"London Marathon 2025: Getting in Shape Again for the Ultimate Running Challenge!"

It is very almost here. One day to go. The eve of the London Marathon. One more night’s sleep – although I use the word sleep in its loosest possible sense – and then it’s time. 120 days of preparation, 120 days of early alarms, sore legs, stubborn weather and occasional negotiations with muscles that would have preferred a quiet sit down instead, have brought me to this point. It has been a long, twisting road: early morning get-ups when the world was still dark and grumpy, runs that went on longer than sanity strictly allows, strange food choices that had me seriously questioning my life decisions and stretches of illness and injury where simply tying my shoelaces felt like a competitive sport. But through it all, the mission was simple: prepare . And despite everything, prepare I have. Tomorrow, 26.2 miles of London streets await me. It looks set to be a warm, sunny spring day, the sort that will lift the heart and melt the legs at roughly mile 20. But that’s tomorrow’s challen...

An Alarming Rest Day The first of my rest days arrived with the cheery chirp of a 6am alarm, because apparently, my brain hasn’t received the memo about the whole “rest” part. Still, there was a strange satisfaction in rising early knowing I didn’t have to pound the pavements today. That satisfaction was slightly dampened—much like the weather—by a particularly excitable pollen count. Despite the persistent drizzle, the air was clearly full of microscopic mischief. The antihistamines made their valiant appearance and were taken with gratitude and a mild grumble. A Journey Worth the Cable Car This afternoon marked one of the most exciting rituals in the London Marathon build-up: collecting my race number. It involved a drive to the O2 followed by the delightfully surreal experience of sailing across the Thames in a cable car, which felt a little bit like commuting in a Bond film if Bond wore Asics and carried a protein bar. Upon landing on the other side, the Excel centre welcomed me...

  The Final Countdown Begins It’s Easter Sunday and the calendar has become rather smug about the fact that there’s only one week to go. Just seven days now until the London Marathon. Every run feels more significant, not because of the distance, but because of its place in the story. There’s a definite shift now from training to preparing . It’s a bit like tidying your house before guests arrive—you’re not really doing much, but everything feels more important than it probably is. Today’s run was a measured 48 minutes, designed to keep the legs turning without tipping them into rebellion. I took the familiar route that I’ve now almost worn into the earth: down through the Highsted valley, where the world briefly feels flat and forgiving, and then, once again—as mentioned in more than one previous blog post—I ran up the absolutely no-nonsense incline that is Stockers Hill. That hill and I have history now. It’s the kind of climb that makes you question your choices, your fitness...

 It’s not often I’m up and out before the house has fully stirred during the Easter holidays, but today was one of those rare mornings where the trainers were on, the watch was set and I was out of the door just after 8am. Not quite “heroic effort” territory, but certainly early enough to feel like I’d earned the first cup of coffee before most people had even considered socks. Into the Valley, Again The plan was another 1-hour base run—nothing fancy, just a steady pace, the sort of run that settles into your muscles like an old story: familiar, gently paced, and mostly free of dramatic twists. I didn’t consciously choose the Highsted valley route again, but my legs seem to know where they’re going these days. I suppose that’s what happens when you repeat a path so often—it becomes part of the week’s rhythm, like bins going out or mysteriously disappearing teaspoons. The descent into the valley always brings a shift in mood. The roads give way to lanes, the air smells faintly of...

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, today was a scheduled rest day—one of those delicious calendar entries that promises no running, no effort, and ideally, no guilt. They say rest days are where the real training happens and I am inclined to agree, especially when they involve minimal movement and maximum comfort. This one, in particular, came at just the right time. After staying up until around 1am to watch Rory McIlroy finally win the US Masters, it seemed only right that today was dedicated to horizontal living and low-level human functioning. When Breakfast Forgets to Happen I genuinely cannot remember the last time I skipped breakfast. I am someone who, even mid-run, will start planning my next meal with a sort of hopeful optimism. But this morning—or should I say late morning—breakfast somehow didn’t materialise. I stayed in bed for as long as the house would allow, navigating that delicate balance between enjoying the peace and ignoring the increasing calls from the children...

