robert-cal asked: Hi Manvmiles, you must have been pretty strong after 13.1 daily for 31 days. That’s 92 miles/week. How did you feel at the beginning of your training cycle? I have always thought that for marathon training is that it’s mostly about the miles even though I like the speed/strength interval work.

Hi, I was feeling really good after the December Challenge. I got stronger as the month went on. When I started the 12-week marathon training, I’d had a week or so with lower mileage but when I started the marathon training proper, I was in great shape. My metabolic and VO2 tests showed a huge improvement in my profile from those before the challenge. I’d built a great foundation for my specific marathon training. 

I was much like you before I met Giuseppe and Fit.as. I thought marathon success was all about what you did on the roads but adding strength, diet changes and quality mileage over quantity, has worked for me. The proof was in my run on Sunday.

What are you training for?



gregwhite asked: Hello there! Greg in Los Angeles here. I'm currently training for my 3:05 bq, and was wondering how long your base phase was, and how many miles a week you peaked at. Thanks!

I had a month-long base phase that saw me do 31 half marathons in 31 days. That was ahead of a 12-week marathon specific programme where I did a 4-week base phase. I peaked at 90km/55m in a week in the early party of of my schedule. When’s your race?



Anonymous asked: I'm half way across the world (Melb, Aust) so I didn't think it would be worth checking out the marathon tracker, but something made me do it anyway. Apparently you're now 20km in and the predicted time it gives you is 2:56:00. So I just wanted to say that I'm excited as hell, and have my fingers crossed! I hope you have a great run and love every moment of it. :)

Thanks so much for your message. It’s wonderful to get messages like this from all the way across the world. Really chuffed with how it ended too. So thanks for supporting me.



seechrisrun asked: Way to go, man! You nailed it!

Thanks Chris. Over to you fella. All eyes on Boston. Get the feeling you’ll be posting your best yet.



Anonymous asked: Well done on your sub 3!! I'm so happy for you

Thanks Anon. You know you’ve achieved something special when even the little grey faces are sending love. ;-)



Put your hands together…

I’m sitting overlooking some rolling Irish fields, having a welcome rest and taking some time to go through all of the lovely messages and congratulations everyone has sent, posted on my updates for the London Marathon.

I read most of them in the moment but haven’t had a chance to respond. (When will Tumblr let you like a comment a la Facebook?)

I can’t tell you how much all of the kinds words have helped me over the past three months. It’s been amazing to have so many people rooting for me from near and far.

So this a huge thank you post to everyone who’s clicked on a heart, reblogged or written a message. You guys all kick ass.

Plus a special shout out to some people who’ve inspired me throughout, whether by messages of support or just enabling me to follow their own motivational journeys.

Here’s to you running tribe…

@areyoufitas@seechrisrun, @is-this-me-or-what, @ultrarunnersean@fivefootsomethingrunning, @btnursey, @runlong, @whitneyrunson, @runningtoescapethetruth,  @runsedarun, @running4thehigh @clifbarsandpeanutbutter@kaylarunshappy, @brownfamilyfarm, @liftingmyspirits, @derfeierabend, @running-engineering-cats, @kimrunsamarathon, @runningchanwa, @eupnee, @robert-cal, @malloryrunsthis, @beinghealthydutchman, @fastlikeabloodyrocketship , @sazsimpson, @r4turner, @staciwoolleylovesswimming, @fasterphil, @umherum, @danagoesthedistance, @beyondconsulting, @steen-to-be-a-marathoner, @ssommerlondon, @iwaswondering, @mrcarlosbc, @nymitty, @inherrunningshoes, @tinkerbellrun, @taiter42, @beardedrunner, @post-procrastination @matttaran, @beautifulworldbeautifulthings, @slowsweetlove, @matteostori, @@clubathletica, @retrobanjo           

One particular shout out to matteostori who’s Endomondo pep talk came over my headphones just after halfway and spurred me on. 



btnursey asked: Kieran, Your London Marathon post had me engaged from the start, and I had tears in my eyes at the end. What an incredible achievement, and to be able to recount it so beautifully - it really is captivating. Congratulations. I'm training up for my first marathon in September in Sydney and I'm sure that I will be constantly popping back to your blog for inspiration. Thankyou, Stef.

Hi Stef, thanks for the lovely message. I’m glad you enjoyed the read. It’s hard to do the day justice really. It’s still got me walking ten feet tall. You’ve got all that to look forward to. Do you have a training plan sorted for Sep? How’s it going?



