Men V Man(chester): Part Two

If the London Marathon is the cool, trendy, tourist-friendly marathon, then Manchester is its more serious, edgy younger brother. London is studded with landmarks along most of the course and filled with runners wearing increasingly elaborate and eye-catching costumes, while Manchester offers few roadside distractions and even fewer amusing outfits. There are plenty of charity runners tackling this course, but hardly any clad in special outfits today. I spy a man dressed as a bee, another wearing a pale blue cylinder covered in DNA strands, and someone in perfect Mr. Bean garb, complete with tie, briefcase, and Teddy (also wearing a bib).

His bib name was "Runner". Top marks to this man.

This feels like a more intense, perhaps more "pure" experience, if that makes any sense at all. London has the notoriety, the fame, the status; Manchester has a more focused atmosphere. That's not a complaint in the slightest. I just find it interesting how two seemingly-identical events can feel so different from the inside.

Along the way, I see plenty of amusing signs from the spectators cheering us on. The most common, by far, are Super Mario power-up icons telling us to tap for more speed. Some other good slogans include:

• "Run like my uncle is chasing you"
• "Smile, you paid for this!"
• "Run now, pub later"
• "I trained for months to hold this sign"
• "In your marathon era"
• "Run if you think I'm sexy"
• "What's wrong with long and hard?

But the sign that we enjoy the most - and makes Scott laugh so hard he struggles to breathe for a moment - is one that reads, "THIS IS A SIGN".

The second half begins.

We've now crossed the halfway point of the marathon and leave Altrincham behind. Wide roads open up before us. Every now and then, we pass groups of choirs and musicians playing at the sides of the road, serenading the runners along the way. There are a few instances where we have to move to one side of the road to allow an ambulance through. Injuries are mercifully few, but we do pass the odd runners scattered along the sides of the road, being attended by medics. The one that breaks my heart the most is the sight of somebody being sprayed and massaged just after mile twenty-five. That must be soul-crushing.

Many course guides refer to the Manchester Marathon as "mostly flat". The keyword there is mostly. The vast majority of the route is calm and smooth and contains no unpleasant surprises. But the southernmost part of the course contain a handful of gentle inclines and small bridges. These aren't dramatic by any means - you probably wouldn't notice them normally - but they feel enormous after all these miles. The worst of these, and by some distance, is a winding incline around the back of a shopping centre. Thank goodness there are only a few "uphill" segments like this.

Another long straight section!

While we've been running the marathon, our family has been fighting their own battle at the same time. They intended to follow us as much as they could using the tram system to hop around the city. Unfortunately, so did a hundred thousand other people and public transport is hopelessly overwhelmed. Scott and I pass several tram stations and all of them have enormous queues just to get on the platform. This means that after our brief high-five at mile four, we don't see our family again until mile sixteen, just before the sharp right turn at the top of the map, above.

Sixteen down, ten to go.

It comes as a relief to stop moving for a couple of short minutes and chat with our loved ones. They've managed to get some blank signs given away by locals newspapers and have written, "GO ADAM & SCOTT! BROS ON THE ROAD!" It's impossible not to feel a jolt of extra energy at a sight like that.

After an all-too-brief pause, we head off again, following the road to the right and past a petrol station. Here is another pleasant surprise: people working at the station are handing out ice creams to runners. I can't imagine eating a Cornetto or an ice lolly while moving at this pace, but I can imagine eating a Callipo.

Best cold treat in the world: fact.

Now things start to get difficult. Not physically, but mentally. The stretch of distance between miles thirteen and twenty is all mind games. Each mile feels longer and more daunting that the last. No matter how hard you push, the end doesn't get any closer. If there is a stage in the marathon where the thought of jacking it in and going home seems genuinely appealing, this is the one. But we don't jack it in. We persevere.

The long, winding route back home.

Our surroundings are now a mix of quieter suburban landscapes and more densely-packed high streets. Things begin to get harder now. My chest is heaving, my feet are burning, my knees are screaming. Scott, meanwhile, looks comfortable at my side. Supporters yell out the names on our bibs, singling runners out for additional encouragement. Every time I hear a stranger yell out my name, I get a fresh burst of energy. We pass by a choir belting out "Defying Gravity" and hit the twenty-mile marker and head under the bridge, where the Underground Kollectiv is still pumping out tunes so loud I can't hear my own rasping breath.

Six miles left.

This is now Scott's longest run yet and he still shows no signs of struggling. In fact, he gets a second wind at this point and I become the dead weight dragging us back. Now it's harder and harder for me to keep running at this pace and I'm forced to beg for a walk for the last quarter of every mile. But I manage to get another decent official photograph.

Wonder if I can put this in my passport?

Every step brings us nearer to the finish line but also brings us closer to total collapse. I'm panting and gasping like oxygen is hard to come by and even the constant roar of the crowd is slowly being drowned out by the rushing of blood in my ears. Now it gets harder and harder to spot the giant blue mile markers ahead. My vision is blurring as all the energy is being sapped away and used up to maintain my momentum. We pass twenty-one miles. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.

Three short miles. Three huge hurdles.

