I nearly ran a marathon with no training. But I didn't.
With the confidence of a middle-aged man I said yes to doing the London Marathon with three weeks notice and no training. I think the gods saved me.
It was whilst sitting in a government building in Birmingham, coincidentally chatting about my own list of things to do, that I got the text message through that asked if I fancied doing the marathon. Not just any marathon, but the London Marathon, regarded by at least the population of Great Britain as the best of all possible marathons. And not just any marathon, but the one that was happening 21 days later. I had done no training at all at this point. I'm not even really a runner. I mean, I can run, and can knock out a 5k in about 25 minutes and 10k in about 55, but I might run four or five times a year. I'm 45 years old, work at a desk all day, and both eat and drink slightly on the unhealthy side of what the doctor would order. My knees hurt for days after even a day of walking, and I've never run more than 15km in one go in my life. So, of course, I said yes. The place was available as a friend of a friend, who very coincidentally I'd spent years working with twenty years prior, had just injured himself whist training. He very much is a runner, and loves nothing more than pounding the pavement for hours on end in the search for what I still believe is a mythical endorphin rush. He was gutted as he'd been raising money for a charity helping kids from disadvantaged backgrounds get into tech, two things very close to my heart. My family said I shouldn't do it. My friends said I was mad. My girlfriend believed I'd actually die. But some opportunities are too good to turn down. How often would I get a chance to run in the actual London Marathon? 1.8m people applied for it in 2026, despite the fact that there are only 20,000 ballot places. The chances are infinitely low, and that's not even taking into account the excuse I'd have for not having to spend months training. I hate running at the best of times - it takes ages, hurts my knees, and is intensely boring. I've never understood the appeal, other than to stay fit and maybe lose some weight. This was a chance for me to legitimately give it a go and not have any of the social stigma when I revealed that I wouldn't have been able to really train. I'd tick something off my list, I'd raise some money for charity, and would have a bloody good story to tell as well. Win-win-win. Sadly, it wasn't to be. After a week of trying to get all the paperwork sorted we discovered that it wasn't going to be possible this year. He had already been a replacement for someone else, and apparently you're only able to transfer a place once. I guess this is to stop people touting their places around and selling them on for profit, but it was really frustrating in this situation. I'd mentally started preparing myself for the challenge. I knew I wouldn't be able to train as the recovery period for my knees between each run would be too great. With three weeks to go it really wouldn't have made all that much difference in any case, plus the risk of a random injury just wasn't worth it - I'd have no time at all to get better before the day. No, the only plan was to rely on my natural fitness levels and on the adrenaline throughout the day. The crowd would get me round, even if I would have to run/walk the whole way. The disappointment for me was real, probably as real as the relief from everyone I knew. But I'm not sure what I was more disappointed about: the fact I wouldn't be able to raise a load of money for a good cause, the missed chance to do something I thought I'd never do, or me missing the chance to have one hell of a story. "I nearly did something" is nowhere near as impressive as "I did something", even if that something goes wrong. Have I signed up to next year's ballot? Yes I have. Will I get a place? It's highly unlikely at best. Will it be as good a story if I actually do luck into a spot? Nowhere near. I'll hate the training, I'll hate the preparation, I'll hate the sacrifices I'll have to make, and I'll hate that it's the same story as everyone else who runs will have. But, like every time I run, I'll love having finished. And that's worth giving it a go for, whatever the pain along the way.