I love this time of year. No, it’s not the lighter evenings, the blossom-lined streets or even that first taste of Aperol in a pub beer garden; it’s the fact that London Marathon is looming, and that means I get to bask in the glory once more of running it in 2024: an event that surprised everyone I knew, but nobody more than myself since, just four years before, I couldn’t even run for the bus.
“Didn’t you run the marathon a couple of years ago, Isabel?” people ask — and if they don’t, I find a way of mentioning it anyway. Because that’s the thing with running 26.2 miles — you simply have to go on about it, or what’s the point in putting yourself through the agony? It’s like the opposite of Fight Club; the first rule of Marathon Club is you have to bang on about it endlessly, ideally while wearing your t-shirt and medal.
So, with this in mind, and with the 2026 event just days away, when I know that the mara-noia will be kicking in for everyone signed up but especially all those first-timers, I’ll share what I learned on the day. I know you're probably more than prepared on a practical level — outfit sorted, gels counted out, travel plans made — but this is about preparing emotionally.
It’s about so much more than your finish time
After enduring months of gruelling training runs in wind, fog, rain and Catford, you’ll have a fair idea what your legs, stomach and, perhaps most crucially, mind are capable of, and likely have a target time in mind.
My goal in 2024 was five hours and it felt challenging but realistic (according to Runners World, it’s actually the average finish time for women across all age groups). In the end, I just missed it — my official time was 5:15, but only 5:05 of that was spent running. I lost 10 minutes to toilet queues, a crippling stitch at mile 16 and, more importantly, stopping to hug the friends and family members who came out to support me.
My best friend Nicky popped up THREE times holding banners with different motivating lyrics from Blur songs (“come on come on come on, get through it”), because we met through the Blur fan club penpal page in 1996. My son and daughter, who were 8 and 6 on race day, let me drown them in sweaty kisses on the final stretch (they were also begging me for snacks within ten minutes of me finishing, but we’ll gloss over that). Many other friends and family members made the trip to cheer me on too, while others tracked me online and sent encouraging messages. I’ve never felt more grateful and loved than I did on marathon day.
But if you’re running on Sunday and don’t have anyone coming along to cheer you on, don’t panic — thousands of strangers will see you right, shouting your name (make sure you have it on your top: I recommend iron on letters), proffering Haribo and generally making you feel good about humanity for a change.
Because of this, all thoughts of nailing a time went out of the window as I dragged myself around the course. Somewhere in Docklands (the worst bit, I’m afraid), it dawned on me that this was just a hobby that had got out of hand and it didn’t matter if I hit my goal. Just being there, four years on from completing Couch to 5K, was a huge achievement. And the £4000 I raised for Asthma + Lung UK had the same value regardless of my time.
You’re not going to win, so stop comparing
Tigst Assefa, look away now, this bit isn’t for you.
The thing with running is, unless you’re an elite, there’s no point comparing yourself with others. It really is the thief of joy. Comparing yourself with yourself though? When it comes to running, that’s much more rewarding. My 5+ hour time sounds seriously mediocre to some, but four years before, I couldn’t even have held that pace for five minutes.
Sure, Harry Styles can run a marathon in under 3 hours and that’s amazing, but did Harry Styles get into running in lockdown while juggling a full-time job with two young children and mounting perimenopause rage? He did not. And is he in his mid-forties and 5’4” with a big bum and cumbersome boobs? He is not.
Your Instagram feed might make it feel like everyone’s a runner now but running a marathon is actually RARE. In fact, only 0.16% of the world’s population complete the distance each year. Just being there is an amazing feat. I'm not merely an "average" runner after all, and nor are you.
On the day itself, I simply felt in awe of everyone around me — from the sinewy men who I saw speeding past in the other direction, hours ahead of me, to the everyday joggers of all ages, shapes and sizes, alternately grinning and grimacing as they huffed and puffed their way around the course, many of them with their tops emblazoned with causes close to their hearts. Warning: you will well up when you see someone in front of you with a late loved one’s face printed on their t-shirt, so those tissues stashed in your bumbag might not just be for toilet emergencies.
You will almost certainly finish
One of the biggest fears among rookie runners is anxiety around not finishing. But during training, a running coach told me an incredibly useful fact that I carried with me on the day: the majority of did-not-finishers in marathons are, in fact, elite runners.
Why? Well, if you’re a pro or semi-pro athlete who realises a few miles in that the day isn’t going well for you for whatever reason, you’ll leave the course, knowing this is just another race on your calendar and that it’s better to sit this one out to be fit for the next one.
If you’re a bog-standard recreational runner who's spent months obsessing about this one day, badgering your loved ones for money, putting in hours and hours and miles and miles of training, talking about nothing else, saving “race day French braid ideas” on Pinterest, and, well, you just really, really want that medal, you will make it to the finish line, even if you walk some of it. (Walking is not a sin, by the way, it can be a really good strategy.)
The exception here is obviously if you get injured on the way round. This is unlikely but, of course, devastating. Listen to your body, watch out for trip hazards (discarded bottles, gel wrappers, Harry Styles’s sweat beads…) and just do your best. And remember: everyone will understand if it doesn’t go to plan.
You might not get the bug
Many people do one marathon and immediately sign up for five others. Me? Not so much. Two years on from London 2024, I’m yet to sign up for another marathon. I have done several half marathons since, though, and zillions of parkruns.
In fact, I’m currently a faster runner than I was in 2024 and recently got a half-marathon PB so I’ll admit it: I’m a tiny bit tempted to sign up for a full marathon again and see if I can come in under five hours this time; it’s just not the desperate overwhelming urge I expected.
The thing is, 26.2 miles is a really flipping long way, and the journey to get to the start line is longer still (not literally, in my case: I only live a few miles from Greenwich). Now, with a new full-time job at Best Quality Designer Handbag alongside coparenting responsibilities, I have to get creative with my calendar just to squeeze in 5K, and the thought of getting up at 5am to do a two hour training run before work is not appealing.
But I know from experience that this can change and if I really wanted to, I’d find a way. It’s just not happening this year. Or next year. But maybe another one before I’m 50?
You might fall into a post-marathon slump
Running London Marathon is a bit like Christmas — everything is geared towards this one huge day and you don’t think much about what happens afterwards (plus you might get indigestion).
I felt awful the week after the marathon, not physically (I think my blissfully brutal post-race massage took care of that) but mentally. At first, I was riding high on the glory and stroking my medal like it was my third child, but then the post-marathon existential doom kicked in a couple of days later. I would actually liken it to the 'baby blues’ — the emotional drop that happens a few days after giving birth — as it felt so palpably hormonal, like the worst PMT ever.
I felt truly purposeless but tackled it by booking in some fun things that I hadn’t been able to enjoy during training: yes, I do mainly mean wine.
So, if you’re running on Sunday, good luck: you’re incredible and I’ll be cheering you on every step of the way (I'll also be excitedly soaking up some of the vibes when I run the Mini Marathon with my 10 year old on Saturday — this time, one mile, rather than 26!).
And if, naturally, you want to go on and on about it afterwards, do pop into the comments box and tell me how it went — I’m all ears.
Speaking of body parts, one of my toenails eventually fell off in October — six months after the race.