Buckets of Cold Joy (Observed from a Safe Distance) The week off continues and today began with a much-needed family trip to the coast. There's something timeless about the British seaside — even when it's cold enough to make your bones consider early retirement. The girls, naturally, made a beeline for the sea, undeterred by the temperature or the impressive quantities of seaweed strewn across the beach like Poseidon’s laundry day. I stayed dry, of course. Someone had to supervise with shoes still on and the ability to save them from jellyfish if absolutely necessary. Watching them paddle, laugh and shriek with the kind of unfiltered joy that only children and penguins seem capable of in icy water was a genuine delight. They didn’t mind the seaweed (well, Daisy did mind, but we don't talk of that) and they didn’t notice the cold — a skill I’m pretty sure we lose somewhere around adulthood, along with the ability to eat five ice creams in one sitting. It was chaotic and ...

The Easter "Holiday" There’s a strange ritual that marks the start of every Easter break at my school—and it involves not rest, relaxation, or even the ceremonial unwrapping of an early chocolate egg. No, it’s me, waking up at 6am and heading into Rochester to run an A Level revision session for Year 13. Tradition is a powerful thing, particularly the kind that requires coffee before sunrise and a whiteboard pen in hand before most people have even remembered what day it is. Pavement Pounding and Cookham Climbing Due to the early start and location, my run once again looped the now-familiar pavements around The Math School. Originally planned to be just over an hour, my ever-vigilant Garmin Forerunner 955, with all the smugness of a digital life coach who definitely doesn’t have kids, suggested a reduced 40-minute session thanks to a rough night and a sore lower back. I wasn’t feeling great. The kind of “not great” where your body keeps filing complaints to HR and HR just...

After yesterday’s excitement meeting the Gladiators and nursing the same stubborn cold that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my sinuses, it might have seemed reasonable to throw in the towel for another day. But towels, as it turns out, are best kept for drying off after a run, not for surrendering. When I woke up this morning, croaky and vaguely resembling a deflated bagpipe, I told myself, “No. No more days off.” It was time to get back out there, cold or no cold, time to be a a Gladiator! So I hauled myself out of bed with all the grace of a man who’s misplaced both his socks and his will to live, made a strong coffee and drove to Rochester. Onward to the Esplanade (With a Dash of Wheeze) I really wasn’t feeling at my best. But the air was cold, and for once, I didn’t care. I was here to run, not to appreciate meteorological nuance. I set off down the hill toward the Rochester Esplanade, breath a little wheezy but manageable—like a bagpipe that’s been patched with du...

As I suspected yesterday, the vague tickle in my throat and the slight fog in my head have not graciously departed. No, they’ve unpacked their bags, settled in and brought friends. The cold has officially arrived and my head currently feels like it's filled with wet cement, while my throat seems to have been sandpapered by an enthusiastic DIYer. So, I am on full rest—well, as full as possible when you spend your day teaching teenagers who emit both energy and chaos in equal measure. That said, this is hardly catastrophic. With five and a half weeks to go until the London Marathon, I’m grateful that this bug has chosen now to make its grand entrance rather than waiting for marathon week. In the grand scheme of 16 weeks of training, a cold was always a likely visitor. Like an unexpected relative at Christmas, it’s not if they turn up, but when . Rest: Doing Nothing Properly I’ll be taking the tried-and-tested approach of plenty of fluids, multivitamins, and Lemsip (the triad of m...

Saturday arrived, and with it, the glorious sensation of a morning that didn’t require a pre-dawn alarm call. The world, it seemed, was not in such a desperate hurry today, which was a pleasant change. The usual Saturday duties took precedence first—Daisy to swimming, then onwards to musical theatre—before a brief return home for a well-earned breather. Sprinting into the Afternoon Looking back over the week, it was clear that the higher-intensity work had been lounging about, rather like a cat that had found a particularly sunny windowsill. That wouldn’t do. Today’s run was all about effort, and effort was exactly what was given. The session involved an anaerobic workout with seven repetitions of one-minute sprints, aiming for around a 4:15min/km pace. This was, naturally, both ambitious and painful. A few of these efforts even came with the delightful addition of an incline, as if gravity had suddenly decided to make things more interesting. Each intense burst was followed by a three...