The support swells louder with every mile. The crowds aren't cheering for us to keep going; they're cheering for us to finish. They want us to succeed now. Music washes over us from a dozen different sources at once. Halfway through mile twenty-four, there's a camera and an enormous screen by the side of the road so we can wave at our sweaty, beet-red selves. It's a nice touch, one that helps in these final miles.

The last stretch.

By now, all we can think about is the end. We're so close. So damned close. The finish line is getting closer and closer. We're back in the central areas again, surrounded by tower blocks and tall buildings. Volunteers spray us with water to provide a hint of relief. I barely feel it at this point. Every part of my body is on fire but I can't stop. I can't give up. I've got to do this. Then, finally, we pass this sign:

Three more turns and then we're home.

The atmosphere hanging over the course changes once again. All the intensity and the struggling and the teeth-gritting tension is replaced by newfound excitement. Nobody is stopping now. Nobody is slowing down. Nobody is thinking about jacking it all in. The end is so, so, so close.

This is it.

We turn a sharp left and the final straight opens up before us. It's less than half a mile long. Barriers are erected on either side, narrowing the road and guiding everyone toward the single pink archway ahead. The crowds cheer in a deafening cacophony of sound and hammer on the barricades to make as much noise as humanly possible. We pass the twenty-six mile marker. All that remains is a few hundred metres. The end of the 2025 Manchester Marathon is in sight.

Scott rushes on ahead. I race as fast as I can, my legs picking up the pace at the last few moments. I give a cry of pure triumph and cross the line and that's it. I've done it. We've done it. The marathon is over. We've achieved something that few people will ever manage.

Few words can describe how we feel in this moment, but one comes close: pride. We stagger through the swelling crowds of our fellow exhausted, smiling marathon runners. We collect our medals. All around us are delighted faces, all with faraway looks in their eyes. We're experiencing a unique feeling, but it will be a few hours before any of us can really grasp the extent of what we've done here today.

Exhausted. Delighted. Victorious.

As good as this moment is, there's one last surprise that feels even better. My official time, according to the tracker, is 5:14:52 - two minutes faster than my run around London, six years previously. Scott is a few seconds ahead of me. I could not be happier. 

My Strava results from the day.

And there we have it. We conquered Manchester. We ran a marathon. And we did it in a great time. I'm so proud of my brother and everything we've accomplished today. What felt so impossible just a few short weeks ago is now complete.

So, how does Manchester compare to London? I have the privilege of comparing the two biggest running events in the country, so I feel uniquely qualified to say that this one felt harder. It's difficult to say exactly why. Maybe because I anticipated how I would be feeling at specific points; maybe because I weighed more than last time; maybe the lack of landmarks made it seem longer. Either way, this was definitely the bigger challenge.

The question now is, what's next? For me, nothing. I'm over the moon to call myself a multi-marathon runner. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be capable of achieving something like this. Now I've done the impossible - twice! - and I have earned the right to sit down for a bit. I've since learned that April 27th 2025 was one of the biggest marathon days in world history. Between Manchester and London, over 96,000 people tackled 26 miles, not including everyone who ran their own virtual marathons at home. Amazing.

Massive thanks to everyone who took part in arranging, organising, and pulling off the spectacular task of hosting the Manchester Marathon. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who flocked to the route and cheered, sang, held up signs, gave out treats, hosed us down and supported us on the way. And, of course, thank you so much to our family for coming all the way to Manchester to be there and cheers us on.

What a day. What an experience.

Men V Man(chester): Part One

It's a beautiful day in Manchester, with bright blue skies and warm sunshine. I wake to a message from my friend Ed. He completed the Reverse London Marathon in 4:12 - a stunning achievement and the photos from the night look amazing. Well done, Ed! As for us, the day is just beginning. We enjoy a small Premier Inn breakfast of pastries to get a last carb load in our bellies and then it's time to gear up and get ready. 

A lovely greeting from the hotel staff.

The energy of the city is palpable today, with excitement crackling through the air. It feels like everyone is here for the same reason. Scott and I are as ready as we can be, and our family are here to support us every step of the way. Team Mason is kitted out in matching shirts to help us see them on the sides.

Nobody supports a runner like a runner's wife.

The famous Manchester trams roll past as we walk along the streets, but they're packed to capacity - people literally pressed against the windows - and our group includes a baby in a stroller, so we decide to walk. It's only a couple of miles; this counts as a warm-up.

Here we are, ready as we'll ever be.

On the way, we cross the marathon route a couple of times. The race has already started, with earlier waves thundering along the roads. According to the flags worn by the pacers in the midst of the pack, these runners are targeting around three and a half hours. They look fresh and eager, taking on the marathon with fairly serious expressions.

Runner village, complete with hundreds of portaloos.

A few people wish us luck with enthusiasm along the way. Before long, we split from the rest of the family and head toward the runner's village at Old Trafford. We hear it long before we see it. Music thumps and distant voices drift closer through multiple speakers as event organisers corral us all into the right waves and do their best to get everyone pumped for the beginning. Nervous energy mingles with genuine excitement as time marches on and each wave approaches the start.

I am reliably informed that this is where [checks notes] "football" happens.

