Hilly Hundred 2026: Hills, Barbie Girl and the 3am Alarm

There are very few reasons why a 3am alarm is acceptable.

A flight somewhere sunny.

An emergency.

And, if you’re a runner who has made bad life choices, the Hilly Hundred Relay.

It was that time in May again. Time to dig out the Northbrook AC starburst vest, set the alarm for an appalling hour and prepare my legs for ten miles of running up as many hills as the Cotswolds could throw at me.

Yep.

It was Hilly Hundred day.

For those unfamiliar with it, the Hilly Hundred is a relay involving ten runners, each running roughly ten miles, taking the team over a spectacularly hilly route through the Cotswolds. It’s a proper local running event, with loads of clubs represented, plenty of familiar faces and, importantly, a worrying amount of elevation.

My alarm was set for 0300. UGH.

I needed to leave the house at 0330 to get to Stratford for 0430, which gave me enough time to walk to the start for the 0500 leg.

Five o clock.

In the morning.

Those sorts of numbers should only appear on an airport departure board. Horrific.

I arrived in the car park on time, which was an achievement in itself, to discover that the toilets were locked.

I am almost certain they were open last time.

The lights were on.

The toilets were there.

But they were not open.

So, after a brief assessment of my options, I availed myself of a discreet bush and got ready to race.

Classy.

At the start I spotted the familiar Northbrook starbursts and wandered over to find the rest of the team. Spencer, our club captain and organiser extraordinaire, handed out race numbers and safety pins.

This year though instead of plastic batons, we had trackers.

These turned out to be incredibly useful because you could actually see where your runners were.

They were also approximately the size of a three-pack Creme Egg box. (I'd rather have had the crème eggs)

I managed to wedge mine into a shorts pocket and hoped it wouldn’t drag my shorts down around my ankles somewhere in the Cotswolds. I'm sure that would be a DQ.

Mandatory team photo? Obviously.

Because no running event is complete without a photograph proving that you were all there before everyone disappeared in different directions.

Then we wandered towards the start and assembled in a slightly confused clump. Someone pointed at a lamppost and told us that was the start line.

A quick countdown.

And off we went.

Don’t start too fast, Booker.

Obviously, I started too fast.

Because despite running for years, I have learned absolutely nothing.

The first part of the route is relatively flat and when you have a load of runners setting off together, including some very quick men, there is a natural temptation to sprint off as though the finish line is three miles away.

It wasn’t.

It was ten-ish miles away.

And it was 5am.

My legs and lungs were both reasonably clear on the fact that this was a stupid idea.

Luckily, I eventually settled down and found myself running with Caroline from Spa Striders and a runner from Kenilworth. We weren’t officially a group, but we ran together-ish, swapping positions and generally keeping each other company.

Caroline was setting a lovely pace, so I settled in behind her and let her do the hard work of deciding how quickly we should be running.

She also had supporters out on the course.

And one of them had a violin.

Yes.

A violin.

As we passed, she played Barbie Girl and Celebration.

Beautifully.

Because nothing says POSH RUN CLUB quite like being serenaded with 90s pop hits on a violin at five-something in the morning.

I absolutely loved it.

More of this, please.

The same support cars kept appearing as we worked our way through the route. They would leapfrog us, stop to hand drinks and supplies to their runners and shout encouragement as we passed.

It made the whole thing feel less like a race and more like a big, slightly bonkers run with friends.

And that is one of the things I love about Hilly Hundred.

There are runners from loads of local clubs, so you’re constantly seeing familiar faces, club colours and people you haven’t seen for ages.

Hills. Obvs.

We rallied up the first hill through the village and as we approached the summit I thought I could hear a cuckoo.

One year, I’d watched swans flying through the mist over the river as the sun came up. It was one of those little running moments that you don’t forget.

This year was completely different.

It was already light.The sky was blue. And it was becoming increasingly obvious that it was going to be a warm day, but the Cotswolds looked BEAUTIFUL.

However, my legs were beginning to twig that I’d entered my body into some sort of agreement involving hills. And running. They were NOT impressed with this.

Caroline dropped back, or perhaps I finally found another gear, on the big hill out of Luddington.

I tried to encourage her to come with me, but she told me it was my turn to be chased for a while.

Fair enough.

Apparently this was how our running relationship worked now.

I carried on and, interestingly, I could really feel the benefit of the strength training I’d been doing.

Normally, hills are where my legs start sending grumbling. But this time I felt strong.

Not 'I enjoy running uphill' strong.

Don't get carried away.

But strong enough to keep pushing without feeling like my quads were about to dissolve.

I caught up with the Kenilworth runner again and we ran together for a while. I’d changed my watch from directions to distance remaining and he kept asking me how far we had left.

So I became the human Garmin.

