London Marathon 2025: Finding Strength in Adversity

The Preparation

One of the greatest gifts running has given me is learning how to overcome adversity. The London Marathon tested me on every level — physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Some challenges were self-inflicted. In what I thought was a great idea at the time, I ran a 52km ultra as my peak-week long run. It felt fine on the day, but it triggered hip tendinitis shortly after. I rested, swapped my runs for sessions on the elliptical, and tried to keep the bigger picture in mind — but my confidence took a hit.

Two weeks before London, I had a half marathon booked with a friend. I didn’t want to let her down, and I also wanted to “test” the injury. Every step hurt, but I discovered something powerful: I had the inner strength to keep going despite the pain. That gave me hope that on marathon day, with adrenaline, the crowd, and maybe a few painkillers, I’d survive.

And then came the real battle: COVID.

At first, it felt like a heavy cold. Then the cough hit. Then shortness of breath. And finally, it triggered my asthma, which had been well-controlled until then. At one point, I struggled just to walk upstairs. I was crushed. But deep down, I knew: there was no way I wasn’t at least going to try to run this race. I threw every remedy I could at my body, desperately trying to heal in time.

Race Day

Race morning arrived and I wasn’t fully recovered, but I was healing. I’d stayed with a friend in central London, but sleep had been impossible thanks to nerves and coughing fits. Still, as the sun came up, I felt strangely calm.

At the start line, the anticipation hung in the air. The first few miles felt like any other race. Then the different start waves merged, the crowds grew louder, and it hit me:

I’m running the London Marathon.

Things felt okay… until they didn’t. My hip gave out. My chest tightened. Breathing became difficult. Pace went out the window. Survival was the only goal now.

I focused on two things: fueling and my inhaler. In the final third, the heat became brutal. Sweat poured, and electrolytes saved the day. But my body was shutting down. Even the iconic landmarks couldn’t distract me.

And then — salvation. A surge of joy every time I saw another Black Trail Runner on the course. And later, the moment that carried me through: spotting my mum, sister, niece, and nephew in the crowd and the security staff who let me cross the barrier to give them all a hug.

Rejuvenated, I pushed forward. The home stretch was the hardest I’ve ever worked in a race. And somehow, I crossed the line.

Everything after that was a blur. Pain, exhaustion, lungs on fire, hip screaming. What I didn’t expect? Peeing blood. (Yes, wine-coloured blood. A quick Google told me this can happen post-marathon and is usually harmless if it doesn’t persist.) Eating and sleeping were nearly impossible, but I managed a protein shake and some sushi.

Reflections

This race was never on my radar. The ballot odds felt impossible. But thanks to a community place with Black Trail Runners, I had the chance to stand on that start line.

As a young mixed-race Londoner, I grew up watching the marathon on TV and thinking it was something other people did. Running it myself gave me my why. Representing Black Trail Runners gave me my why. Inspiring my daughter gave me my why.

Those whys carried me through the darkest miles.

Would I do it again? I’m not sure yet. The pain is still too fresh. But however brutal it was, it was iconic. I discovered new levels of strength within myself. Two years into my running journey, I’m still learning, still evolving, still surprising myself.

London on marathon day was magical. I haven’t felt that kind of joy and unity in the city since the 2012 Olympics. In a place where people rarely make eye contact with their neighbours, running brought us all together. The roar of strangers, the encouragement of fellow runners, the kindness in every cheer — it left its mark on me forever.

The London Marathon wasn’t just a race. It was a reminder of the magic of sport to connect us all.