5:25am, Sunday 19 April 2026. I’ve been awake for an hour already. I’m agitated. Adrenaline is running through my body. Energy, nerves, excitement.
Today is marathon day.
It’s been a long time coming. The training started in January. A lot of rain. A few lost toenails. Times when I felt motivated. Times when I didn’t. Times when I didn’t think I could do it.
Breakfast is a bagel and peanut butter. I remind myself to take a banana with me in the car.
The drive to Manchester is quiet. Quiet on the roads at least. The tunes in the car are going off. Too much nervous energy to work off. Singing helps.
A quick pit stop at McDonald’s in Wythenshawe to meet my brother. The opportunity for a wee (the first of many). ‘Do you want a coffee?’ he asks. ‘Absolutely not,’ I reply. Nothing to upset my stomach.
I drop the car at St Werburghs Road tram stop in Chorlton. No problem parking. Have I got everything I need? There’s no going back once I’m on the tram.
A few runners wait on the platform. We share nervous smiles. We feel the same. Energy, nerves, excitement.
The first tram arrives. It’s packed. No room to get on. I start to worry. Will I get there in time? The next tram comes. It’s packed as well. This time, I’m getting on, I think. I squeeze in.
Arriving at Trafford Bar, everyone exits the tram. We all wait patiently to tap out. We wait. We wait some more.
By the time I leave the station I need to go again. I join other chaps peeing by the side of the road. Needs must.
At the start, the atmosphere is buzzing. The sun is shining. I feel happy to be here. Lucky.
I change into my race shoes, assess how they feel. They feel good. The lady at the bag drop gives me a huge smile. ‘Good luck,’ she says.
I hanging around. The sun is shining and it’s warm, so I don’t mind. I go for another wee, and another wee, and another wee. Where is the wee coming from?
I’m in the grey wave. We’re called to the start. This is it. Energy, nerves, excitement.
10:20 on the dot. The grey wave is off. It’s busy, but not too busy. I weave in and out of slower runners. We head towards the Manchester skyline. The buildings reflect the sun. I’m content. 26 miles to go, and I’m content. It’s a strange feeling.
We turn. Head out towards Stretford. The crowds are incredible. So much encouragement. So many smiles. People call my name. I smile back. I feel great.
I’m at 7:55 per mile pace. Exactly as I’d planned. It doesn’t feel fast. It feels comfortable. My confidence builds.
We pass under the motorway. Something shifts in my legs. I feel them speed up. Not too much. It feels good. I go with it.
Crowds line the streets as run through Sale. I need a wee, I think. But I’m not going to stop. It passes.
Sweat is dripping into my eyes. It’s mixed with hair product or moisturiser. It stings. I wipe my face with my shirt.
I see my family in Timperley. My cheering squad. A cheer from my mum. High fives from my brother and nephew. I’m boosted. My legs feel good. I speed up a little.
We run. Along long, treelined roads. Big houses on either side. They go on forever.
18 miles in. I still feel good, but there’s a different feeling. Hunger. I forgot to eat my banana, I think. I’m taking on gels, electrolytes, every 25 minutes. I try to forget the hunger. Strong, steady, smooth, I say to myself. I remind myself how good I feel.
We pass under the motorway again. There are DJs playing some banging tunes – the best ones of the day. I feel like stopping here and listening. Maybe dancing. I run on.
Six miles to go. 10km. Two parkruns.
Back through Stretford and a high five off my friend and colleague Linda. Another boost. The energy is waning. The nerves have gone. The excitement remains.
Through Chorlton. My favourite part of the whole race. Amazing crowds. So many cheers and shouts of ‘go on Tom’. I’m still smiling. I’m starting to hurt, but I’m smiling.
Through to Hulme and it’s getting difficult. Up Stretford Road, past my old flat from the year 2000. It’s really hurting now.
Past the 25-mile sign. One more mile. Sporadically, my brain gets through to my legs that we’re racing. We need to go faster. Mostly, my legs ignore it. They run the speed they want to run. It’s a bit slower. But we’re moving. Nearly there.
Onto Oxford Road. Crowds everywhere. I can see the finish. My legs find another gear. I feel like I’m sprinting. I’m clearly not. My energy has almost disappeared. My nerves the same. But still, I feel excited. Excited to finish.
I cross the line. Stop my watch. 3:22:42. Smashed it. Couldn’t ask for a better time.
My legs seize up. My muscles tighten. I struggle to walk. I take on water. I am elated. Dizzy.
What an experience. Not much has ever felt better. 26.2 miles. The ultimate test of endurance.
How do I beat that? The thrill, adrenaline, the achievement.
Another marathon? Let’s start training.