Eventually he dropped back a little and I carried on.

With a couple of miles to go I knew there wasn’t much left in terms of serious climbing. The only real incline was up towards and over a railway bridge.

I reckoned I could manage that.

The last 2.5 miles of this leg always seem to go on forever and this time was no different. It’s mostly dusty roads, hedges and the gradual realisation that your legs have done some actual work. 

There isn’t loads to look at, and although the distance isn’t particularly intimidating on paper, it feels considerably longer when you’re tired. And there have been hills and people are waiting for you. 

Eventually I came around the final right turn onto the lane and then there was the long, gradual drag towards the final left. It’s only a slight incline, but slight inclines have a remarkable ability to become enormous when you’re ten miles into a hilly run.

The final stretch to the finish is only about 400 metres.

It feels SO much longer.

Fortunately, Northbrook runners were lining the hedges, cheering everyone in.

I spotted a group of starburst vests ahead. YASSS!

One of them dashed forward and I crossed the line, tracker handed over to Mollie.

Job done.

My watch said 1:12.

I’ll take that.

FROM RUNNER TO PASSENGER PRINCESS: 

Now came my second job of the day.

Support crew.

Joanne was driving to the end of Leg 2 to support Mollie with directions and water.

I was passenger princess AND iin charge of the laminated route directions.

This was possibly a mistake. Massive mistake. 

The directions contained helpful instructions such as:

“At crossroads with sign to Chipping Campden SO.”

I am, of course, renowned for my exceptional navigational skills.

*cough* Not.

Fortunately, the instructions also included pubs.

And I am very good at finding pubs.

Joanne, meanwhile, was an absolute whizz at finding somewhere to park.

We would leap out of the car, grab a bottle of water and run over to Mollie as she came through.

She looked incredibly strong and was running really well, which made supporting her very easy.

Mollie didn’t have the route on her watch, so we’d also offered to stop at junctions and direct her.

This was actually quite fun.

We got to support her properly, rather than simply sitting in the car waiting for her to appear.

Then we reached Chipping Campden.

And the road was closed.

There was a fair on.

Cars couldn’t get through.

Runners could.

So I memorised the next few directions, hopped out of the car and waited for Mollie while Joanne tried to find a way around.

And actually, it was lovely.

I’d recovered reasonably well from my own leg and Mollie was chatty and running strongly.

Because the road was closed, the main road was almost completely empty.

We ran right down the middle of it, looking at all the beautiful buildings and houses in Chipping Campden.

It was one of those unexpected little moments that make these events so enjoyable.

Eventually we met Joanne on the other side and I hopped back into the car.

THEN the hills from hell ...

Mollie’s second leg appeared to contain approximately every hill in the Cotswolds.

There were two particularly enormous climbs out of Chipping Campden and into the Cotswold hills.

They looked horrendous.

I wouldn’t have enjoyed cycling them and I certainly wouldn’t have fancied running ten miles over them.

Mollie, however, just kept going.

We drove ahead, following the directions and trying to work out where we needed to be next. Eventually we reached what we thought was one of the final directions.

The sheer confidence with which we announced that Mollie had approximately 1.5 miles to go was impressive.

Unfortunately, our confidence was misplaced.

The road went on.

And on.

And on.

It was DEFINITELY more than 1.5 miles.

By the time we reached the penultimate crossroads, I was beginning to feel REALLY guilty.

Sorry, Mollie.

At the final crossroads there was another hill towards Snowshill and the finish.

Because OF COURSE there was.

And she smashed it.

At the finish we caught up with a few Northbrook runners I hadn’t seen for a while, which was lovely.

And that was another Hilly Hundred done.

It shouldn’t really work.

A 3am alarm.

A 5am start.

Ten hilly miles.

Locked toilets.

A Creme Egg-sized tracker stuffed into your shorts.

A violin playing Barbie Girl.

And then several hours spent driving around the Cotswolds trying to work out where your runner is while pretending you know what “SO” means on a laminated map.

But somehow, it is brilliant.

I love the atmosphere.

I love seeing all the local clubs out.

I love the support.

I love the scenery.

I love the ridiculousness of it all.

And despite the early start, I somehow come away every year thinking that it was one of my favourite events.

Which is dangerous.

Because if Spencer reads that, he’ll probably sign me up for next year.

So let’s just keep that between ourselves, shall we?

Marathon Eryri 2025: Undertrained, Overfuelled and a Surprise 3rd Place

Which is utterly ridiculous when you consider that I arrived at the start line exhausted, undertrained and overfuelled.

The holy trinity of bad decisions.

I’d wanted to run Marathon Eryri (previously known as Snowdonia Marathon) for years, so when the opportunity finally came around, I was insanely excited.

Unfortunately, my training did NOT go to plan.

