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

After yesterday’s promising threshold run, it really felt like I had turned a corner. Unfortunately, my back had other ideas. I woke at around 4 a.m. to a gnawing pain in my lower back and then again at 6:30 am just in case I’d forgotten about it. It was back, and it was demanding attention—ignoring it was about as effective as ignoring a tax bill. The Roast That Broke Me Despite this unwelcome development, I pressed on with my pre-Mother’s Day errands, determined not to let a bit of pain disrupt the grand plan. By midday, I was in full roast-dinner mode, cooking up a feast for the family. Now, I suspect that standing for hours over a hot stove, lifting heavy trays and wrestling with an uncooperative joint of meat are not top-tier recommendations for lower back recovery. But if you’re going to suffer, you might as well do it surrounded by gravy and Yorkshire puddings. A Laughable Promise Somewhere in between basting and boiling, I made a bold commitment: I would run after dinner. In hi...

A Brief Interlude of Indoor Rain I promised an update after yesterday’s unexpected experiment in indoor waterfalls and here it is: the situation was sufficiently dire to warrant an overnight hotel stay. Apparently, a house without a working toilet is officially uninhabitable, though I must admit I would have reached that conclusion slightly sooner than our insurance provider did. Every flood has a silver lining, though and in this case, it came in the form of a rather excellent cooked breakfast. The emergency plumber was summoned and after much investigation and muttered incantations, the culprit was found lurking in the wall between the wardrobe and the ensuite shower. Water, as it turns out, is alarmingly ambitious when given the opportunity to go places it shouldn’t.  It spread with all the grace of an overturned bucket, even taking out my three-piece suit collection—an attack on my very professional identity! The water is back on now, but the real battle begins: the clash of ti...

The Art of Suffering Before Sunrise Another early start saw me up at 5 am, lacing up my trainers in the kind of darkness that suggests even the sun has better things to do. Rochester awaited, and after yesterday’s much-needed rest day, today’s session called for a 19-minute hard effort at a heart rate of around 165 bpm. Nothing quite says “good morning” like willingly launching yourself into oxygen debt before most people have found their slippers. A Lesson in Fuelling (or, How to Avoid Running on Empty) Threshold runs are designed to test both physical endurance and mental fortitude, a bit like arguing with a particularly stubborn parrot. Lately, I’ve found these morning sessions a struggle, my energy levels suspiciously similar to those of an old mobile phone—full charge at bedtime, mysteriously down to 2% by morning. In an effort to combat this, I tried taking an energy gel just before the run. The result? A slight improvement, but it became clear that my timing was off. The gel’s b...

The Reluctant Start Some days, stepping out the door for a run is an act of sheer enthusiasm. Today was not one of those days. The lingering effects of yesterday’s double threshold session clung to me like an overenthusiastic relative at a family reunion. My legs, in particular, were staging a quiet protest, demonstrating all the flexibility and responsiveness of a pair of ancient oak trees. It took until the afternoon before the rest of me joined in on the idea that running was, in fact, happening. The Stockers Hill Question The plan for today was a 55-minute base run, and I set off towards Highsted Valley with the vague notion of letting the route decide itself. Of course, this meant that the route, being a fickle and slightly malevolent entity, led me to the bottom of Stockers Hill. At this point, the sensible thing to do would have been to turn around and choose a gentler incline. Naturally, I did not do the sensible thing. Stockers Hill is one of those climbs that seems to stretch...

A Slightly More Civilised Start Another day, another threshold run, and while I’m not sure I’ll ever enjoy them, today’s session at least had a minor variation: a slightly later start. Thanks to staff training, I wasn’t dragged into the predawn darkness at quite my usual hour, and rising at 5:30am almost felt luxurious. Almost. The plan was simple on paper—three six-minute efforts, keeping my heart rate between 165-170 bpm. A straightforward task, surely? But, as with so many things in life, what looks manageable from a distance has an entirely different character up close. The Heart Rate Hokey Cokey The first interval started smoothly enough, but very quickly, I was reminded why threshold runs occupy a special place in my personal hall of suffering. The battle to keep my heart rate within the required range was relentless. Too slow, and my Garmin let out a disapproving beep; too fast, and I risked tipping over into anaerobic madness. It was less of a run and more of an ongoing negotia...