A Chilly Start This morning, I once again awoke in good spirits—an occurrence I have learned not to question too deeply, lest it vanish in a puff of logic. With that in mind, I was out the door and off to Rochester. Today's run was another base run, and I was, of course, very pleased to take off down the Maidstone Road hill, letting gravity do some of the work. The route took me across the historic Vines, where the cold air nipped at my face with the persistence of an overly enthusiastic terrier. The forecast had threatened a flurry of snow, but in the end, it seemed the weather had just been teasing. It remained bitterly cold, though, as if winter had misplaced its departure ticket and was making the most of its extended stay. The Friday Rush The rest of the day passed in a blur of lessons, meetings and that particular brand of end-of-week chaos that only a school can produce. Fridays are always busy, filled with the anticipation of the weekend and the quiet, collective realisatio...

I'm writing today's post under the shadow of the great arch of Wembley Stadium, where history has been made, dreams have been shattered, and—more importantly—where I am currently nursing a coffee in a rather cramped Pret a Manger. The girls are off enjoying Disney on Ice at Wembley Arena and I am making the most of my waiting time, valiantly trying to make this coffee last long enough to justify my table occupancy. There’s a Five Guys just around the corner, which is whispering sweet promises of burgers and fries for dinner and I am beginning to think resistance is futile. The Case of the Unravelling Trainer This morning’s long run was always going to be a squeeze thanks to today’s trip to Wembley, but I managed to get out early, following a route that could soon become my usual—down into the Highsted Valley and up towards Milstead. The air was crisp, the roads were quiet, and everything was going smoothly until I noticed a strange sensation underfoot. It felt as though my tra...

A Fresh Twist on Familiar Streets After yesterday’s longest pre-work run ever, I set off this morning for an hour-long base run before the workday began. With the intensity scaled back, it was refreshing to focus on the surroundings rather than chasing pace or distance. To break the monotony of my usual route, I decided to run one of my familiar paths in reverse—a choice that promised new perspectives and a welcome challenge to routine. The Reversed Route and Hidden Corners My journey began along Maidstone Road, winding its way through the historic Vines before reaching Rochester High Street. Turning left at the end, I found myself crossing over Rochester Bridge towards Strood. Running a well-trodden route in the opposite direction felt rather like witnessing an everyday miracle: hidden doorways, neglected walls and shop signs that had long blended into the urban landscape suddenly emerged into clear view. It appears that a simple change in direction can reveal the universe’s own cheek...

Well, here we are at Day 38 of the London Marathon 2025 training plan. This morning featured a 5 am rise—not strictly necessary for a 40-minute run, but a useful exercise in conditioning my body for the early starts ahead. There’s something oddly reassuring about being awake before even the most enthusiastic morning birds have started their complaints about the cold. Training is, after all, about balance: work, life and the perpetual quest for more sleep. Slippery Slopes and Careful Steps The temperature has taken another nosedive and the ground was less than cooperative. Any downhill sections required the kind of careful foot placement usually reserved for tightrope walkers or people trying to quietly sneak past a sleeping cat. With icy patches keeping me on my toes—sometimes quite literally—I had to take it easy where I’d usually enjoy a carefree descent. Today's session was a threshold run, featuring one 17-minute effort at around 165 bpm. Not the easiest target to hit when ever...

Coldest Run in Years One word sums up today’s training: cold . At a brisk -3 degrees, this was officially the chilliest run I've tackled in years. The only comparable experience? Freezing my proverbial toes off as an assistant referee at Bishop’s Stortford on an equally frosty day a mumner of years ago. Back then, I was more concerned about offside traps than icy pavements, but the temperature left the same lasting impression—mainly on my extremities. Today, however, the focus wasn’t on flagging for fouls but on keeping upright while running. Every step was accompanied by the crunch of frost underfoot and the faint, treacherous shimmer of ice on the pavement. It was the kind of morning where you question the sanity of running outdoors but lace up anyway because the training plan doesn’t leave room for weather-based excuses. Dancing on Ice (Sort Of) The pavement this morning gleamed with that telltale sheen of danger, a reminder from nature that it doesn’t care for running schedules...