My longest training run had been 16 miles, about three months earlier, as part of my Summer of Speed training. It was all going to plan until COVID came along and enthusiastically threw a massive spanner into the works.

So my marathon preparation wasn’t textbook.

To make matters worse, I’d only driven back from Stansted that morning after a flight back from Portugal. I dropped my bags at home and then carried on to Wales.

On the way, I passed a car with the number plate DNF.

I chose to interpret this as a coincidence rather than a warning from the universe.

GETTING TO ERYRI

Registration was super easy. I parked, ran in, collected my number and was back out again in no time. I even bumped into Jennifer, who I knew from Instagram, which was lovely. I finally reached my accommodation in the dark and crashed out in my room. 

RACE DAY 

I had a surprisingly reasonable night’s sleep (who knew exhaustion was so effective!) and didn’t have to get up until 7am. I didn’t even have to leave until 8:30.

A lie in on marathon morning? Whaaat?

I’d was wearing a run top I’d picked up from Vinted the day before, some shorts, my sage green jacket and gloves.

And road shoes.

Because, in my defence, I thought this was a road marathon.

Spoiler ... was not.

Getting to the start, I was less organised.

I parked bloody miles away.

I hadn’t realised quite how far away, so by the time I actually reached the start I’d already walked around 4.5km.

Including a massive hill.

Excellent.

Still, there were I found a public toilet (OPEN!!) with no queue, which is the marathon-day equivalent of finding a winning lottery ticket.

Even better, I found the coffee van, joined the queue and got chatting to a bloke doing his first marathon. What a marathon to start with! 

Then someone bumped into me.

It was Rich, my running buddy.

We’d managed to find each other completely by accident.

I’d already dropped my bag off, so I went and sat in Rich’s car near the start. He’d arrived later than me and taken a gamble on a closer car park which had paid off.

Sometimes being late is a strategy.

We sat in the warm car, drinking coffee which was a lovely way to chill out before a race. Then we could leave last minute, walking with the rest of the crowds towards the start, where the Welsh national anthem was being played and the atmosphere was incredible.

The mountains surrounded us and there was that particular pre-race buzz where everyone looks simultaneously excited and slightly terrified.

We decided to run together. Neither of us had a goal, just to get the run done and have a nice time, so we started by the six-hour pacer.

I had absolutely no time goal and the plan was simply to run to feel.

If I felt good, I’d run. If I didn’t, I’d slow down.

I knew there were three enormous climbs and I wasn’t going to be disappointed if the mountains meant I would be running 5 or 6 hours. 

This was supposed to be fun. Marathon running is a choice. 

The first climb up Pen Y Pass was spectacular. It winds on up the side of the pass, with high mountains on each side and water rushing down the side of the mountain in spectacular waterfalls. The rain had been fairly relentless and parts of the road was already flooded. 

We passed a tent on the side of the mountain, (hope it was well pegged down!) and lots of people cheering and huge views stretching around us. It was definitely dramatic scenery!

The weather, which had started cold but bright and clear, was changing.

The wind picked up.More rain arrived. And then the HEAVY rain arrived.

Hoods went up. Gloves went on. 

And the rain still managed to find its way into every sleeve, pocket and other location that according to the jacket manufacturer should have been waterproof. I run in a vest in pretty much all weather, but there was no way I was taking my jacket off. I've heard skin is waterproof but wasn't going to test it out on the top of a mountain in Wales.

I couldn’t tell whether the water running inside my sleeves was sweat or rain. I was definitely a bit damp. 

Rich had decided to take the big climbs steadily because he was still recovering from his Ironman.

I felt good, so I carried on at my own pace.

It’s difficult when you’re running with someone, but on a long race you really do have to run your own race.

I had no idea what pace I was doing.

I didn’t know what my finish time was going to be.

I was just running. Look at me all happy (and ill prepared) in my road shoes. 

I briefly considered taking the jacket off at the top of Pen Y Pass when the long climb got a bit warm and the spectators were at their most enthusiastic but then the wind hit me and the sleet started. 

Nope.

Jacket staying on. And the hood was staying up. Yes. Am an absolute fanny.

And then came the descent.

And the sleet. 

And we then turned off the road and it got more FUN!

This was the point where I realised my definition of a 'road marathon' and the organisers’ definition of a 'road marathon' may not have been entirely aligned.

Slate.

Gravel.

Puddles.

Mud.

Chaos.

I loved it. BLOODY LOVED IT. 

It was easily one of my favourite sections of the whole race.

Give me chaos and mud and I’m happy.

Running my own race. In my road shoes. Like a twat. 

At some point, I realised I hadn’t taken my gel at mile six because I’d been distracted. I mean there were mountains and things to look at. 