Even though we're in the last group to cross the starting line, there are still thousands of people ready and raring to get going. The voices on the megaphone announce that this is the largest wave to attempt the marathon. There are no pacers in this pack, so I'm left to assume that we're strictly the amateur/ novice/ "fun" runners.

It's too late to turn back now...!

The two previous waves move forward ahead of us and now the start line is visible. There's a great atmosphere in the crowd today, both from those running and all the supporters on the side. Officials keep us behind tape barriers until finally we're allowed to approach the giant pink archway for our turn. We're just minutes away from setting out on a long, long journey.

It's getting closer by the second!

Supporters cheer and whoop from the sides. A loud, pulsing timer marks the sixty-second countdown. An organiser is on a microphone to the side, wishing us well and getting a Mexican wave started. Finally, it's ten seconds remaining. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five...

And then we're off.

There's a huge cheer from all around. The final wave begins running the 2025 Manchester Marathon. We set off in the beautiful late morning sunshine and head down the course. Pure delight hangs in the air. Supporters clap and make noise on the sidelines and wish us well. The first mile is pure smiles and good vibes.

The course map.

These first miles are fairly simple, taking us away from Old Trafford and around a short loop of the urban areas. We're not in the dead centre of the city, but these are major dual carriageways that have probably never been this empty. People line both sides of the road to cheer and sit on balconies of the huge tower blocks and even stand on the barriers in the middle of the carriageway to watch the race begin.

The opening five miles. A relaxed loop.

Water stations are scattered along the course at roughly every three to four miles. We've both decided to run with water packs for extra hydration, and it's a good thing we do - the temperature is approaching twenty degrees already. This is warmer than any of my training runs. It's warmer than any run I've undertaken since last year.

Always time to get a high-five from my wife.

At four miles, we pass by our family again, cheering us on from the side of the road. Our wives have drawn power-up stars on their hands for an extra boost of support as we pass. Incidentally, I even manage to get a decent-looking picture from a professional photographer for the first time ever:

I've never looked good in a picture like this before.

Now our route takes us south along a huge, straight dual carriageway that seems to cut through most of the major suburban areas surrounding Manchester. I'd studied the route in advance and this was the part I dreaded the most: a long, straight road.

Long, long, loooooooong...

Thankfully, the sides of the road are filled with noisy spectators. They hold signs and rattle tambourines and play music and cheer us along every step of the way. It definitely helps. The temperature reaches its peak and holds firm for the rest of the day. From this point on, we're grabbing two bottles of water from every hydration station: one to drink, the other to tip over us to try and stay cool.

The route often merges from runners returning on the other side of the circuit. At one point (around mile 7/ 20 on the map above), we pass underneath a huge bridge, where a local DJ group have set up station. They are the "Underground Kollectiv" and the bass is so loud it reverberates the concrete supports, but they're giving it everything to support us. We'll see them again on the other side of the road - but it won't be until much, much later.

A distant view of the DJ booth, minus the bass-heavy earthquake. 

We finally turn off the long, straight road and enter suburban streets, lined with closed shops. Supporters still take up every available inch of space on pavements and roads, offering deafening roars of encouragement. Some offer tubs of jelly sweets and kids hold out hands for high fives. Around this point, we finally cross the ten mile threshold and, as agreed, slow to a walk to preserve our energy for later.

The bottom end of the route.

After this, we finally begin to wind and loop our way back along Stockport Road - seeing runners on the other side - and head through Altrincham. This area is totally new to me: we're literally running past people's homes. It's a lovely slice of suburban life, with families gathered to cheer, camped out on deck chairs, some even offering bottles of water. But the best part - and probably my favourite memory of the entire day - are the multiple people who set up hoses to spray us with bursts of lovely cold water as we pass. The sound of relief from all around - that gasp of, "Oooh!" - still rings in my ears. Scott and I weave from side to side across these lovely wide streets to hit as many hoses as possible. I have no idea how much those kind people's water bills may have increased in just one day, but I am truly, eternally grateful to them. The water stations are few and far between, so these brief hits of cold spray are wonderful and refreshing and comforting.

The smile of a man who got doused with cold water on a hot day.

From here, we curl through the streets of central Altrincham. The place is packed with people on both sides of the road. The sound of encouragement never seems to flag or falter. These people have been cheering for hours already and there's still no end in sight. Their stamina is incredible.

Huge blue signs are dotted along the course to mark our progress at every mile and every ten kilometres. The numbers slowly climb through our long journey. Finally, we pass a threshold that puts a smile on our faces: thirteen miles.

Halfway in. Buckle up.

We ran the Bath Half together some six weeks ago, and right now, we're managing about the same pace. Two hours and twenty minutes have elapsed since we began the marathon. This is now our longest joint run ever. Scott says, "Now every step brings us closer to home." That's true - but home is still a long, long way off...

Continued in part two.

The Calm Before

A little more than twelve hours now stands between me and the 2025 Manchester Marathon. We - the whole family - have spent the day travelling 'oop North to the city. We've taken cars, multiple trains, and walked through the streets to get here. Now I'm writing this from a hotel room at the Premier Inn. Everything is done. Everything is ready. There is nothing left for me to do... nothing except sleep. This is the absolute worst part of the marathon experience.

Yep, this is what it's like.

