Well. This is not the post I wanted to write. I wanted to wake up this morning knowing what it feels to be a sub 3 marathoner. Instead I got a kicking. I’ll get up again, slowly, painfully, but I will get up.

Everything looked so good. I wasn’t complacent, I think, but all the signs were there. PBs galore. No niggles, as I had going into Berlin last year. And yet. From mile 14, quad pain which started bad and got worse, far far worse than anything I’ve ever had before. The longest 11 mile run/jog/limp home of my life. An absolute eternity of just saying “one foot in front of the other. Just one foot in front of the other”. Some miles which lasted, I’m sure, about three weeks. Eventually, the finish line. No triumph, just a collapse. Not the picture I had in my head for weeks, months now. 3hrs 10mins, which I do know is not a ‘bad’ time but it’s not what I wanted, or trained for, or hoped for.

Let’s talk about the positives, anyway. Firstly, thank you to the lovely staff at the Holiday Inn in Regents Park where I stayed the night before. The hotel was filled with nervous marathoners and they made it so seamless and unstressful – from popcorn in the room for extra carbs, to the early breakfast, tended to by staff with race numbers on their backs, then the coach right to the start.

This, too, after a day of carb loading – never the most onerous of marathon prep tasks – from pizza at Franco Manca (when I set up my own race they will be headline sponsors, with pizza awaiting all finishers at the line) to dinner at Wahaca. I even got proper race hair done.

More positives – my lovely friends, who clocked up some brilliant PBs. Hats off to Sophie, for a PB and sub 3h 30min finish, paced by “Metronome” Shaun. To Susie and Emily who paced the four hour groups – the former just days after an epic sufferfest in the Marathon des Sables, the latter a whole six days after running Boston Marathon. To Tim, who like me had a bad day but battled through to finish anyway (Tim, you’ll always be the RIGHT Tim Jones to us).

And a huge huge thank you from the bottom of my heart to Ben, who went from pacemaker to nursemaid, and then had to wing an impromptu strength session, carrying me and about five bags when I fell apart over the line.

I have a persistent stupid feeling that I’ve left people down. It’s pure vanity, really, as I know no one but me really should or does care, but my friends and family and you guys have been so supportive that I feel a debt I owe hasn’t really been repaid. I so wanted to see the look of pride in my kids faces if I did it, but I suppose at least I can repay their unwavering support in cake.

So thank you for everything. Thanks for all the lovely messages on Strava and Twitter – both before and after. Marathons are brutal when they go wrong, and this one has left me battered mentally and physically. But I’ll get back there. Unless, of course, I just decide to do the sensible thing and become a professional cake eater. That’s a thing, right?

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