So I had it at mile seven instead and then continued roughly every three miles.

I was using Torq gels and High5 carb drink, which seemed to work really well.

I didn’t refill my carbs during the race because I had enough with me, and I didn’t take any water or food from the later aid stations either as I’d brought everything I needed.

I also discovered that my phone was becoming useless. I managed a quick enthusiastic video going down the trail descent (Because it was SO MIUCH FUN!) and then the phone went NOPE.

The rain had soaked it so thoroughly that eventually it wouldn’t even unlock for the photos I so desperately wanted to take. There were MOUNTAINS!! Waterfalls! Good stuff! But this was probably for the best because by that point my face was probably not suitable for public consumption by then anyway. it was full of sleet, dribbled gels and probably snot. Delightful. 

Technology: 0

Welsh weather: 1

The support was brilliant. There were kids at an outdoor centre shouting “OGGY! OGGY OGGY!” at the runners. We shouted back. “OI! OI! OI!” Massive cheers. There were people ringing cowbells from passing cars. People standing outside their houses. Cars were honking. People were shouting encouragement. And there were spectators out in absolutely horrendous weather. It was bloody lovely. 

Then at around mile 17, the temperature seemed to drop dramatically. The rain was coming down heavily and the wind was absolutely freezing. I'd expected it to be chilly at the end of October, but this was something else. The sleet was pelting down and the wind chill really made it feel very cold and I started wondering whether the organisers might shorten the race because the conditions were becoming so challenging.

Rich made the decision to pull out although I didn't find this out until much later. He had been feeling off earlier and eventually the cold became too much. He got to around mile 17 and called it.I was gutted for him, but he’s done enough endurance events to know when it’s time to stop.

Meanwhile, I was carrying on but my hands had started swelling from the cold and the knuckle lines on my fingers had basically disappeared. It looked very odd and apparently I was now part human, part water balloon.

I’d started the race with gloves on, but eventually everything became so wet that I took them off and shoved my hands up inside my sleeves as wet gloves are basically tiny portable fridges and my hands were warmer without them.

Somewhere around this point, I also needed a poo. of course I did. I spent ages keeping an eye out for toilets.

I found none.

The Welsh mountains had many things. Toilets were not one of them. Luckily the feeling went away. I think I just have neurotic bowels. Mile 19 of a marathon isn't ideal. 

Around mile 21, the support was even more incredible.We came through a village and people were lining the road, shouting and cheering. It was like being a running celeb - amazing! AND it was pouring with rain and people were standing in this awful weather cheering us onwards!

I felt like I was in the Tour de France.

A very wet, very cold, much less aerodynamic Tour de France.

One bloke told me I had the brightest socks he’d seen all day.

I was wearing pink camouflage socks with neon yellow ROAD shoes.

Subtle.

And then came the final hill.

Mile 22.

Bloody hell.

It was steep.

Really steep.

My little legs were absolutely knackered by this point and the rain had turned sections of the trail into a combination of mud, stones and the slipperiest combination of both I'd found.

I slipped at least five or six times.

I was wearing road shoes, as me being the utter incompetent I am had thought this was a road marathon. 

A man went down in front of me. But fortunately he landed in soft mud and got straight back up. But with a nice splatty little mud pattern on his bum. 

I started using landmarks to break the climb up. I’d pick a telegraph pole or a gate, hike to it, then start running again. I wasn’t thrilled about walking. I really didn’t want to. But the hill was so steep and my legs were so tired that it was either walk some sections or potentially roll back down it.

I passed the race photographer while walking. Of course I did. Absolutely typical. My one race photo that I thought I might get and I'm walking. 

I'd also spotted a 4-hour pace flag somewhere in front of me. Huh. I'd thought THAT ship had long since sailed. I wondered if he'd given up the pacing as I'm sure I wasn't on for a 4 hour time. However, it made a good little marker and I gradually began reeling the quill flag in and trying to catch up.

Then it disappeared. Bother. 

And then I spotted him again. 

He was walking too, so I wasn’t entirely sure whether this was part of his pacing strategy or whether he’d also decided that gravity could do one. I decided that I would pass him just IN CASE he was on pace ... you never know!

The descent ...

Over the top and back on the slippery mire of mud, grass and slippery, slippery stones. Ice rinks have NOTHING on this. There were people falling over in all directions. Carnage.

And finally, I reached tarmac.

I’ve NEVER been so happy to see tarmac in my life.

There was about a mile to go.

Unfortunately, the tarmac was insanely steep.

The rain was still coming down and I was genuinely worried about falling backwards.

So I leaned forward and absolutely hammered it.

I ran down the hill like a lunatic.

The spectators loved it.

There were huge cheers as I flew past, presumably because I looked like I knew what I was doing.

I absolutely did not.