Now I have the time and space to look back on everything I've done and the road to get here. Have I trained enough? Did I push myself hard enough? Were my sessions sufficient to carry me around the course tomorrow?

Back in June 2024 when we signed up, this seemed like such a long distance goal. Neither of us really thought about it. We had almost a year to get ready, why worry about it?

Well, that time has flown by. Months to weeks to days to hours. I think I've done enough. Maybe I didn't push the miles as early as I should have - there was a two week period of sickness at the end of February that really held me back. But aside from that, I did well. At least two runs a week. I upped the distance and relaxed and finally found my groove again. I persevered and pushed and powered through. I am here.

Tomorrow is a huge day for runners everywhere. Not only are the Manchester and London marathons going ahead, but there are thousands of people taking part in virtual marathons around the world. This year, around 36,000 people are completing Manchester and 55,000 runners will be taking on the streets of London. I believe that over 814,000 applicants registered in the ballot to have a crack at London, myself and Scott included. There could be hundreds of thousands of people around the country, and the world, running some kind of marathon tomorrow. How amazing is that?

My friend Ed is in London right now, preparing to meet at the finish line in the Mall and run the marathon course backwards to Greenwich. He'll be setting off in little more than one hour. By the time I wake up, he will have smashed his first marathon. I'm so excited for him.

I'm also really excited for my brother. We had a fantastic experience in Bath last month, and this one is set to be larger on every way. At least three times as many runners will be taking part and there will countless supporters and spectators cheering us around the city.

All that remains is to fall asleep. Just fall asleep and conquer the world. Thank you everyone for your endless support; for asking questions, showing interest, reading these silly blog posts, and helping me train. Nobody ever truly runs alone and tomorrow that will be proven right all over again.

Carb Week

We're in the final stretch now. Just a few short days remain until Scott and I assemble with tens of thousands of other lunatics at the start line in Manchester. I'm cautiously optimistic about the run itself, even if I'm still experiencing maranoia about everything surrounding it. But before we begin the long journey north, there's still one hugely important factor that I've been eagerly awaiting for months now: carb week.

Pure, unadulterated carnage.

This is the time when distance runners do their carb loading. I'm eating bread, rice, and pasta in as many meals as I can. It's great. I love carb week. (I also love food, so I'm biased there). My wife is getting a bit fed up having so much pasta in the evening, but she's supporting me as much as she can - what a trooper. Thanks, babe.

I know I've mentioned before, many years ago, about the kinds of foods runners should eat before and after a run, but it bears repeating here. I'll be running for around five hours across twenty six miles. I'm going to burn roughly six thousand calories on the day. That's the amount I would normally burn over three days. My body needs to get its energy from somewhere.

Think of the human body like a steam engine. During a normal day, not much needs to be shovelled into the furnace to keep everything ticking along. But once you start to exercise and push yourself, the furnace needs more fuel to operate. For simple gym sessions and shorter runs - such as a 10k - water and electrolytes are sufficient to feed the furnace and keep you moving. But once you get beyond that, you need to plan your intake and prepare accordingly.

The body needs protein after serious workouts and long runs. Protein is the best nutrient to support muscles and help them grow. Bodybuilders, personal trainers, and people keen on expanding their physique will always say that protein is vital to muscle repair and regeneration. When Chris Hemsworth was bulking up to play the role of Thor, he would eat two entire roast chickens every day to make sure his body had enough protein - and that was on top of whatever else his diet required.

But if you know you're going to do a serious, intense workout or run a long distance, you have to make sure your body has the right nutrients in advance. For that, you need carbs. Think of carbs like the coal that gets thrown into the furnace of the steam engine. You'll need a good pile of coal to power the engine to travel a good distance, so you need carbs for the same reason.

When the body - the engine - is pushed hard, it burns through everything in storage. It starts with simple things, like sugars and fats. But once these stocks start to deplete, the body begins reaching for carbs to power the engine. The more you go, the more demanding that furnace becomes. Once you push through the exercise barrier and begin burning body fat - roughly one hour into a good run - the furnace demands carbs or you'll start to experience those dreadful muscular cramps.

You can replace carbs as they are burned. I plan to do this on the day with a couple of bagels. But you also need to make sure the furnace has enough carbs on-hand to keep you moving. This is the joy and beauty of carb week. In these last few days, it's absolutely vital that I prepare myself as much as possible for the challenge ahead.

And I will, as soon as I can.

So here I am. I'm tapering and winding down my distances. One last 10k run remains on my plan. The rest of the preparation is all about loading those sweet, delicious carbs into my body and making the furnace is fuelled and ready.

Hooray for carb week.

Maranoia

We're now ten days away from the 2025 Manchester Marathon. I have been given a running number. My participant pack should arrive any day now. I've trained, peaked, and tapered. I even slipped in some mud this week and tore up my knee (scab over faster, please!) Everything is set and ready.

Now the nerves are starting to settle in.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm...

I'm not nervous about finishing the marathon - well, maybe just a little. I'm nervous about all the things surrounding the marathon. When I think about it, everything is in hand and I know that - deep down, it all makes perfect sense - but I'm slowly being gripped by maranoia, those pre-race jitters.

