The London Marathon!

London! It lived up to the hype: an epic atmosphere, big emotions, and just the right amount of chaos. It felt less like a marathon and more like a 42.2K street party where you somehow happen to be running.

Sunday 26 April was a perfect day: cool air, a bit of sun, no wind to complain about. My plan was simple enough on paper: aim for a 3:15 finish, stay controlled, execute sensibly, enjoy the day. As it turns out, “simple on paper” and “simple in reality” are not the same thing.

Logistics were smooth. Our Airbnb was a short train ride from the start, I arrived at the start area in good time, and everything felt oddly calm for a race of this size – a record-breaking 59’830 finishers.

I was in awe of the women’s urinals, a kind of squat-and-go system that was unbelievably efficient. It was the fastest toilet queue I have ever experienced in a major race (similar to these).

By the time we were called into the start area, the atmosphere had shifted from calm to electric. At 9:45 we were off, and within seconds it was clear this would not be a quiet, evenly paced opening.

The first kilometres felt controlled, but in that slightly deceptive way where everything feels easy and you are absolutely certain you are being disciplined. In reality, you are just being carried along by adrenaline and noise.

I settled into around 4:36 per kilometre. That was a touch faster than the 4:40 I had planned, but still within what I told myself was sensible and under control.

My intention was to let things settle after 5K, find rhythm, avoid surges, and cruise into the race. That plan did not happen. In fact, quite the opposite: at around 5K we merged with another wave and suddenly cruising turned into constant negotiation. Space disappeared, rhythm became fragmented, and weaving and surging was necessary to maintain an even pace.

At 10K I spotted Kai exactly as planned. We had chosen a specific lamppost in advance, which sounds slightly ridiculous until you realise it is the only way you actually find people in London Marathon crowds. It worked perfectly. It was so good to see him! I later learned he had enjoyed a full English breakfast in the mean time, which felt like a fair division of labour.

From there the course shifted into its iconic section: Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf. It felt like running through a highlight reel. The noise was constant, the crowds were deep, and the energy carried you. I crossed the halfway mark in 1:38, which felt good and reasonable. If only the second half wasn’t harder!

At that point the 3:15 pacer had already overtaken me and was about 100 metres ahead. A neat visual reminder that my goal time was gradually slipping away.

Around 22K I expected things to thin out and finally give me a chance to settle into a rhythm. Instead, London just kept being London. The weaving and surging didn’t let up, the crowds got even louder, and the signs somehow got better: “Don’t trust that fart”, “The Devil wears Strava”, “Pain now, Pint later”. Not a boring moment!

At 32K the race changed for me. Not dramatically, just quietly, which is usually worse. My legs stopped responding properly, not just tired but almost disconnected. I had taken gels regularly every 7K, but it felt like the system had stopped processing inputs altogether. I cannot remember the last time my legs felt that uncooperative.

I was in survival mode and tried to reset mentally. If not 3:15, then 3:20. Just hold on. It’s only 10 more kilometres! You can do it!

One of my grandiose goals had been to reach Big Ben before it strikes 1pm. When I finally saw it, the clock read 12:58 with 1.5 kilometres to go. Close, but not quite the cinematic ending I had imagined. Onwards!

At last, Buckingham Palace and The Mall! That final stretch already felt iconic in the moment, even in a slightly dazed state. Only afterwards did I realise that the elite had broken the world record with their sub 2-hour races, which somehow makes it feel even more surreal in hindsight.

My own finish was a little less historic. I crossed the line in 3:19:19, placing 17th in my age group (55–59) out of 1’483.

A volunteer handed me the medal and I genuinely could have hugged her. Instead, I shuffled toward the meeting area and found Kai. Seeing him there mattered more than anything else in the day. He had been part of every training block, every build-up, every logistical puzzle that made this race possible.

London was everything it promised to be. Loud, generous, chaotic, and completely unforgettable.

I am linking up with Jenny from Runners Fly and Jenn from Runs with Pugs for Tuesday Topics as well as Runners’ Roundup with Coach Debbie Runs, Confessions of a Mother Runner, Mile by Mile, and Runs with Pugs!