I was just trying not to fall over.

Luckily, the finish line was basically at the bottom of the hill.

Because I did not fancy running any further.

Especially not uphill.

I crossed the finish gantry and saw 3:53 on the clock.

I knew I’d started quite a way back and it had taken me a little while to cross the start line.

Which meant…

Sub four.

YES. YASSSSSSS!

Across the line and I went straight into the café.

Tuna mayo sandwich.

Coffee.

Fancy.

The plan was to warm myself up and replace some calories. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that eating after a run makes me incredibly cold. So I sat there shivering, eating my sandwich and questioning every decision that had brought me to this point.

Then I got a message from Rich. He’d checked the results. I’d finished in 3:50:45. And I was third female in my age category.

Third.

I genuinely had no idea.

I’d gone into this race with no time goal, barely any marathon training and the vague intention of having a nice day running around Snowdonia.

Somehow I’d ended up 3rd.

So, Marathon Eryri…

3:50:45.

3rd Female Vet 45.

Not bad for someone whose longest training run had been 16 miles three months earlier.

And someone who had driven from Stansted to Wales the day before.

And someone who had accidentally done 4.5km just getting to the start.

And someone who thought it was a road marathon.

And someone wearing road shoes.

And someone who spent the last few miles slipping around in mud.

Genuinely I absolutely loved it.

The weather was brutal.

The hills were brutal.

The final descent was borderline terrifying.

But the scenery was incredible, the support was brilliant and the whole thing had that wonderfully chaotic feeling that makes races memorable.

I went in undertrained, overfuelled and with absolutely no expectations.

I came out with a sub-four marathon, a massive grin and a completely unexpected 3rd in AG.

Sometimes the best races are the ones where you have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.

Although next time, I might bring trail shoes.

Just in case.

London Marathon 2025: Dispensing Ice Like an Abominable Snowman

That time I acidentally enjoyed another marathon.

Not just enjoyed it in the usual “I’ve survived and therefore I’m pleased” kind of way.

Not in a “There were free snacks and I've eaten more than my entry fee” way either. There were no free snacks except melty jelly babies from the sweaty hands of small children at the edge of the road and I'm not that brave. 

I REALLY enjoyed it. 

London Marathon 2025 was my first standalone road marathon for eight years and the training had gone suspiciously smoothly. There had been no major disasters, no catastrophic injuries and no point where I’d considered abandoning the whole thing to attempt to become a professional cake taste tester.

That job opportunity has never come up unfortunately 

There was, however, one small incident during taper.

I pulled a muscle trying to do a chin-up in a children’s playground.

Because OF COURSE.

Nothing says Sarah's Marathon Preparation quite like injuring yourself on playground equipment.

AND THEN the weather forecast started creeping upwards.

22°C was being forecast. In April.

Marvellous.

I’d spent months training in British winter and now apparently I was going to get a nice tan instead of a PB.

Well. A nice tan in the shape of running kit anyway. 

London, here I come.

For London Marathon, you pick up your number and kit bag the day before in a shameless attempt by the London Marathon company to get you to walk around an expo and buy overpriced kit. There seemed to be less free snack samples every year too. BOO.

However, getting to London the day before was slightly more eventful than necessary.

It was FA Cup semi-final weekend, which meant the trains were rammed with football fans (UGH). I eventually found myself standing among mostly family groups and a trio of tweens sitting on the floor trying to start a football chant. 

It didn’t catch on but good to see singing is still being kept up in schools.

I was desperate for a wee by the time I arrived (of COURSE the train toilets were out of order) so I legged it over to Earls Court to drop my bags at the hotel and get to the expo ...

Except just as I arrived at Earl’s Court, a recorded announcement informed us that the station was being evacuated. MARVELLOUS.

However, nobody appeared to be on fire. Nobody was running.

So I went and caught the Tube. Fine. It'll be fine. 

I’ve learned over the years that sometimes the best way to deal with London is simply to assume that whatever is happening is normal.

The Expo was very different to the one I remembered from eight years ago.

Back then, I’d wandered around trying every flavour of Torq gel possible (a bit like Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans) and eating so many Clif samples that I was carb-loaded before I’d even started considering pasta.

This time nothing was free and everything was eye-wateringly expensive.

£30 for a COTTON T-shirt. Not even a tech one.

£14 for the cheapest pair of socks I could find.

I did manage to win a couple of things in a game where you had to catch a bar, so at least I left with a shoe deodoriser.

The real prize, though, was the finishers’ T-shirt.

Cherry red with gold writing.

My favourite combination. Obviously I couldn’t wear it until after the race because that would be tempting fate. No one is as superstitious as a pre-race runner.

I didn’t see the giant board with all the names on it either, but I found a perfectly acceptable London Marathon/New Balance backdrop and had my photograph taken there instead. With bonus fire extinguisher in the background.

