Runner's Words

The 2026 Manchester Marathon was be my fifth marathon since uttering the immortal words “No More Marathons” after London 2018 felt like it nearly killed me. Getting this one over the line would mean I’d done just as many marathons since saying “no more marathons” as I had before I’d said it. Go figure.

Overall, this was down to be my tenth; la décima, as they say. I can still remember marking my décima 10k all those years ago and never imagining I’d get near to that number at the full marathon distance. Back then I’d only run two; now look at me.

There’d been a wide range of efforts at the full distance over the years. From my début over in Liverpool all the way back in 2011, to World Majors in London (twice) and Boston, alongside all those others in my adopted home of Manchester including that strange, solitary effort during the pandemic in 2020, there’s been something for everyone really. But what I’ve never done before is to try and run a marathon without properly training for a marathon. And with very good reason.

It was kinda unavoidable in this case though. I mean, sure, I could have just like…not chosen to run a marathon, since I, y’know, hadn’t trained to run a marathon. That would have been the eminently sensible option. But when I saw the last-minute appeal from Moya Cole Hospice for runners due to a few dropouts in the leadup to raceday I felt compelled to help. With the signup deadline rapidly approaching I didn’t have long to decide, so I made an impulse decision to try and do what I could and deal with the consequences.

To say I’ve been blown away by the support since signing up has been an understatement, and it’s made the whole thing so, so worthwhile. I knew it was going to be a deeply unpleasant experience but as the sponsorship and good luck messages continued to flood in it gave me such a boost to get it done, however long it took. It didn’t matter how I did it; I just had to do it, by hook or by crook. And look, if you want a spoiler: I bloody did it, so if you wanted to sponsor me post-marathon, you can below (thank you!).

Despite the terrible (i.e. mostly non-existent) preparation, the strange thing was how calm I felt about the whole thing. Even on the morning of the race, when the ol’ anxieties would usually kick into gear and I end up constantly thinking about needing to go to the loo, it all felt relatively calm. I got a decent enough sleep, I managed a reasonable breakfast. Usually these are the real struggles on marathon day, but here, things felt…okay, I guess?

I think overall it was just because the pressure was off though. I was unprepared, but it was (probably) fine. It mattered not when or how I got to the finish, I just had to finish. No mean feat admittedly, considering I’d be running down to Altrincham and back; I mean, marathons are bloody awful, really. But it mattered not one jot how long it took me. I just had to get the job done and justify all the incredibly generous sponsorship that had flooded in the short time since signing up for this mad challenge.

Despite a couple of minor stresses on the way over thanks to just missing a tram and subsequently being late for the callup to my starting pen, all was generally okay as I lined up to get going, enjoying the chilly sunshine and trying to soak up the atmosphere as we waited those last few minutes to get going. Bizarrely just before kick off the lass off the Jet2 advert came on the tannoy, which safe to say has never happened in my 60+ races before, and then as soon as she was finished we were sent on our way by Dame Sarah Storey and the “marathon without training” experiment was slowly underway.

One of my main fears on any marathon – least of all this one – is going out too hard at the start and melting a couple of hours down the road as result, but thankfully it was quite easy to hold a steadyish pace over the first couple of miles due to some pretty hefty congestion as we snaked towards town and back. I’d started pretty far back in my wave so was behind a fair chunk of runners that were a tad slower than my usual marathon pace had I been going all-in, including the crowd of people forming the 3:30 pacing bus, which was great to help keep me on track while I just focussed on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to appreciate the atmosphere, which as usual with the Manchester Manchester was pretty decent in parts.

It was just an all round great morning for it. The sunny weather had brought the crowds out supporting us on our merry way, and I was genuinely surprised how many made the effort to shout out my name despite the fact it was just the standard printed one on my bib that pretty much everyone has. It all helped spur me on, along with all the usual bands and choirs and stuff, most notably of all the brass band somewhere along the A56 (I think) parping out a pretty epic version of the Top Gun theme tune. If that didn’t inspire me to keep on running, nothing would.

Everything was nicely on track over the first half of the race although I did start to feel the first bits of lethargy as we came into Altrincham, this time around back in its usual spot around the halfway mark. I was a bit worried my legs were starting to feel heavy at this point; it was approaching the furthest I’d run for six months before signing up for this race and I knew if I was struggling now then I could be in real trouble in an hour or two.

Happily though I had a lot to look forward to down in Alty, and for the first time ever on a Manchester Marathon I left the place in better shape than I entered it. 2014 and 2016 here was where I realised I was never going to hit my time target and 2021 it was where the first seeds of doubt for the hitting the sub three were sown. I’ve got history with the place, and something about the little inclines in and around the town centre always seem to knock me for six a bit. This time though I didn’t care too much; I knew my wife would be around there somewhere at the Moya Cole Hospice cheer point which’d helped keep my mindset in a positive place looking forward to seeing her, and there was a good chance a couple of close friends would be thereabouts as well.

Just before halfway mark there she was, shouting and clapping surrounded by the rest of the Moya Cole team. A sweaty embrace – which I instantly apologised for – followed by a brief, but lovely, chat and a couple of photos and I was back on my way again, feeling pretty bloody emotional as usual when this happens, but before I could get myself together I came across my mates 400m later and it was time for another sweaty hug (SORRY!) and another brief stop to chat and thank them for all their support. It’d been a lovely few minutes all in all.