Hold tight London…
I’m sat on a tuft of grass at the side of a Greenwich road. Even though it’s only 9.36am, the sun is starting to scorch the back of my neck. Around me a multi-coloured shuffle of running shoes scuffs the grey asphalt of south East London, like bulls ready to charge.
Fifty or sixty caged runners fix their gaze on a point in the distance. Some stare intently at the race clock, ticking slowly towards 10am. Others fixate on a big red banner that says ‘START’. Wondering how long it’ll be before they’ll see a big red banner that says ‘FINISH’. 
Laces are checked. Checked again. Shirts are untucked and retucked. GPS watches bleep into life. Mobile phones buzz with messages of support. Clammy hands clutch unopened gels.
Hardly a word is exchanged. 
In Pen Number One of the London Marathon, things are different. Focused. Serious. Not a rhino costume in sight.
This is new territory for me and I’m feeling tense. 
I put my head in my hands and press hard on my eyes, trying to blacken out the hubbub around me.
I lock a pair of Monster iSport Victory headphones into my ears and pump New Order’s Blue Faith into the darkness, trying to force out the scatter-gun thoughts. I focus on one thing - the race plan. 
I turn it over in my mind. Seven at seven, fourteen at six-forty, six point two at seven. Seven at seven, fourteen at six-forty, six point two at seven. Rinse and repeat.
I visualise turning the final corner onto the Mall with the clock on 2:59, creating a mental image of success. 
Next time I look up, the big yellow clock ticks to 9:55am. With five minutes to go, the advice of my coach Giuseppe jostles its way front of mind.
“Get your heart rate up to a decent level before you start,” I hear him saying. “You don’t want to start cold.”
I spring to my feet, and in what little space I can find, I start jogging on the spot. Prancing like a Spanish show horse until my Garmin registers 100+ BPM.
Next I rip open a carb gel, the first of seven gloopy strawberry and vanilla energy hits I’ll sink today. The pre-race ritual continues as I fire up my run-tracking app, Endomondo, and get my back-up GPS locked.
Next it’s music.  I open my 3:15 minute long London Marathon Spotify playlist and think to myself, I hope I don’t need those last two tracks. 
At that point I realise a tide of texts, Tweets, Tumblr notes and emails of support have flooded my phone. The support is overwhelming. Inspiring. Moving. Each 140 collection of 140 characters pumps my chest a little more. Makes the heart beat a little quicker. 108 BPM, says Garmin.
One email in particular stands out. A message from an old friend I’ve not heard from for ages. Someone I never thought I’d hear from again.
“You are so skinny,” It says, referencing the new nine percent body fat frame I’ve chiselled out in training. “Happy birthday and good luck.”
It’s the finishing touch. The final motivational message.
This one means the world. There’s history here. It’s a message from the person who gave me Born to Run in 2010, the book that sparked my passion for running. The timing of it is uncanny. Knowing they’re on my team is huge. It feels like a circle being closed. Neatly. Fitting.  
I swallow a little lump that’s lodged in my throat and look at the clock. Fifty seconds to go.
I hit play on Spotify and the Farm’s Altogether Now soundtracks the final countdown and our collective shuffle to the red-rubber chip mats. My that biggest running challenge to date starts when my foot hits those mats.
One step and a bleep later and I’m off running, chasing the clock through the streets of South East London.
Marathon starts are always busy but London is more congested than most. There’s a propulsion in the first few miles that makes you feel like you and the swarm of runners around you have just been fired from a giant slingshot down the road. It’s hard not to take off like a shot.
But I’ve got a race plan. “7,6:40, 7” I mutter to myself. Three miles later I hit the 5km mark and realise I’m averaging 6:40 minute miles.
Then I make the mistake most marathon runners make. I do the checks. How do I feel? Good. How am I running? Is this pace ok? Yes. Brilliant, looks like I’m bossing this. Let’s kick on. The goal is sub-3 but I start to believe my training means I can go faster. The question is how greedy should I be?
It’s this kind of thinking that sees you wretching up your pre-race breakfast at mile twenty two.  
First I hit 5km in 20:56. Then I reach the six mile mark having run every mile between 5 and 20 seconds faster than the plan. When it’s time to up the pace to the planned 6:40 for mile six to 14, I naturally start clocking 6:30s. 
London’s streets and sights whizz by in a blur. I’m in the zone, taking one mile at a time. Every mile that ticks by in the planned 6:40 or less is just another piece of this puzzle I’m slotting into place.
Around mile eight, I get a little nudge. My friend Simon has arrived running alongside me just in time to catch me singing terrible Euro techno out loud.
We share a few words. He’s incredibly chirpy but then he’s a comfortable sub-3 runner. “Having a great day,” he says. “Suns out, I’m running in my home city, catching up with friends.” His positivity gives me a welcome boost. In a sea of 35,000 runners it’s a great moment to literally run into a mate. But it’s brief. I have to say goodbye and get my head down to run my own race.
At mile 12, we cross Tower Bridge, one of the most famous sections of the course. I’ve been here before. Back inn 2012 it made every hair on my neck stand and salute and this year is no different. 
The crowds line the bridge with balloons, banners, clappers and klaxons. It’s a truly special moment, striding across an iconic part of London in the blazing sunshine with the cheers of thousands pushing you on.
No one here wants anyone to fail. It’s quite a unique feeling.