I wasn’t going to queue for half an hour just to prove I had been to London.

I had photographic evidence. That would do.

The hotel was only about three minutes from Earl’s Court Tube, cost £190 for two nights and was surprisingly pleasant.

Compact and perfectly adequate.

The only problem was that they had supplied one sachet of coffee.

ONE SACHET.

Luckily, I had brought emergency coffee in my suitcase because while I may be prepared to run 26.2 miles in one day ,I’m not prepared to start that day without adequate caffeine.

RACE MORNING

I woke up every few hours, but the rattle and hum of the trains outside were actually quite soothing and I woke feeling surprisingly rested.

I’d allowed myself 90 minutes in the morning, so there was no mad rush. Just get ready, eat my breakfast of 3 boiled eggs, dress and poop.

There was, however, some concern about the Poo Fairy who apparently didn't read the schedule and didn’t arrive until gone 6am. I was beginning to think I’d miss the start of the race ..!

MARATHON START

Even at 8am, you could feel the heat. It was pleasant to sit on the grass, not worry about wearing a bin bag and relax in the sunshine. However, the temps were still rising.

I met The Other Sarah walking towards the Yellow Start and we got chatting. Our start pen and times were identical, so we stuck together. Nice to have company and good chat and then we found her friend Roger.

Sarah was going through chemotherapy and had had a mastectomy.

And she was running a marathon between rounds of chemo.

Proper badass.

Suddenly my playground injury seemed considerably less dramatic.

We chilled out on the grass in the sunshine and watched people warming up by jogging up and down the field and looked at them like they were lunatics.

Surely you could use one of the 26.2 miles as your warm-up? Chill out people. 

And just like that it was time to get onto the road for the start of the race. 

No time to think and we were off

I started with the usual combination of excitement and mild disbelief. I was running the London Marathon. Such a BLOODY COOL THING to do! 

The church bells were ringing out on the Sunday morning and they were playing running songs!! Chariots of Fire was playing as we went past. Love this. The whole city and community gets involved. I felt so privileged to be here, to do this. Proper In The Moment stuff. 

Parakeets were squawking overhead around mile two. Green parakeets. In London. Cheering us onwards. 

And London was absolutely bathed in sunshine.

It was beautiful.

I saw a tall tower around mile three, which brought back memories of the 2016 marathon when Ann, Simon and I had met Alex and Mike there after our starts came together.

Around Cutty Sark I had a brief pain in the top of my right knee and my left ankle. Enough to change my running style slightly.

I decided it was maranoia. Kept telling myself that, like a persistent ghost – you're NOT REAL.

It disappeared about a mile later and never came back.

So that was nice.

And then I saw Simon and Lily … or I thought I did just after Cutty Sark. The crowds were insane. 4 people deep … like we were running celebs. They were all here supporting us. I thought I'd heard Lily shout but I wasn't sure. I turned and caught a quick glimpse of a face but I wasn't sure. 

Tower Bridge was incredible. The crowds were ridiculous. The atmosphere was AMAZING. So I did a little mini video of running across it! Just like Ann and I did 8 years ago.

And for the first time I really thought: “I’m doing this again!” Eight years after my last London Marathon.

Here I was. LOVING IT! 

I was a little concerned about the rising temperatures, but I was still feeling good and feeling strong. 

I'd spent months training in 14-15°C temperatures and driving rain and suddenly I was racing in around 20°C and rising. But I felt strong.

The only thing I could think of that might have helped with the heat was my regular sauna sessions after gym workouts. Maybe all those 15-minute sauna sweat-fests had been useful.

There were also extra showers out on the run course, which were very welcome, although they created enormous puddles.

Wet trainers and 26.2 miles aren’t exactly best friends, so I tried to stay to the edges.

The felt-tip writing on my name signs ran during one of the showers. Apparently I'm now called 'SSSSRRRRRHHH'. I really should have laminated them. Ah well. Next time, Ssssrrrrrrhhh.

I was glad of my visor shading my eyes and also started using ice whenever I could and around mile 20 I shoved some ice down my bra.

It was surprisingly effective at cooling me down, but it was also surprisingly mobile and kept falling out while I was running, which was distracting but also quite funny. I was like a moving ice machine dispensing ice out of my sports bra.

Somewhere around halfway, I realised I was having fun

This was the weird bit.

I felt good.

Really good.

I had to keep reminding myself not to get carried away and stay on pace instead of going quicker. 

I'd decided no music until at least halfway but it was so brilliant with the crowds that I waited and at around mile 17 I finally put my music on.

And it was like someone had plugged me into a wall socket.

My legs suddenly wanted to GO.

I had to actively tell myself to slow down.

