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

Which is slightly 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 ridiculously 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 exactly 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 surprisingly 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 decent 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.

Absolute luxury.

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.

More on that later.

Getting to the start, was somewhat 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 actually 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.

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. 

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 a bit of chaos and mud and I’m happy.

Running my own race

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.

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.

That’s an important skill in itself.

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 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.

Honestly, 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.

The Coventry Way: It's the Wrong Socks, Gromit

Coventry Way 40 miler is one of my very favourite routes and I look forward to this event every year. Not only that, the weather was forecast to be gorgeous and I was in a good place with the London Marathon training. What could improve this? Well …  I was  offered a lift to and from the event which meant I could have a pint of cider at the end. It was destined to be a tiptop day!

When I put my trainers on though I realised I was wearing 2 left socks. Uh-oh. Ambulance time. Time to do a 40 mile experiment on whether the L and R on running socks actually makes any difference. 

Despite a chilly temperature of 3*c at the start, it was a sunny day and I soon ditched the gloves, arm warmers and jacket and was soon in my usual vest and visor. 

I’d planned to run it steady but was swept up in the excitement and ran sections with a chap who was setting a good pace and running up all the hills! Surely he must realise this is against The Ultra Rules? Seemed a shame not to keep up, so I  ended up leapfrogging most of the race with him and occasionally having a chat when paces were the same! Handy having a pacer. Felt like a muddy elite runner.

I’d got home from work at midnight the night before - not fun with an 0530 alarm - but I’d made some pitta bread wraps - tuna and cheese and avocado and chorizo. Not conventional combinations but I didn’t have much in the fridge and tired me obviously thinks about food like drunk me. However the combinations worked. I had an avocado and chorizo pitta and loved it … was gutted to reach for another at 15 miles to find it had fallen out of my run pack and was no doubt being snaffled up by someone's Springer Spaniel. 

I’d brought salt tablets with me but like all good intentions they were totally forgotten after about 10 miles. My fingers swell up when I run long and had hoped this might sort it … but alas the experiment was not to be.

I was feeling good and because of that and having a focus, even the tough parts of the run felt easier. I don’t like the canal section as it just stretches on and on and the ploughed field after it is often miserable but both of these sections flew past. It felt like a long time between aid stations 2 and 3 and I was running low on fluids due to drinking more because of the heat but I tried to fly in and out of the aid stations as quickly as possible. I'm always surprised by how much time is wasted at aid stations. NEVER sit down!

Every time I sucked fluid from the soft flask straw, my sinuses let go. Completely. No idea how to stop it. It was like being pepper sprayed but with orange squash. 

The Rugby Tri cheer station was great to see at Brinklow with Alice and Anthony cheering people in but I couldn’t stop for long - was trying to make the most of the good conditions!! I also saw Lee, a colleague from my old job in Northampton (8 years ago!) out for a Sunday morning run - unexpected and nice!! I also saw Christine from Rugby Tri in a random lane! This section of the Cov Way has two signposted parallel sections so you can choose which you like but I was following the route in this year's Green Book so it was lucky I went the right way or I wouldn't have seen Christine!

Blossom was sprinkled across all the paths like confetti. White blossom against blue skies. Early bluebells in the woods - my first seen of the year - and primroses on the banks. Butterflies, peacocks, tortoiseshells and small whites. All this and a long run. It was the perfect Spring morning. 

I saw a few Northbrook shirts (my Coventry running club!) which was lovely and the club captain Spencer must have had a cracking turn of speed as he and Tracey seemed to pop up at all of the road junctions ahead of me! I swear he should get a spot at the Olympics, the speed he was going! I also spotted a buddy Craig and was so busy saying hello that I overshot the turning and nearly went the wrong way! I also saw Claudie who is always dressed immaculately in matching and pretty kit and was keeping an eye out for Liz who I hoped to see but because of the staggered start times I missed her. Saw Seb too running strong!

It was nice starting early for the run as I’d started a bit later in a previous year due to a late finish at work and the first couple of aid stations had no snacks left … I was absolutely gutted. I am VERY food motivated!!

There were a few trees down over the path which seemed strange as there hadn’t really been any strong winds but I guess on a 40 mile route there will be an occasional obstacle. I climbed over most trees but one was totally blocking the path and there was a queue of people crawling under it. I have the patience and attention span of a gerbil so I decided to go over and through the branches. Fine. It was fine. Normal for me to finish a run with tree in my hair. 