Mile 12 ends up being my fastest of the race so far at 6:33 and it means I hit the halfway mark in 1:27:54. I’ve bagged myself two minutes and five seconds. At this point I can still do the maths, I have 1:32:05 to get home.
But it’s starting to hurt. I’m already finding I’m having to dig a little deeper than I’d like and there’s a long way to go. The heat is taking it’s toll. The demons are starting to wake. 
“The race starts at 20” I tell myself, starting to fear I’ve gone out too quick.
Luckily I’ve been here before. The Classic Quarter, the Marathon du Mont Blanc, the Thames Path 100km, Chicago, Valencia, Berlin, all the races that have stretched me in the past, now give me a powerful weapon to deploy - belief.
It’s a trick I tell myself over and over. Relentless forward motion. Quicken the foot strike, loosen the shoulders, drink water, eat a gel. Do anything that diverts your attention.
Four more miles pass, two of them worryingly ten seconds or so over the 6:40 race plan. I’m starting to lose some of the time I banked earlier. I’m starting to slow down.
Sometimes while you’re busy watching for that big right hook, running delivers an unexpected body blow. Just after half way, the London Marathon rabbit punched me in the kidneys. 
I like to listen to music while I run. It’s a huge part of what keeps me going. For each marathon, I create a bespoke playlist with tracks carefully timed for the start, the metronomic middle bit, the tough part and the balls-out run in. 
To make this possible, I carry my phone in a little belt around my waist and usually this is fine but around mile sixteen, just as Michael Jackson’s Beat It comes on, the tracks start to skip erratically.
Every three seconds the track jumps. I realise the phone touchscreen has come on inside the belt and, wet with sweat, is now happily skipping and jumping. Every part of me is soaked and I have no way to dry it and reset. It’s buggered. 
I struggle on with the 15 second snippets for half a mile, hoping it’ll sort itself. It doesn’t. Eventually I have to make the call: stop and fix it or ditch the music.
Having lost time on the last two miles I decide I’m going to have to go au naturel for the final ten. It’s a big blow. I love my music and the loss of it weighs on my mind.
It’s stupid but the smallest things can throw you into a negative spiral when you’re pushing yourself on a run like this. The mind uses anything it can to try and make you quit.
I deploy another trick I’ve learnt on the ultra trails: let go of the negative thoughts, find the positives. Instead of Skrillex, I decide to tune into the crowd for encouragement.
Luckily London isn’t lacking in this department. Every twenty metres someone screams your name, urging you on. I decide to distract myself further by looking for familiar faces in the crowd. 
If I can hang on at 6:40 pace until mile 20.2, I’ll have more than 7 minutes per mile to bring it home. Mile 19 and 20 turn out to be two of my fastest. I smash 19 out in 6:02 and twenty in 6:27. Now all I have to do is keep that watch at 7:00 or under for six more miles. It feels like a long, long way.
At some point the zig zagging stops and the London course spits you out onto a long four mile-ish home straight. I don’t realise it but dotted along those four miles are all of my friends, all at different points.
First I run past my family. It’s brief but I see the excitement on their faces. Their belief tops up my own reserves. 
Every half a mile another familiar faces buzzes with the same enthusiasm and I realise this is what’s going to power me home.
At mile 22, I see the charity I ran the December Half Marathon Challenge for, Starfish. A little later there are friends from work belting out encouragement.
As I push my way down the Embankment with Big Ben in the distance, my friend Simon appears at my shoulder again. 
“Lock onto it Kieran. Just lock onto it,” he says. It’s another little timely kick. Another half mile of motivation. Another mantra to utter. “Lock onto it.” I repeat to myself, trying to visualise the red tarmac of the Mall.
As we pass London Bridge to our left and sweep past the iconic sights that hug the Thames, I cash in some credit I’d stored up seven days earlier.
On my last long run I came into town and ran the last three miles of the course. This turns out to be a very smart move. Psychologically, I have the upper hand.
My brain knows what’s left, every yard of tarmac is in my mental and physical memory. I’m able to tell myself that I’ve done this before. I know if my mind believes it can be done, my body will follow. And it does.
With a mile to go the course hangs a right. Westminster Bridge veers off in the opposite direction and the Houses of Parliament loom large and majestic to my right. Oliver Cromwell’s statue peers down as I struggle past. I glance at my watch.
I’ve got about nine minutes to do the final mile. For the first time in three months, I realise I’ve almost certainly achieved my goal. Barring a catastrophe, the sub-3 marathon is mine.
I check the watch again to make sure. 
And again. And again.
I’m still doing the sums when we reach the red asphalt of Birdcage walk with 800m to go.
To my left I notice a blind man and his guide pushing hard, the guide shouting encouragement with every step. I tune into his shouts and pretend they’re for me. That’s true achievement I think to myself. If he can, I can.
With four hundred metres left Buckingham Palace comes into sight. The crowds reach deafening levels. One more u-turn and we turn out back on the Queen’s London house, onto the Mall.
I’ve run this road over and over in training, each time visualising the moment I’d stride down here, wondering what that clock above the big red FINISH sign will say. 
Thirty seconds later, as I cross the line, I look up and I know.
It says 2:59.   