The marathon is not won at mile 17, Booker.

The Bloodhound Gang came on.

Then Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny, which is an excellent running song for several reasons, not least because it is inappropriate enough to take your mind off running.

I was having the time of my life.

Every mile became my new favourite.

This is my favourite 18-mile run ever.

This is my favourite 19-mile run ever.

This is my favourite 20-mile run ever.

It was ridiculous.

I kept thinking about all the training I’d done.

The marathon wasn’t really the training anymore.

The training was finished.

This was the victory lap.

I just had to collect the medal.

Then I fell over

Mile 19.5.

I went down.

Dramatically. VERY DRAMATICALLY.

I even rolled.

Honestly, if you’re going to fall over during a marathon, you might as well commit to it.

I surprised myself by springing straight back up.

The bloke nearby asked if I was okay.

“Yeah. Is it even a marathon without a stunt fall?”

The more pressing issue was my water bottle.

I’d dropped it.

And it was full.

I normally hold a bottle in my right hand during road marathons like some sort of emotional support water bottle.

There were no more water stations for about three miles.

So I was suddenly without water.

I’d clunked my hip, leg, elbow and hands, but nothing seemed seriously injured.

So I carried on.

Because that’s what we do. Get on with it. Because no bugger else is going to collect that medal for me. 

Having people scattered around the course made such a difference. Lily and Simon out on the course. Rich at Millwall. Northbrook AC by Tower Bridge. ASICS buddies around the course 

But there was one person I kept thinking about.

Julian. My Father in Law who had started running at 60 years old but had passed away a few years earlier. 

Mile 22, as usual is always for Julian. 

Mile 22 is always my tough mile. Which is why it is his mile. 

And afterwards it is easier. After Mile 22 it is all downhill to the finish, right?

London signs and spectators are always brilliant and this year they did not disappoint

“You run better than the government.”

“Therapy was also an option.”

“Run if you hate Tottenham.”

“Lost a toenail, gained a medal.”

“Now pain, later wine.”

“Never again. Until next year.”

“Hurts like hell, feels like heaven.”

And my personal favourite:

“This is bloody tough but so are you.”

There were plenty of runners walking, particularly later on, and quite a few people sitting at the side of the road. I tried not to look too closely  Maybe walking was their strategy. Maybe they’d been injured. Maybe the heat had got to them. Just run your own race.

The 3:25 pacer had been around for a couple of miles, although the congestion made it difficult to get past the clump of runners around them and then later I found another 3:25 pacer from a different start. No idea which one was from MY start. 

I wasn’t struggling to hold the pace. The main thing holding me back was congestion. There were people running at wildly different speeds, and I think that cost me more than anything else.

But I felt strong.

I felt like I could have gone quicker.

And that was a very nice feeling to have in the final few miles of a marathon.

Then 'Monster;, one of my favourite running songs came on.

Perfect timing.

Whatever the reason, I was very grateful that my legs were still doing what I was asking them to do, in these, the final miles

I passed the giant white building on Birdcage Walk and was all “YASSSS! Buckingham House!”

Excellent. Nearly there.

It wasn’t Buckingham Palace.

I was not nearly there.

I also somehow completely missed the Tower of London on the way back despite having specifically reminded myself to look for it.

I’ve run 26.2 miles around London and apparently seen approximately six buildings.

But I was having a brilliant time.

I knew I was close.

And there, the finish gantries lining the road. And GO!!

C'mon legs. It always feels SUCH a long way from seeing those gantries to crossing beneath them but what a privilege to run those final metres of the London Marathon.

I crossed the finish line knowing I’d had a brilliant day.

Not an easy day.

It had been hot.

I’d fallen over.

I’d lost my water bottle.

I’d had ice fall out of my bra like some kind of Abominable Snowman.

I’d missed the Tower of London.

I’d mistaken a building for Buckingham Palace. Meh. 

But I’d loved it.

And then came the bit I hadn’t quite allowed myself to think about too much.

The time: 3:21:30.

I’d knocked two minutes off my marathon PB.

TWO MINUTES.

And it was my first marathon PB in around 12 years.

After eight years away from London. After everything that had happened in between.

That felt pretty bloody special.

I had gone into London hoping for a good day and I'd come away with a PB.

And, more importantly, I came away thinking:

I really, REALLY enjoyed that.

I may simply have been delirious.

Either way.

London, I’ll be back.

Probably.

Definitely.

Actually, yes.

Never again.

Until next year.

LONDON 2025: 3:21:30.

Running In The Heat: How To Survive When Britain Becomes The Sahara

Every year it happens.

The UK gets three days of sunshine and the entire country loses its collective mind.