I'll be travelling to Manchester with my family on the train. We're staying in a hotel roughly in the middle of the start and finish areas. We're travelling back on the train the following day.

I'm nervous about the travel, the commuting, the unfamiliar surroundings. I've briefly visited Manchester once before, years ago, but didn't explore much of the city. Will there be things to see? Landmarks to check off in my head? The race ends at Old Trafford stadium, but what else is there to look out for?

Will I be able to spot my family on the way around? None of us know Manchester all that well and it's not like they can hop on the tube and rush to the next point on the map. I'd hate for them to travel all the way up only to see us at the start and end of the run.

What about water? There are only eight stations on the route, so I'm going to need to bring my pack. What about gels? I need to keep a handful on me...

Will I get enough sleep the night before? Probably not, based on past experience. What will I eat the night before and the morning of the race?

Again, I know all the answers to these questions. I've already gone over them in my head dozens of times. But the closer race day gets, the louder they get and the more maranoia I start to experience. I feel ready and willing to get this race underway. All I have to do is get through these next ten days and keep my head down.

Mental Hurdles

Despite the fact that I've been running at least twice a week for years now, I have a confession to make: my recent pushes to over fifteen miles were an absolute slog. Seriously. It was the first time in ages that I have flat-out not enjoyed running.

An overwrought yet apt image.

I started to notice this after the Bath Half. Thirteen miles is a decent distance. It only takes two-ish hours to cover that at good pace. It's comfortable enough and you can breathe and talk to a buddy at the same time. But once the number climbs higher, boy does it get tougher.

In late March, I reached the distance of 14 miles again. It didn't seem like much more beyond what I had already achieved just the week before, yet it was. Adding another mile, another ten minutes, onto the run suddenly became an arduous task.

There were a few external factors that definitely didn't help. It was still technically British Winter Time, so a two and a half hour run was taking me past seven thirty at night, long after the sun had set and temperatures had plummeted. Running in the dark is pretty grim. Running in the cold is uncomfortable. Running in both is borderline miserable.

Adding to this was the fact that my knees - my old man knees - had begun to protest after the fourteenth mile, creaking and grinding and groaning with every step. This got even worse once I headed past fourteen and into the fifteenth mile. I was now running for around two hours and forty-five minutes, most of which was after the sun had set. My knees were complaining, the temperatures were in low single-digits, sweat was cooling to my skin, and every step became harder than the last. By the time I finished, I was in a miserable state.

Thank you, stock image model, for this suitable picture.

After this, it only got worse. My first run of Hell Week was a sixteen mile jaunt that took around three hours. As before, it was harder than I ever expected. All the same woes seem to pile up and get more aggravating; knees, cold, darkness, misery. It never got easier. By the time I completed it, all I could think was, "I've done sixteen miles... and there's still ten to go." It was probably one of the lowest feelings I've ever had in all the time I've been doing this.

In fact, things were so bad that I told my wife I didn't want to do the marathon at all. I felt like it was simply too much and I couldn't make the distance. The hurdles in my mid were so tall I simply didn't see the point in jumping them.

There was even a moment when it seemed that my wish had been granted. The first draft participant list for Manchester 2025 was published and my name wasn't listed! What a relief. They weren't expecting me at all. My brother, as team leader, was listed, but not me. I actually felt some lightness in my chest. Maybe I could stop all this silliness and do something more enjoyable, like juggling porcupines.

But my brother contacted the organisers and confirmed that I would be featured on an updated list to follow. Bummer. I wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

Then something changed. It was weird and I'm not sure how to explain it. Something clicked in my mind. I stopped dreading the runs. I stopped thinking of the distance in terms of massive mile blocks and started breaking them down like I used to, many years ago. An eighteen mile run sounds incredibly daunting, but running three short 10ks sounds much, much easier.

Suddenly, just like that, I started to overcome those mental hurdles. Getting miserable about running so late into the evening? Start running earlier. Simple. By the time I finished my eighteen mile circuit, I actually felt good. Not just about myself, but what I'd achieved. The distance didn't seem so awful or insurmountable or challenging. It started to become enjoyable. I even had a pretty good experience on my mega twenty mile training run.

Since then, I haven't felt any nagging doubts or endured those negative thoughts. I know the marathon is going to be a bloody hard task, both mentally and physically, but I'm prepared for it. As prepared as I can be, anyway. All I have to do is keep overcoming those hurdles and I'll smash it.

Hell Week

There are probably technical terms for this week. Maybe professional runners have a different way of describing it or perhaps a running coach would give it a different name. But I'm not a professional, I'm just some guy who learned it all through painful experience and I like to call that seven day period, "Hell Week".

What is Hell Week, you ask? Simple. It's the final week of the big, big push before tapering can start. Again, professional runners would probably do things differently; maybe they would advise only tapering for a couple of weeks instead of four, or maybe they'd push themselves to keep racking up the distances ahead of the next marathon. For me, I'm content to set my goals well in advance and enjoy the sensation of easing back for several long, slow weeks. It feels like a lot because Hell Week is freaking exhausting.

Me too, John. Me too.