The Ongoing Battle Against the Sleep Monster Day 11 of training, and the battle against the sleep monster continues! Much like the calamity of Day 10, when my alarm clock was thoroughly ignored, waking up at 5:15 am remains a Herculean task. I suspect my duvet is plotting against me, much like a minor household conspiracy. A Chilly Morning Run Along the River This morning’s run was a 43-minute effort at a standard training pace—a comfortable 30 seconds per kilometre slower than my planned marathon pace. The route wound its way along the Rochester Esplanade, a picturesque stretch following the River Medway. Despite the threat of snow lurking ominously in the forecast, the weather held back, leaving me with a bone-chilling but mercifully dry run. It’s the kind of cold that convinces you your nose has taken up ice sculpture as a hobby. Early Starts and Winter Challenges While the crisp air was invigorating, the real challenge continues to be dragging myself out of bed. Training during the...

It’s Day 10 of my London Marathon 2025 training, and I’ve hit what can only be described as a wall of reality – the sort of wall that doesn’t politely step aside when you approach but stands there smirking, arms crossed, daring you to wake up at 5:15 am. After two blissful weeks of holiday mode – late nights, leisurely mornings, and alarm clocks gathering dust – my body decided to stage a mutiny against the return of discipline. The Alarm That Wasn’t In fact, the mutiny was so effective that I managed to sleep right through my alarm and woke up at the far more civilised hour of 6 am. Clearly, my subconscious had concluded that holiday lie-ins weren’t quite ready to vacate the premises. Still, I’m counting this as a minor victory: I did wake up eventually, and that’s half the battle, right? A Gentle Start Mercifully, the training gods smiled upon me today, serving up a 22-minute recovery run on the schedule. After the shock of returning to early mornings (or not-so-early, in today’s ca...

A night at the opera, a leisurely breakfast, and a long run in the rain — that’s how Day 9 of my London Marathon 2025 training unfolded. Each element brought its own flair and challenges. A Night of High Notes Let’s rewind to Saturday evening when I checked off a major bucket list item: experiencing La Bohème at the Royal Opera House. Thanks to Kelly’s thoughtful planning, I was treated to Puccini’s masterpiece, a spectacle of soaring arias and heart-wrenching drama. It was an evening of pure magic, where the music seemed to hang in the air like a spell — or perhaps like one of those particularly persistent Christmas songs that refuses to leave your head in January. Buffet Bliss and Carb-Loading Sunday morning brought the joys of a hotel breakfast buffet, which, if you ask me, should be classified as an Olympic sport. With marathon training as my excuse, I embraced the concept of carb-loading with a hearty selection: sausages, bacon, hash browns, bagels, and croissants. It was a feast...

A Return to Basics Day 8 of my London Marathon 2025 training, and today was all about getting back to basics after the festive indulgences. On the agenda: a steady 30-minute run to ease back into the rhythm. Nothing fancy, no fireworks, just the kind of run that’s the training equivalent of a warm hug—comforting, reliable, and slightly sweaty. Prepping for Tomorrow’s Challenge This run served as a perfect prelude to tomorrow’s longer effort, which promises to be a bit more demanding. Why? Because tonight, I’ll be indulging in a different kind of performance—an evening at the Royal Opera House to see La Bohème. It’s my final celebratory hurrah of the Christmas holidays before returning to work, and let’s face it, running a marathon may be epic, but Puccini’s high notes can make even a sprint finish look like a casual jog. Flexibility in Training Plans Fitting tomorrow’s long run into the schedule might require some tactical maneuvering. After all, staying overnight in London doesn’t exa...

Day 6 of my London Marathon 2025 training, and my legs were politely but firmly asking for a break after yesterday's New Year's Day Parkrun. Today, the plan called for a recovery run—a gentle 18-minute jog that might not sound like much, but trust me, it’s an unsung hero of marathon training. Why Recovery Runs Matter It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking every run needs to be a Herculean effort. More miles, faster times, right? Wrong. If marathon training were a novel, recovery runs would be the quiet chapters that make the big climaxes possible. Recovery runs are designed to: Increase blood flow , which helps flush out waste products like lactic acid that build up during intense workouts. Think of it as your muscles’ version of a spa day. Support muscle repair and rebuilding , reducing soreness and preventing those dreaded injuries that could sideline your training. The Long-Term Benefits While recovery runs may seem like the tortoise to the training plan’s hare, they pl...