Usually I choose a good audiobook for the Coventry Way but this year I wanted a bit of speed so I popped on some music to keep me motivated and to provide a good beat to run to. The weather was so gorgeous and sunny that everywhere looked lovely and the music was the perfect accompaniment. 

Lots of blossom on the trees, bright and beautiful and it was like running through a wedding bower. So many flowers in the woodlands near Solihull and there were lots of butterflies. I saw a velvety peacock butterfly and some lovely tortoiseshells - gorgeous!! 

It started getting a bit tough towards the end with the miles and the heat taking their toll but I dug in. My daughter got a Parkrun PB yesterday knocking FOUR minutes off her previous time and I told her to have courage while she was running. I remembered that when it got rough for me and how brave she was and I used that to be my inspiration. When it started hurting I told myself to have courage and be like Lily. 

The ground was hard - so unlike normal April trails - and the rutted tractor tracks made it hard running. I could feel I’d run a few miles now and the springs in my legs were tired. 

The run back down to Meriden has a lovely long downhill and I took the opportunity to stretch my legs out and enjoy the bit of breeze. About half a mile from the end, going through a rough field I turned my ankle with a crunch. I could still run on it so took that as a sign to ignore it. Mile 40 was my fastest mile! The motivation of a cold pint of cider does wonderful things to a person. 

As I ran down the road, there were lots of Northbrook running club members waiting for their relay team mates so I got a lovely big cheer from them and other people waiting for their friends and family. I stormed up the hill to the finish … well … it felt like I stormed it but it probably looked like a gentle jog to every else - and to the finish where my time was logged and the tracker was given back. 

And the pint of cider. 

Thrilled to be fastest female and fastest overall finisher. 

Things I Wish I’d Known Before My First Ironman

(Alternative title could be ‘How I Paid a LOT of Money to Learn Very Specific Lessons the Hard Way’)

Note: I've included some ADIDAS kit links in the post.

An Ironman, for the uninitiated, is a 140.6-mile endurance event designed to test your physical limits, your emotional stability, and your ability to make sensible life choices at 4am. Like not ripping a giant hole in the leg of your wetsuit: See Ironman Barcelona.

Before my first Ironman, I thought I had an idea of what I was getting into. I’d read blogs. I’d listened to podcasts. I’d watched YouTube videos featuring extremely calm people saying things like “trust the process” while gently spinning on a turbo trainer in a suspiciously tidy and clean garage.

What I did not know was the following:

1. “You’ll Feel a bit nervous” Is a Criminal Understatement

I expected nerves. Butterflies. A bit of excitement.

What I got instead was a full existential crisis wrapped in neoprene. Plus a giant hole in my wetsuit when I’dd tried to pull it on too enthusiastically. Idiot Booker. DON’T DO THIS. 

In the days before the race, my brain ran a continuous loop of questions including (but not limited to):

• Why am I doing this? (You’ve paid too much to pull out now)
• Am I actually capable of this? (Remember smug man in garage video saying ‘trust the process’)
• Have I remembered how to swim? (Can I even swim?)
• Is it too late to take up crochet instead? (Yep. You’ve spent TOO MUCH now)

No amount of preparation stops your brain from panicking when it realises you’re about to voluntarily swim into open water with thousands of other delusional adults who also thought this was a good idea.

This is normal. Apparently.

Photo from Ironman Kalmar. I was BRICKING it.

2. Everyone Else is ALSO Nervous. 

On race morning, everyone looks calm. Purposeful. Like they belong there.

This is a ploy. I have now done 3 Ironman events and I have my 4th in about 10 months time. I will definitely STILL be nervous.

Underneath the aero helmets and compression socks, we are all just people desperately hoping nothing goes catastrophically wrong before the finish line. The person next to you with the £10k bike? Also quietly terrified. The one jogging confidently to the swim start? Has definitely Googled “can you fake a broken leg to get out of an Ironman” at least once.

This knowledge would have soothed me greatly if I’d known it earlier.

Actual photo from IM Barcelona when we all kept getting washed OUT of the sea

3. The Swim Is Not the Time to Be Polite

I am, by nature, British and apologetic. I say sorry when other people bump into me.

This is not helpful in an Ironman swim.