The goal of Hell Week is simple enough. It's the final week of major training. My objectives are to complete three runs across seven days and hit a specific distance target with each of them: sixteen miles, eighteen miles, and finally, twenty miles. The final run is the key. It's the last "big" run before tapering begins and has to be completed a month before the marathon date. As I learned some six years ago (six? Where did that go?) during my first attempt at running that distance, preparation is the key to ninety percent of the success in tackling a marathon.

My plans have been pretty simple for the month of March 2025. Despite my previous whining about how long it takes to do all this training (Hell Week requires over eleven hours of running!), I decided to knuckle down and push, push, push like proverbial hell to get through it. After all, the marathon was looming. April 27th was not far off. All I needed was a few short yet intense weeks of concentrated effort and it would be in the past. Then I could think about more enjoyable things, like lighting my barbecue and getting fat this summer or the upcoming Nintendo Switch 2 or even the prospect of waking up on a Saturday morning and not busting my hump getting miles under my belt.

With that in mind, I set my goals. Three runs across a week, each building in length and intensity. After completing the fantastic Bath Half in mid-March, I managed a few more decent runs in the following week, racking up another thirteen mile performance, followed by a fifteen mile run. Hell Week required me to push beyond that and take myself to the absolute limit of what the human body can train to endure.

Run #1: sixteen miles

Sixteen blooming miles.

Tuesday evening. I managed to finish work early and was out on the road by half past four, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine. One thing that made Hell Week even more uncomfortable is that British Summer Time did not begin until after this period was finished, forcing me to arrange my work days around trying to get as much daylight as possible.

The runs were made more bearable by my friend Mark, who kindly offered to join me for at least the first ten miles. Running with him was a genuine blessing. I don't believe I would have had the willpower to tackle these distances completely on my own. I'm not the same man I was six years ago; I'm not driven by a vast team of charity workers cheering me on or the thought of raising thousands to help a good cause. I'm doing this to run Manchester with my brother.

Once I crossed the half-marathon threshold and began to break into the mid-teens, this run got harder and harder. I'll drop another post soon discussing the mental difficulties, but I can safely say that the physical issues were largely in my joints. After fourteen miles, my knees were threatening to disengage completely. It wasn't helped by how suddenly the temperatures plummeted once the sun set. Seriously, it went from mild and pleasant to absolutely freezing in a matter of minutes. Good thing I tied a jacket around my waist.

Run #2: eighteen miles

That orange line is looooong...

Two days later, I repeated the process, finishing work early enough to get out even sooner. It was a real blessing to be able to move my work hours on training days like this. The only thing worse than knowing I had such a such run ahead of me was the idea that I'd be running until after eight that night. Fortunately, I was on to road ahead of four p.m. and Mark joined me once more. We chatted and joked and trundled together around a lap of Chippenham, before Mark headed home and I continue on for the last eight miles. 

It took a gargantuan effort and there were plenty of slower moments. I did my best to follow the rough plan my brother and I have agreed for the marathon: run ten, then take it a little easier. I mixed the odd cooldown walk into the run and managed to finish it in relative comfort. I even brought along a bagel to munch on for those all-important carbs during slower points.

Run #3: twenty miles

The final challenge.

I had built my entire week around this run. It was a cool, crisp, dry Saturday morning. Unfortunately, Mark wasn't able to make this one, so I laced up my shoes and planned my route and gave it my best shot. The plan was simple enough: I ran through town and back around the country lanes, following the Chippenham Half course and adding a circuit around town onto the end, even looping around a couple of local roads to make certain that I hit the target.

To my surprise, the entire run went well. Temperatures slowly climbed as the minutes turned to hours. Everything was planned. Run ten, walk one. Eat half a bagel. Run to thirteen. Eat the other half. Loop toward town. Hit up the bakery and snag a croissant and an extra drink. The only surprise was how much more water I needed to consume during this run. I had to stop by a petrol station on the last couple of miles to grab another bottle of sports water to get me over the line.

But I did it. I ran that final mile and hit the big two-oh and I have never been so pleased with myself. I am nowhere near as fit, slim, and light as I was this time six years ago, dammit, I can still put in the miles when it counts.

And that brings an end to Hell Week. It's behind me now. The worst is done. Manchester awaits.

A Few Extra Pictures from the Day

I wanted to share a few extra pictures of the Bath Half that were taken by other people. These help to illustrate what a full, fun, exciting day it truly was and capture some of the excitement felt by everyone taking part and those watching from the sidelines.

Firstly, here is a lovely snap of Scott and myself at the TeamRUHX tent, preparing for the kickoff:

Representing the team.

It was really great of the organisers to bring a photographer to capture the high spirits ahead of the run. Everyone was smiling and happy and eager to get going. All those pre-race jitters seemed to melt away in the face of such relentless enthusiasm.

Speaking of the wider RUHX running team, here we all are:

Here we are - at least, those who managed to get through the heaving streets in time.

And an action shot. "Team RUHX!"

In my raceday report, I briefly mentioned the team bus, situated around mile 2/ 8, depending on the lap. The photographer on board managed to snap some wonderful photos of everyone running past in those distinctive blue vests, including the two of us:

Early in the run, mile two. I'm still chilly enough to have my sleeves down.

And this one is at the eighth mile when we're red faced and absolutely knackered.