The roads melt. Supermarkets run out of Cornettos. Gary from the office becomes a weather expert. And runners everywhere stare at their training plans wondering whether a 6 mile run in 30°C is “character building” or simply a poor life choice.

As someone currently training through summer, I’ve learned that running in the heat requires a slightly different approach. You can’t just pretend you’re Eliud Kipchoge and charge off into the blazing sun armed with nothing but optimism and a half-empty water bottle.

Well, you can.

But you’ll probably regret it.

Here are my top tips for surviving hot weather running, whether you’re pounding the pavements outside or sweating profusely on a treadmill indoors.

Running Outside In The Heat

Accept That Your Pace Will Be Slower.

This is the big one.

Your pace is going to drop.

Not because you’ve forgotten how to run, but because your body is working overtime trying to stop itself from turning into a human casserole.

On hot days your heart rate will often be higher for the same effort. Running by effort rather than pace can save a lot of frustration. 

If your easy run suddenly feels like a tempo session, it’s not you.

It’s the weather.

Your Garmin will judge you. 

Ignore it. (You're already 'unproductive', right?)

Run Early Or Run Late

If possible, avoid running during the hottest part of the day. I know, this is obvious but it's not always midday. Today 3pm is going to be the hottest part of the day. Be aware of this. Your weather app is your friend! 

Early mornings are generally cooler and quieter. And you can feel smug when you're done for the rest of the day. 

Evening runs can also work well once the temperature starts to drop, but stay hydrated throughout the hot day or you just won't fancy an evening run. 

Midday running in 30°C is a bit like choosing the hottest queue at Alton Towers and then acting surprised when you’re uncomfortable.

Hydrate Before You’re Thirsty

If you’re already thirsty, you’re playing catch-up.

Drink regularly throughout the day, especially if you’re planning a longer session.

And yes, tea counts.

I’m British. I’m not arguing about this.

For longer runs, consider carrying fluids or planning routes that pass garages, corner shops or places where you can beg for mercy. Or a nice cup of tea. 

Wear Less. Not Nothing.

Technical clothing is your friend.

Light-coloured, breathable kit can help your body stay cooler.

Black leggings and a black top in full sunshine might look coordinated, but you’ll absorb heat like a solar panel that’s developed a running addiction. 

Seek Out Shade

Woodland trails – always nicer than pavements - suddenly become premium real estate during a heatwave.

Tree cover can make a huge difference to how comfortable a run feels.

Plus, trails are generally more forgiving underfoot than baking-hot pavements.

It’s basically nature’s air conditioning.

Slow Down On Long Runs

This isn’t the time to chase PBs.

The goal is completing the session safely, not auditioning for an episode of Casualty.

Adjust expectations.

Adapt the pace.

Bank the training.

Learn The Warning Signs

Heat exhaustion is no joke.

If you feel dizzy, nauseous, unusually weak, develop a headache, stop sweating or become confused, stop running immediately and seek shade, fluids and cooling.

No Strava kudos is worth ending up in the back of an ambulance.

Running On A Treadmill During Hot Weather

“But Booker,” I hear absolutely nobody saying, “surely running indoors solves everything?”

Well…

Not quite.

Use A Fan

A treadmill without a fan is basically an expensive conveyor belt to a sauna.

Air movement helps sweat evaporate, which is one of your body’s primary cooling mechanisms.

If your gym has air conditioning, position yourself right underneath. My gym has certain treadmills that are positioned just under the air conditioning vents …. it's not worth bothering with the other ones in warm weather unless you wish to melt. 

If you’re at home, point every available fan directly at your face and hope for the best.

Take More Fluids Than You Think You’ll Need

Indoor running can be deceptively sweaty.

Without natural airflow, many runners actually lose more fluid than expected.

You know those mysterious puddles that appear underneath treadmills?

Those aren’t decorative.

Adjust The Incline If Needed

Hot weather places extra stress on the body.

If you’re already struggling, there’s no shame in reducing the incline or easing the effort slightly.

Training is about consistency, not punishment.

Focus On Effort

Treadmills can sometimes feel harder mentally than physically.

Add heat into the equation and suddenly every kilometre feels 30 minutes long. It's hard enough that the big red 'off' button is right in front of you without the extra stress from the heat. 

Forget pace.

Focus on maintaining the right effort level and getting the session done.

A Final Thought Before You Head Out For That Sweaty Run

Running in the heat can help build resilience and improve your body’s ability to cope with challenging conditions over time.

But adaptation takes time.

The first hot run of the year always feels awful.

The second usually isn’t much better.

By the third you’re slightly less convinced you’re going to perish in a hedge.

So be sensible.

Slow down.

Drink fluids.

Embrace the shade.

And remember that if Britain reaches 30°C, surviving the day may already count as a successful training session.

The autumn PBs will still be there waiting for you.

Probably.