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

Rest is for the Weak… Apparently After the tangled mess of the start of yesterday's rest day, it was only natural that last night’s sleep came in short, unsatisfying instalments. I stirred at 5:30am and from that point on, my brain decided that rest was so yesterday . I lay there willing myself back into slumber, but it turns out that worry about logistics, the marathon and whether we have enough butter are all surprisingly effective sleep deterrents. Thankfully, I’ve got a good book on the go—something well-written enough to distract from tiredness but not so gripping that I accidentally lose four hours and all sensation in my arms. Goodbye, Sweet Chariot The first task of the morning was to return the hire car to Enterprise. I’ll admit, I felt a pang watching it disappear from the driveway, especially knowing we're now down to one car in a family of five with more schedules than the average airport. This will be fun. And by “fun,” I mean a calendar-based diplomatic missio...

Today marks Day 100 of my London Marathon training. It’s strange—when I first started this journey, 100 days felt like it would be an almost mythical milestone. A century of runs, routines and rain. And now it’s here, less like a trumpet-blasting celebration and more like a quiet, weary nod between two old travellers passing on the road. With three weeks to go, I decided the best way to commemorate the occasion was to run for just over 100 minutes. The number felt satisfying. My legs disagreed. But this milestone run didn’t happen until the afternoon. The morning was reserved for Polly’s tennis session, which she thoroughly enjoyed, particularly the ice cream that followed. I didn’t have any, but I did get a reward of sorts: a minor back twinge, earned not from any athletic feat, but from the unassuming act of twisting to pick up a slowly rolling tennis ball. There are people who can sprint a hundred metres in under ten seconds. I, meanwhile, can injure myself bending at the wrong an...

A Rest Day, Blessed Be After a week spent tentatively reintroducing myself to the concept of running (my legs were not particularly pleased to see me), and yesterday’s threshold run which could generously be described as “ambitious” and less generously as “utterly daft,” I was more than ready for a break. So when I woke this morning and saw my Garmin suggesting a rest day, it felt like the universe – or at least a very smug wrist-based algorithm – was offering me a reprieve. To be honest, I needed it. My sleep has been patchy all week, the kind of nights where you wake at 3 a.m. for no reason except to stare at the ceiling and overthink decisions you made in 2001. That kind of tired worms its way deep into the bones and no amount of coffee or protein powder can magic it away. Breakfast: A Civilised Affair There’s a quiet joy in Friday rest days. They bring with them a change of pace – and, more importantly, a change of breakfast. When you’re not trying to line your stomach before a...

Heavy Legs and Light Ambitions After the longer run yesterday, I woke up today with legs that felt like they’d spent the night reconsidering their life choices. Walking to the bathroom was less a movement and more a negotiation between willpower and gravity – and gravity, it turns out, is a very persistent negotiator. On the schedule this morning was a 35-minute base run, intended to ease the muscles back into action gently, like a friendly nudge from someone who wants you to jog but doesn’t want to get punched for suggesting it. I set out early, as usual, in the half-light of morning where only runners, foxes and questionable life decisions roam. The run itself was uneventful, apart from the ongoing commentary from my legs, which could be summed up as “are we really doing this?” Still, the base pace did its job. Things loosened up over time, albeit in the same way a stubborn jar lid eventually gives in — with a sense of begrudging resignation. By the end, I was grateful for the shor...