Having the support of a dedicated team who seek you out and make noise just for you is a wonderful feeling and a great part of running in aid of a charity.

Also, I want to share a brief glimpse of the incredible atmosphere from all the supporters on the day. This is the amazing scene that greeted the runners as we reached the urban areas toward the end of the Lower Bristol Road and returned to the centre:

That moment alone made the proceeding miles worth the effort, I can tell you.

Finally, here's a hilarious and weird coincidence that was shared with me the day after the run. A group of lads who work in a different department of the same company took this group picture at the start line as they were waiting to set off. Look who happens to be standing right behind them:

An unbelievable coincidence.

That's all for now. Massive thanks again to everyone involved in organising and planning and executing the Bath Half, including the amazing volunteers who worked tirelessly on the roadsides. You all made it a truly spectacular day.

The Bath Half 2025

The atmosphere in Race Village is wonderful, unique, and filled with excitement. There's a crackling energy in the air as runners arrive and start preparing for the race ahead, meeting up with friends and chatting to strangers. Everyone is here for the same reason and nobody can wait to get started. There are tents set up all around the field for each of the many charity runners, plus a warm up area in front of a small stage with a DJ, and a huge tent for storing baggage. That's not forgetting the enormous array of portaloos that quickly attract long queues as runners go for several nervous pre-race wees.

Race Village in all its glory. People, tents, excitement.

There are twelve thousand people taking part in the Bath Half today and the park crackles with energy. Scott and I arrive a full two hours ahead of time and make our way to the tent for Team RUHX. There are eighty-four of us running in aid of the Royal United Hospital and everyone is eager to get on the road. The team organisers have spoiled us today; there are bananas, jelly sweets, croissants, drinks - anything that a runner might want before setting off on a 13.1 mile trek.

Our heroes, prepared for battle and ready to go.

The temperature in the park is low this morning, with the occasional bitter wind that blows across the open plain and sends us scurrying back into the shelter of the tent. This is punctured now and then by the sun emerging and basking everyone in its lovely warmth. Quite a contradiction. Looking around at the other runners, it seems that nobody can agree on the best gear to wear. We choose to layer up - I'm in long trousers, an undershirt, a loose top, and the RUH vest, while others wear a vest and shorts. Initially, I've made the right choice, but I'll get warm soon enough.

During the wait (which is not as bad as I feared, there's lots going on), I meet up with Ed, a friend and one hell of a runner. He's an incredible athlete. In a few weeks, he's taking part in the unofficial Reverse London Marathon - running from the finish line the night before the event, ending at the start point in Greenwich. He's aiming to do that in three and a half hours. We ask Ed what time he hopes to get today. He says, "I'm hoping to take it quite easy. Maybe an hour and forty-five?"

Our hero and Speedy Gonzales.

Before we know it, the time has come. Runners begin moving toward their start lines in wave order. We take part in a short warm-up to get the blood moving, then it's our turn to filter out of the park and onto the main road.

Follow these huge arrows and you can't go wrong.

Thousands of runners huddle up together, trying to make as much space as possible. We're in wave seven, with wave eight directly behind us, watching with eager eyes. The tension reaches a fever pitch as the final minutes count down and then - we're off. The crowd starts moving forward. At first, we're walking slowly, then we're able to start a gentle jog. Finally, we cross the start line and the 2025 Bath Half is on.

The vague black archway in the distance is the starting line.

The route around Bath is a pretty good loop. We start by running downhill and heading past Royal Victoria Park, then out toward the dual carriageway heading to Bristol, before turning back and entering the city again. We'll do two loops of this area in total, but the first lap has an extra section where we continue past the centre and out past the Rec Ground, until we turn a sharp hairpin and come back on ourselves.

There are worse ways to see the city.

Runners on their second lap are kept to the left on the roads, while those of us just starting stay to the right. It's quite a shocking sight to get on the road at the beginning and already spot the elite runners tearing past, going hell for leather at seven miles deep. I later learn that the men's winner, Jake Smith, smashed the course in sixty two minutes, with Abbie Donnelly representing the ladies at sixty nine minutes. meaning that they were almost finished by the time we set off!

The atmosphere from the spectators is absolutely bloody amazing. They shout and scream and cheer and clap and hold up signs and blow horns. It's impossible not to smile and wave and soak in the vibes. It's equally impossible not to want to push hard, spurred on by all the support and encouragement. Everyone is having a great time and the crowds line up almost every part of the route. There are even the odd handfuls of people watching on that long trip back toward the city on the leftmost portion of the map.

A few miles deep and still smiling.

The sun comes out almost immediately. Within two miles, I've rolled up my sleeves to try and cool down. Now and then, a cold wind blows through the streets, but the majority of the run takes place in lovely crisp sunlight. We're toasty and warm, although the same can't be said for the spectators, all of whom are absolute troopers and keep up their energy despite the chill.

Once we turn back toward the city and start following the wide road into Bath, the landscape changes. Industrial buildings give way to small businesses. The huge railway bridge acts as a tall, dark barrier to our right, and it's a relief to finally get past it (seriously, it goes on for far longer than you realise). Crowds of people become more and more frequent, until the pavement is completely taken up by cheering spectators again and the energy hits a new high. Brass bands play at the roadside, radio stations have set up special booths to play music and commentate on the run, and the roar of constant support is beyond fantastic.