A 5 AM Start and a Dreaded Run As promised, the 5 am alarm meant I was up and out early, travelling to work in Rochester before embarking on today's threshold run. These sessions are fast becoming my least favourite, sitting somewhere between dental surgery and attempting to fold a fitted sheet on the scale of enjoyable experiences. Today’s ordeal consisted of a 17-minute hard effort, maintaining a heart rate of around 165 bpm—a challenge that never fails to make me question my life choices. The cold weather certainly didn't help. My body, quite sensibly, did not want to get moving, but needs must. The first downhill section was where I noticed my improved fitness from the last six weeks. I wasn’t working as hard as I used to on the descent, which was a clear sign of progress—but also meant I had to adapt my route to make sure I hit the right effort level. Enter Maidstone Road, with its reliable uphill section towards The Math School. This, predictably, did the trick. My heart ...

The Luxury of a Saturday Run One of the true joys of marathon training falling on a Saturday is the chance to start later in the day. With no early alarms or work commitments to navigate, I was able to lace up my trainers after 11am—my favourite time to run. A proper night's sleep, a good meal and the daylight hours all make for the perfect combination. It’s a far cry from those early weekday runs, like the misty morning over the Medway Bridge a couple of days ago, where just keeping moving felt like an achievement. The Perils of Pizza and an Anaerobic Session Today's session, however, was never going to be an easy one. An anaerobic workout was on the cards, and I didn’t do myself any favours with last night’s choice of pizza. While carb-heavy, it always seems to leave me with a sluggish, food-hangover feeling the next day. I knew from the start this one was going to be a battle. The plan: a 15-minute warm-up followed by 7x1-minute hard efforts at around 4:30 min/km pace—far fa...

A Fine Line Between Pushing and Listening Day 34 of London Marathon 2025 training, and after yesterday’s tough session, today’s run always had the potential to be more of a battle than a breeze. I set out once again from The Math School, this time crossing the M2 Medway Bridge and venturing into Strood. On paper, it was meant to be a base run—steady, controlled, nothing too strenuous. In reality, my legs were voicing a rather strong opinion about the previous day’s exertions. The trouble with training is that improvement often masquerades as exhaustion, and knowing whether to push on or ease up requires the wisdom of a seasoned athlete or at least the common sense not to ignore your own knees when they start issuing threats. Twenty minutes in, I was already feeling the strain, making today’s run less about speed and more about persistence. No Turning Back Now Thankfully, my route choice was inspired—or at least, effectively limiting. Once I’d started, there was no real option but to co...

A Test of Speed and Sanity As promised, today’s training took a significant upward turn—both in effort and in sheer stubbornness. It was time to shake things up with an anaerobic-focused run, stretching to a full hour. Nothing says ‘commitment’ like voluntarily gasping for breath before sunrise. After a thorough warm-up, I launched into the main event: seven one-minute intervals at a blistering 4:30 min/km pace. For those unfamiliar with this kind of suffering, that’s about a minute per kilometre faster than my usual 10k pace—so, essentially, the sort of speed that makes your legs file an official complaint with the management. Recovery periods of three minutes in between allowed my heart rate to return to something vaguely human while lactic acid was politely escorted from my muscles. This high-speed torture is proving invaluable for improving my top-end pace, even if it occasionally makes me reconsider all my life choices. Into the Darkness, Literally With the run stretching longer, ...

Another day, another threshold run, and another opportunity to test my limits. Unfortunately, today's run felt more like a test of my patience than my physical abilities. The Reluctant Run I dragged myself out to the familiar streets of Rochester, my Garmin Forerunner 955 helpfully reminding me of the daunting task ahead: one 16-minute effort at a heart rate of around 170 bpm. I knew it would be tough, especially before what I anticipated would be a long day at work, but I was determined to give it my all. However, my legs seemed to have a different plan entirely. No matter how hard I tried, they simply refused to cooperate. I pushed and pushed, but my heart rate stubbornly refused to budge much beyond its usual easy-run tempo. I managed a few fleeting moments in the desired range—maybe three minutes in total—but the rest of the 16 minutes felt like an uphill battle fought in slow motion. Somewhere out there, a snail was probably laughing at my expense. Lessons from a Lethargic Bod...

A Balmy Start A welcome change greeted me this morning as I set out for my run: a positively balmy 9 degrees! It felt almost tropical compared to the sub-zero temperatures I've been battling recently. My Garmin Forerunner 955 (which, let’s be honest, acts more like a drill sergeant than a fitness tracker) suggested a 47-minute base run. Now, 47 minutes is a bit of an oddity in my running world. My usual routes tend to be either a quick 30-35 minute jaunt or a full-blown hour-long adventure. As if Garmin had whimsically decided to throw in a curveball, I found myself plotting a route that didn't quite exist in my mental map. The Treasure Hunt This uncharted territory of 47 minutes meant some improvisation was needed. I decided to explore some new streets around Rochester, taking in the sights along the Esplanade and the historic Rochester High Street. Of course, my unfamiliarity with the area led me to a couple of dead ends, turning my planned route into a bit of an impromptu tr...