For a lot of my life running a marathon was one of those pipe dream sorts of things. I’d always wanted to do one but found a suitably long list of reasons why I couldn’t. No time to train. Didn’t get a place in the ballot. Worried that I’d have to give up football to prepare. Well, at long last I did it! 26.2 miles on the streets of London in 3 hours and 50 minutes.
And now that I have, I feel three things. Firstly, an immense sense of pride. Secondly, gratitude for more people than I could ever list, including so many people who sponsored me and strangers for their kindness on the route; and lastly, sore. My legs are dead, even 5 days after the fact. But as my good friend Jenny says, ‘the pain is temporary, the pride is forever’.