So. Many. People.

To our left, the elite runners continue to file past at a steady clip, now over nine miles into the circuit and still moving at a cracking pace. As for Scott and myself, we're doing really well. I can feel that our pace is quicker than usual, but we're keeping up and overtaking other runners now and then.

Every so often, we pass someone being attended by a paramedic on the side of the road, probably around five or six in total. Their faces are contorted with pain and devastation and most of them look to have pulled something in their legs. I consider myself very lucky to not encounter such a scenario in my runs.

Finally, our route diverges with those on the second lap. While they veer to the left and cross the river toward the centre, we continue straight and carry on. Now the left side of the road is filled with people who have already finished the hairpin turn and are running back on themselves. I was prepared for this moment from looking at the map, but I had no idea how long this section truly is. It must be at least a mile and a half, but feels so, so much longer, made worse by passing people who have already done it. Every time I see a junction or a roundabout ahead, I assume we're coming to the end, but - nope! - the course keeps going, Eventually, we turn onto a wide street lined by those familiar massive Georgian-style houses you always associate with Bath and turn the hairpin at long last. Now we head back on ourselves and run down to the river.

There are a few runners in costumes here and there. We see a classic Rhino Runner, a man dressed as a postbox, and a guy wearing a full disco glitterball. The runners supporting a breast cancer charity all wear a single large boob. I said to one guy, "I bet you feel a right tit." He laughed. There's another man in an amazing get-up, who I will talk about later. He deserves his own mention.

By now, we're making our way up an incline and following the road back into the city. We've crossed mile seven and are still going strong. The path splits off again, with the elites on mile twelve continuing ahead while we turn to the left and run back towards Royal Victoria Park for the second loop.

Lap two is much, much harder. The crowd's energy keep me going for most of it. We pass the same sights again, waving to the supporters on the Team RUH bus, high-fiving kids on the side of the road, grabbing jellied sweets as they're offered and even tapping the signs bearing Mario power-up mushrooms. Anything to keep going and stay strong. As we reach the dual carriageway and veer around for the long, long straight, I confess to Scott that I don't know if I can maintain this pace much more. He agrees that we can ease up a little, so we do - but not by much.

Now we're running on the left hand side of the road, but there's nobody to our right. It feels like everyone is now on the second lap. Somewhere around mile nine, I get a message from Ed. He's finished already and his time is an incredible one hour forty.

The quieter end of the loop, far away from town.

We press on. Past the radio stations and brass bands and swelling spectators. Past the railway bridge and the industrial buildings and the small businesses. Past the river and the water stations and the bridges. Finally, we follow the elite runners from earlier and turn left, crossing the river, heading into the city once again. This the only time I have to slow to a walk - I can't breathe and run and drink at the same time anymore. We follow the path around the river and pass the twelve mile marker. This is it. We're approaching the end now.

But the Bath Half is hiding one final, awful, nasty trick up its sleeve. As we draw closer to the finish line, the road starts to incline. It didn't feel as bad before, when we were seven miles deep. But now our legs have turned to rubber and our knees are creaking in complaint. It becomes harder to draw breath. The higher we climb, the steeper the road becomes, somehow getting to an absurd angle. It feels more like mountaineering than running. At one point, I get caught behind someone moving much slower, forcing me to walk, sidestep, and start running again. That one moment hurts more than anything else.

Now we push through the gates and into the park, still running uphill. The cheering reaches a crescendo. Spectators are going wild from both sides, screaming the names printed on our vests, yelling for us not to stop. This is about the point when I spy two familiar faces - Hayley and Suze from work. They're screaming for me and jumping up and down and their encouragement helps me get up the last bit of this awful hill. Now the road finally flattens out and our goal is just ahead.

There it is! The finish line!

All the struggle is worthwhile. Scott and I cross the line together, barely able to get enough breath for a cursory cheer. It's over. We've done it. Not only have we finished the Bath Half, we've managed a time of two hours and twenty minutes - a full nine minutes faster than our previous best in Chippenham! We're elated and thrilled as we collect our shirts and medals and wind back to the Race Village.

Survivors. Champions. Heroes.

And that, finally, is that. We completed the race, ticked a massive target off our bucket lists, and had a blast doing it. Even when things got tough, the atmosphere kept us moving. I cannot fault the amazing spectators for everything and all their wonderful support during those thirteen miles.

There is one more thing I want to mention. There was a man we passed at the starting line who was running for Great Ormand Street Children's Hospital. Not only was he older than us, he was running with a cement mixer on his back and pushing a loaded wheelbarrow. We saw him one more time, as we we making our way back down the hill toward the train station. The man was pushing the wheelbarrow up the final hill and still bloody running.

Cement mixer man.

This is what these events are all about. This is an ordinary man doing something totally superhuman. Yes, the elite runners are impressive physical specimens, but this man is an absolute hero. He was only about forty minutes behind us and still moving at an amazing pace, despite the hill and the weight on his back. What a champion.

With that, the Bath Half 2025 comes to an end. Now we have six weeks to prepare for a challenge that's double the length. Next stop: Manchester.