Pints, PBS and Potential Food Poisoning:  Radical Runs the London Marathon 2026

From heatstroke to under-fuelling to 140m of elevation, training for the London Marathon 2026 was far from your typical training block. I have never pushed myself so hard mentally and physically for a race before, and I would change nothing.

I loved every moment of it. Well… if you asked my friends, who often received mid-run breakdown calls, with me crying on the side of the road about hills and the brutal Australian summer, they might say otherwise. But there’s nothing quite like the intensity of a marathon block.

The hours, the blood, sweat, and tears. Early mornings, long runs, constant fatigue, minimal social life, and hours pounding the pavement solo, all before you even reach the start line.

Marathon training isn’t for the weak, but wow is it worth it.

Some call me a masochist. Some call me stubborn. I prefer to describe it as my biannual healthy hyper-fixation.

So buckle in as we debrief all things London Marathon… from the comfort of my bed, one day after smashing a PB.

Oh, and did I mention I ran the London Marathon?!

Like winning the lottery… except I’m still poor and had to run 42.2km.

The ballot luck:

Back in June 2025, my sister texted me out of the blue saying the London Marathon ballot was opening soon and, as a joke, we should all apply.

At the time, I was at the start of my snow season in Thredbo, Australia, arguably in one of the worst fitness states I’d been in for years (I blame the copious après beers and ciggies).

I had previously run Brighton Marathon in 2024 after failing to get into London. That training block was HARD. I got severely injured and almost didn’t make it to the start line, but we’ll get to that.

After Googling the odds (a casual 1.5–2% success rate), I laughed and thought, yeah go on then.

Well… out of 1.1 million applicants, I somehow got in.

After double, no, triple, checking it wasn’t a prank, I called my sister. I was the only person I knew who got a place… while living on the other side of the planet.

I realised how lucky I was. Despite the cost of flying home, new trainers, and a proper training plan, I couldn’t have been more excited.

Running but make it Radical:

Getting a ballot place means you technically run “just for fun” (I use that term lightly, most people reacted like I’d volunteered for public execution when I told them).

No charity required. No fundraising obligation.

But for me, that didn’t feel right.

I’d landed a spot in one of the biggest marathons in the world—I wanted it to mean something bigger than just chasing a PB.

So after some scrolling, emailing, and a minor identity crisis, the choice became obvious.

I decided to fundraise for Surfers Against Sewage.

They’ve been a huge part of my life, especially during my time in Cornwall. If you’ve spent any time in the UK ocean, you’ll know them.

Founded in 1990 by surfers fed up with literally surfing through sewage (yes, really), they’ve grown into one of the UK’s leading environmental charities.

They fight sewage pollution, reduce plastic waste, and empower communities to take action. Their Safer Seas & Rivers app gives real-time water quality updates, something I definitely wish I’d checked more often.

So yeah, what started as “just a run” became something much bigger.

Mumma didn’t raise no quitter…

This time around, I refused to repeat Brighton.

Back then? I followed a dodgy training plan, ran every session too fast, ignored recovery, skipped strength work, and paid the price.

IT band syndrome. Knee pain. Shin splints so bad I couldn’t sleep.

This time? I trained smarter.

I fuelled properly. I prioritised recovery. And, shock horror, I listened to my body.

Was it perfect? Absolutely not.

I was balancing working two jobs whilst training for a bloody marathon. There were breakdown calls, missed paces, dehydration mistakes, 30km runs in peak heat, and questionable life choices (including a half marathon PB after tequila and a dress-up night…).

But I stayed consistent.

And for the first time, I felt genuinely confident going into a race.

Maranoia and taper tantrums:

Then came taper week.

In theory: rested, fresh, ready.
In reality: exhausted, anxious, convinced I’d lost all fitness overnight.

Jet lag didn’t help. Missing a speed session sent me into a spiral. My legs felt heavy, and suddenly I doubted everything.

A few weeks earlier, I’d been running in 35°C heat in Australia… and now I was panicking about a mild British spring.

Taper brain is wild.

To make things worse? I forgot to bring the gels I’d trained with. Couldn’t find them in the UK. Panic bought a random brand and prayed I wouldn’t shit myself mid-race.

Confidence = questionable.

Race day chaos:

The day before the marathon, I did everything you’re not meant to do:

• Walked 15,000 steps around London
• Under-ate and under-hydrated
• Slept 3 hours in a sauna-like room
• Developed stomach pain and a migraine
• Ate a ridiculous amount of sushi to “carb load”

I felt awful.

Race morning? Worse.

Within minutes of waking up, I was sprinting to the bathroom. I’ll spare the details, but it was not good.

Food poisoning? Probably.

I genuinely thought I might not even make the start line.

But after a Lucozade, some fresh air, and a pep talk with my dad… we walked to the start. A 37 minute treck…

Glitter freckles on. Vibes… fragile.

GET IT GAL:

Despite everything, I was BUZZING. Shoutout to the boy talking me through pre run warm ups seconds before the marathon started <3

The crowds were insane. The atmosphere unreal.

The first few kilometres were chaotic, elbows flying directly into my boobs, people everywhere, but eventually I settled into rhythm.

By 7km, I was smiling. By halfway, I was flying.

The support? Unmatched. Music, cheering, signs, London showed up.

The pain cave…

Then 33km hit.

My shin. My knee. That familiar pain which put me out of training for a month before my debut marathon.

The fear crept in, but I wasn’t stopping.

I saw my friends right when I needed them most. I shouted, “I feel like utter shit!”

They shouted back, “You’ve got this!”

So I kept going.

One foot in front of the other.

girls finish too:

The final stretch, 380 yards to go.

I ended up running alongside a guy deep in the marathon pain cave. We laughed, shared stories, mine about my morning mayhem, his about him being deep into the runners ‘k-hole’, saying he’s never been in so much pain, nor has he ever done something so hard. I had a lot left in the tank so I said my goodbyes and picked up the pace to finish strong.

And just like that, it was done.

Another marathon. A PB. And somehow… an extra 3km (don’t ask)

Post run pints and pride:

Finding my family was chaos. Securing a Guinness? Essential.

They said I looked “too sprightly” for someone who’d just run a marathon… I was already planning the next one.

London was purely magical.

You are never alone. Every runner has a story. Every mile is powered by people.

And I got to be part of it.

Fundraising update:

We raised £802 for Surfers Against Sewage.

Honestly, this means more than the PB.

Thank you to everyone who supported, donated, and cheered me on, I could not and would not put my body through this without the network of people I had next to me, pushing me through it.

Post race blues:

The marathon blues are real.

You go from months of purpose… to nothing.

Miles upon miles, regardless of weather, regardless of busy schedules and your mood.

You want to run, but your body says absolutely not.

So naturally, I’m already thinking about the next one.

Rumour has it it’s Toyko’s 20th anniversary next year and a post marathon snowboarding trip is calling my name so sweetly…

I can’t wait to get back into it.

Faster. Stronger. Slightly more prepared (and hopefully less poisoned).

Radical is making waves, watch this space 🌊