You will be kicked. You will be swum over. Someone will grab your ankle like they’re attempting a nautical kidnapping. None of this is personal. It is not rude. It is just a lot of humans moving through water with the grace of startled washing machines.

Swim your line. Protect your space. Save the apologies for later.

But on the plus side when you DO get kicked in the face it will stick your goggles on REALLY well. 

4. Transitions Are Where Dreams Go to Die

Before my first triathlon, I thought transitions were just where I went to change kit.

Transitions are, in fact, elaborate obstacle courses where your brain forgets how hands work. And definitely where you left your bike racked.

I stood in a tent staring at my kit like I’d never seen socks before. I put things on in the wrong order. I sat down. I stood up. I sat down again. Time ceased to have meaning. I also had to grab my kit back from the woman who was supposed to be helping me, but who was instead trying to pack the kit I really need away. 

Practise transitions. Write things down. Lists are king. Accept that no matter what, things won’t always go to plan. 

And make sure the changing lady doesn't nick your kit. 

5. Nutrition Is Not a Vibe

I went into my first Ironman with what I can only describe as nutritional optimism.

I had a plan. I did not follow it.

At some point on the bike, every snack I owned became deeply offensive. By the run, my stomach was staging a formal protest and my soul had left my body entirely.

Eat early. Eat often. Eat even when you don’t want to. Future You will be furious if you don’t.

BUT don’t underestimate how good sweeties taste on the bike when you really need to get that seawater taste out of your mouth. 

Also practise eating while on your race bike. I did not. I crashed the bike. I broke a rib. It was sore.

Fuelling suggestion. Good luck eating THIS on the bike.

6. The Bike Is Tricksy

The bike is NOT “the easy bit”.

This is misinformation.

The bike is long. It is mentally draining. It tricks you into thinking you’re doing brilliantly right up until the moment your legs remember there is still a marathon to run.

Ride conservatively. Ignore other people. Let them go. You are not racing them. You are racing your own terrible decision-making. Stick to the pacing you’ve practised.

Also the bike is where it is easiest to get penalties and disqualifications. Watch out for getting too close to the bike in front - you will get penalties and disqualified … it’s not worth it. 

And again. REMEMBER to fuel, take your salt tablets and drink. Set alarms on your watch for every 20 minutes if necessary. You will get carried away and forget. 

7. The Marathon Is About Problem Solving Not Running

By the time you start the run, you are no longer the person who trained for this.

You are a creature made of grit, stubbornness, and slightly questionable electrolytes. And you’ll probably be covered in snot, sweat and whatever you’ve had to eat and drink in the last few hours. DO NOT sniff yourself. You will regret it.

The Ironman marathon is not JUST about pace. It is about managing discomfort, negotiating with your brain, and making peace with the fact that walking is sometimes a perfectly respectable choice.

Break it down. Aid station to aid station. Smile when you can. Cry when you must. Keep moving.

As someone much smarter than me said “Relentless Forward Progress”. Just keep going. 

In a dark place. 

8. Training is hard, Racing is just going to Collect the Medal and the Glory

Don’t rely on the swimming, cycling and running to be all the training you do. I know. It feels a LOT.

But make sure you keep up (or start!) the strength training. This means you’re less likely to get injured and it’ll make training easier. Yes really. 

Stronger arms, legs and core will mean your posture is better, you’re more balanced and less-injury prone. 

Also make time for cross-training. I KNOW. You have a lot of training to do already but do something different as well. Something you can do for fun.

I can’t in good faith recommend something like rugby as testicular tortion tends to put a cramp in one’s ironman training or so I’ve heard but if you’re keen, some good rugby shoes.  

Ideally something a little less intense like golf (golf shoes) or maybe even a go at padel (padel shoes)

I’ve also found yoga to be a good option as the opportunity to stretch out tired muscles and feel more balanced can be good on rest days. If you’re lucky enough to have them.

Can also HIGHLY recommend supporting at races as cross training!
The shouting and cheering and bouncing around TOTALLY counts. 

9. You WILL Surprise Yourself

This is the bit no one really prepares you for.

Despite the fear, the fatigue, the moments where you genuinely consider lying down next to the course and becoming part of the scenery… you will keep going.

You will do things you didn’t think you could do. You will find another gear. You will cross the finish line changed in a way that’s hard to explain without getting a bit emotional and weird about it.

And yes, you will probably say “never again”.

You will be lying.

Go be amazing. And please come back and tell me all about it. 

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