazed by the crowds, before that turned to horror as I realised it was the queue for the toilets.

I had deliberately left the hotel slightly later than usual so I could feel as comfortable as possible before heading out. I had reckoned on the stereotypical German efficiency and organisation to make the start as smooth as possible, and thus I had about half an hour to get to the line which should be plenty of time for, possibly too much information, but a final poo.

I’d read on a forum that there were more toilets towards the start so I went past the ridiculous lines at the front and past the bag drop. Next to this were urinals with a queue so I continued on. On the way to my corral, there was a bank of maybe 10 portaloos with a relatively small queue. I had 25 minutes to the start so took a gamble that those further on would be better. Wrong.

By the time I saw the first signs of people getting into their particular wave, there was only one set of toilets in view. I had to get in the queue.

I was still in the queue as I heard them playing the final notes before the gun went off. I was at the front of the queue as my wave headed towards the start line. I was picking up some unused toilet roll from the grass outside the portaloo because there was none left inside as my wave crossed the line and headed out into Berlin. I entered my pen, just as the final ones left and I was demoted to Group G!

Of course it didn’t matter and the main thing was that I felt better on the start. Well the main thing was that I then saw some more portaloos on the other side of the road, zero queues and someone had kindly left wet wipes behind but you know what I mean. The benefits of hindsight…and learning from mistakes.

Actually running

Comfortably stood facing the start line I could now enjoy the build up. And what a build up it was.

An Icelandic Thunderclap, some Europop and dancing  gave it more of a fun run vibe than the beginning of a marathon.

Then with a swift countdown, we were off. Two huge streams of people flooding along either side of the road and around the Viktoria monument.

We must have been 25 minutes after the previous wave so the streets in front felt fairly empty, something I wasn’t expecting for one of the marathon majors. It was certainly much less hectic and chaotic than London.

The same could be said of the crowds. Busy but not packed. Enthusiastic but not fervent. Even the musical support was polite, more jazz and classic guitars than the EDM or Rammstein I was expecting. At a couple of points I was actually getting annoyed there wasn’t more uplifting music. Who wants a bloody tuba solo?

Running a marathon is definitely a good way to explore a city though although it won’t help me as a tour guide. We weaved back past the central station and then out into the burbs which was marked by the stark communist-era blocks of flats and utilitarian roads.

It wasn’t dreary though by any stretch. The day was warming up considerably and there was little shade but the blocks had a cool charm to them, it felt like I was on one of those hop on, hop off buses but having to do all the work myself.

Going in to the race I was keen not to blow up like I had in London. To make sure this happened, I decided to walk at every water or food stop. With Nice the following week, I just had to get through the day undamaged!

It amounted to roughly a minute at each stop but meant that my legs never felt really tired and also meant that I was adequately hydrating. It wasn’t sunny but by now it was nearly midday and about 23 degrees. There were people on the course beginning to struggle and plenty pulling up on the sides to stretch or take a moment to compose themselves.

Perhaps because it was known as a fast course there was definitely a more serious feel to the run. People were focused on their splits rather than having a good time and the lack of a charity element detracted slightly from the fun.

I was still enjoying it though. I was touristing my way through the streets, making snap judgements on the area, the people, the dynamics at play around each corner I turned. Was this a rough area? A posh area? Why was this quieter than other parts? Look at all the kebab shops. If I was dropped here at random, would I know it was Berlin or Germany?

It’s these kind of thoughts that kept me going through great stretches of the race. As well other random observances like the massage beds on the side of the road, the guy dressed as the Statue of Liberty who kept popping up, or the omnipresent graffiti and occasional flash of the divided city through a sculpture or message.

And so the race just unfolded slowly and methodically. I wasn’t in any great pain or struggling but I would have been very happy if we’d stopped at any point. Running marathons is hard if you don’t train. Actually they’re hard anyway, but training definitely helps. Another one for the hindsight column.

My ever-patient and supportive partner popped up just after the halfway mark, receiving a pretty sweaty hug in return before I pootled back away from the city centre for the final loop before heading back to the finish.

As the course is so flat, it’s hard to pinpoint specific places or moments that stick out. It all kind of melds into one homogenous flat procession of running, followed by not running. Getting the legs going for a parkrun distance before stopping to have water. The stations also had Maurten mix (which I tried and wasn’t really fussed by), oranges (amazing) and bananas (standard), and then iced tea. Which actually wasn’t iced. It was actual tea. Black, slightly sweet tea. I tried it two or three times, mainly just to check that I wasn’t crazy and at 23 degrees, they were serving tea!

There was also a CRAZY amount of cups on the floor, like an almost dangerous amount of slippy slidey plastic at the water stops. I found out too late that Berlin allows you to have your own bottles so at each, there was a myriad of crazy looking bottles and markers so you can quickly spot your own among the throng.

I’ve never been quick enough to worry about those marginal gains and to be honest, the marathons this year have been the first that I’ve even bothered with the water and nutrition side of things – usually I just trust that I’ve drunk enough in advance and that my bodyfat will keep me powering through!

At 30k you make a right-hand turn and then it really is the home straight, heading back towards our hotel and the shopping areas. My “Jeffing” approach meant that I was beginning to catch more people than were overtaking me. The tree lined avenues meant that the heat was lessened but still people were making the most of water sprays.

I was more nervous of getting a blister from wet feet so I veered around them, dunking my cap in the jugs or pouring water over my neck instead. Have I mentioned it was hot? So hot in fact that I’d find out after that times were considerably slower than the previous year.

Anyway, I was getting towards the end when I saw Victoria again. It’s always amazing to see people you know on a race course. You’ll never understand how much of a boost they give you.

And by this point, I could smell the barn. I really wanted to walk though. I was so close to the end but had pretty much run out of energy. And weirdly that final five kilometres should have felt the most uplifting, but instead they felt quiet, as the roads got wider and spectators presumably chose to head to the end.

The previous day we’d seen the 5k take place so I knew what was to come. Except my watch said only a kilometre to go. I was trying really hard not to get excited in case my watch was wrong or the course was different but with every little turn, we really were getting closer to the end, and then a final left turn before there it was. The Brandenburg Gate.

It’s such a cool end to a race.

But it isn’t. So many people had told me that there is another chunk to run after the gate so I checked my enthusiasm for the actual finish line as I continued on the blue carpet towards it.

The crowds were still relatively quiet, just as I was needing their energy. I tried to gee them up before realising that in the middle of road, medics were attending to a runner who was in a bad way. So much so that some of the volunteers had taken down advertising boards to protect the runner while it looked like they performed CPR. Thankfully all of the runners on the day were fine in the end but it meant a slightly sombre and reflective end to the race.

It was the end though. And my third of the marathon majors.

I sat on a concrete block and the world was suddenly full of colour but not in a good way. It’s like the beginning of a migraine (I’ve only had two in my life) and the closest description I can think of is like looking through a kaleidoscope. Like when you accidentally look at the sun and then look away again. You can’t see through the colours and spectators weren’t allowed into the finishing area so I lay on the floor next to a hedge to try and wait it out.

Not the most glamorous finish but it’s the reality of running life. It’s not always as the influencers would have you believe. It’s portaloos and ocular migraines, it’s chafing and blisters. But it is fun. And it takes you to places mentally and physically that one day you thought were impossible.

Running two marathons in the year following recovery is beyond what I thought possible and every day I think how lucky I’ve been, and how much I appreciate the moments in my life where I can do things that looked out of reach a year ago. Thank you as always to those that have got me to this point.

Or should I say danke.