I don’t know if it was the positive vibes from seeing everyone or the brief rest from actually stopping running for a bit but I felt a new lease of life heading out of Altrincham. We were back on track and only, er, 13.1 miles left to run. It’d helped re-shape my race tactics a bit though and I decided from then on that taking little pauses as and when appropriate was the key to getting the job done. I began to ease off through water stations, dropping right down to a brisk stroll if I was taking on an energy gel and even stopping completely on a couple of occasions if I needed to chuck the wrapper in the bin or whatever. It was working, and slowly but surely I was making my way towards the finish line.

Heading towards the final third it was starting to become increasingly hard though, despite those little breaks. The energy from the crowd and the constant “tap here for power up” signs could only take me so far and I was starting to flag big time, but just as the next real wave of fatigue began to wash over me can a sudden, unexpected opportunity for the 2026 Manchester Marathon to become April’s Beer Run™, AKA my new favourite type of run. A miracle had occurred.

One day I hope to get a blog out about these but essentially over the last year or so – mainly (but not exclusively) during the warmer, sunnier months – the monthly beer run has become a staple of my running, filling a void of probably one of the only things I miss from my cycling days: stopping for a pint on the way round. Maybe it all stems from a couple of years ago during the Boston Marathon where I was given a cold tin by a spectator at mile 9, or possibly even further back at beer stop at mile 10 of the 2016 Great North Run. Who knows really, but however it became a thing in the first place, the 2026 Manchester Marathon became my second marathon with a beer, and it was all the better for it.

Was it a mirage? No, there were actually people stood out in the road handing out cups of fresh, cold, lager. It was a complete no-brainer; I stopped, took one, and it went down absolutely brilliantly. I felt a wave of energy flowing through me, like when Popeye nails a can of spinach. I was back in the game, ready to tackle the last few miles and bring it all home, although not before making a mental note to ensure May’s Beer Run was scheduled in for a return sortie to The Little B in Sale to thank them dearly in person, which I duly did a couple of weeks later for a bank holiday Beer Run™.

Off I trotted once again, the next couple of miles flying past as I put my new lease of life to good use, bouncing past the crowds around Sale before the long drag back up the A56 where life started becoming hard again. I was now over the 20 mile mark which always helps mentally, although it still meant I had around 10k to run which would likely be at least another hour or so. The big, lively crowds through Chorlton, as well as a confusing Jet2 “Runway” at the Four Banks (don’t ask, I don’t have the answer) briefly took my mind off the pain and exhaustion that was now building with every step, but then it was straight back into hell mode each time I glanced at the remaining distance and realised what I still had left to do.

The struggle was real and by now the lack of marathon training had become A Very Big Issue. I was into completely unchartered waters by this point and the distance remaining seemed to be coming down so slowly I was struggling to believe I could get it finished. Back in 2021 running through this stretch out of Chorlton I had barely a mile to go; this time around, with the new finish line in front of the University of Manchester, I had another few miles still ahead of me and it straight up felt insurmountable at times. I took one last walking break to take on my final energy gel, then gritted my teeth and got my head down. Let’s do this. I could nearly taste the beer and pizza waiting for me just beyond the finish line.

The last chunk of the race was a bit of a rollercoaster. I was mentally and physically pretty much completely gone by now, struggling to even muster the energy to acknowledge the crowds cheering down the sides of the road, not that there were any in the first half of the final mile as I crawled around what I think were the edges of a deserted Manchester Science Park. I couple of dizzy spells knocked me for six a bit and it all felt just a little bit eerie, a long way from the “crescendo” effect of my last couple of marathons in Boston and Chester where it felt like the energy of the crowd was growing by with every step, drawing me towards that finish line.

Happily we turned onto Oxford Road for the big finale and it was absolutely packed, the crowds down both flanks of the finishing straight responding to my cheers, waves and fist pumps. There was absolutely no chance of the big sprint finish today, but that was fine. I just took my time to take it all in and try and appreciate everything before staggering over the line in a daze, utterly exhausted but deeply emotional, which increased exponentially when my wife rang me to congratulate me and I could barely get the words out without feeling like I was about to burst into tears. I quickly grabbed my bag of warm dry clothing and headed to meet her at one of our favourite bars for Spanish lager, giant slices of pizza and great music.

I had done it, I had actually done it. The “marathon without marathon training” experiment was, somehow, complete. My wife’d told me down in Altrincham I’d hit my fundraising target which was such a massive boost to me at that point in the race. Over £750 raised in two weeks for Moya Cole Hospice, followed my a load more in the hours and days after I’d staggered across the line. It’s since gone over £1k, and I genuinely can’t believe it. Thank you all so so much.

And that’s the main thing isn’t it? The whole reason I’d put myself through this stupid challenge was to try and make the best out of a bad situation and see what I could do to raise money to make up the shortfall from those who’d not been able to take part in the race. To raise as much as I could to help Moya Cole Hospice continue to provide their amazing care and support for people with cancer and non-cancer life-limiting illnesses, alongside all the support for relatives, carers and friends too. It hurt like hell but it’d been a resounding success.

This good thing about this one too is that – unlike my last marathon – I didn’t have to run a half marathon the week immediately after, although that didn’t stop me signing up a couple of days ago for this Sunday’s Great Manchester Runs – i.e. both the Half Marathon and the 10k – to try and get my fundraising total even higher. Another last-minute sign up, for two races on one day. Over 18 miles across two races, call it the victory lap or whatever, the “Manchester Triple” (alongside the marathon) if you will. Either way it’s another big, big challenge on the very near horizon. And if you’d like to sponsor that, then I’d be absolutely made up about it. x