Hold tight London…

I’m sat on a tuft of grass at the side of a Greenwich road. Even though it’s only 9.36am, the sun is starting to scorch the back of my neck. Around me a multi-coloured shuffle of running shoes scuffs the grey asphalt of south East London, like bulls ready to charge.

Fifty or sixty caged runners fix their gaze on a point in the distance. Some stare intently at the race clock, ticking slowly towards 10am. Others fixate on a big red banner that says ‘START’. Wondering how long it’ll be before they’ll see a big red banner that says ‘FINISH’. 

Laces are checked. Checked again. Shirts are untucked and retucked. GPS watches bleep into life. Mobile phones buzz with messages of support. Clammy hands clutch unopened gels.

Hardly a word is exchanged. 

In Pen Number One of the London Marathon, things are different. Focused. Serious. Not a rhino costume in sight.

This is new territory for me and I’m feeling tense. 

I put my head in my hands and press hard on my eyes, trying to blacken out the hubbub around me.

I lock a pair of Monster iSport Victory headphones into my ears and pump New Order’s Blue Faith into the darkness, trying to force out the scatter-gun thoughts. I focus on one thing - the race plan. 

I turn it over in my mind. Seven at seven, fourteen at six-forty, six point two at seven. Seven at seven, fourteen at six-forty, six point two at seven. Rinse and repeat.

I visualise turning the final corner onto the Mall with the clock on 2:59, creating a mental image of success. 

Next time I look up, the big yellow clock ticks to 9:55am. With five minutes to go, the advice of my coach Giuseppe jostles its way front of mind.

“Get your heart rate up to a decent level before you start,” I hear him saying. “You don’t want to start cold.”

I spring to my feet, and in what little space I can find, I start jogging on the spot. Prancing like a Spanish show horse until my Garmin registers 100+ BPM.

Next I rip open a carb gel, the first of seven gloopy strawberry and vanilla energy hits I’ll sink today. The pre-race ritual continues as I fire up my run-tracking app, Endomondo, and get my back-up GPS locked.

Next it’s music.  I open my 3:15 minute long London Marathon Spotify playlist and think to myself, I hope I don’t need those last two tracks. 

At that point I realise a tide of texts, Tweets, Tumblr notes and emails of support have flooded my phone. The support is overwhelming. Inspiring. Moving. Each 140 collection of 140 characters pumps my chest a little more. Makes the heart beat a little quicker. 108 BPM, says Garmin.

One email in particular stands out. A message from an old friend I’ve not heard from for ages. Someone I never thought I’d hear from again.

“You are so skinny,” It says, referencing the new nine percent body fat frame I’ve chiselled out in training. “Happy birthday and good luck.”

It’s the finishing touch. The final motivational message.

This one means the world. There’s history here. It’s a message from the person who gave me Born to Run in 2010, the book that sparked my passion for running. The timing of it is uncanny. Knowing they’re on my team is huge. It feels like a circle being closed. Neatly. Fitting.  

I swallow a little lump that’s lodged in my throat and look at the clock. Fifty seconds to go.

I hit play on Spotify and the Farm’s Altogether Now soundtracks the final countdown and our collective shuffle to the red-rubber chip mats. My that biggest running challenge to date starts when my foot hits those mats.

One step and a bleep later and I’m off running, chasing the clock through the streets of South East London.

Marathon starts are always busy but London is more congested than most. There’s a propulsion in the first few miles that makes you feel like you and the swarm of runners around you have just been fired from a giant slingshot down the road. It’s hard not to take off like a shot.

But I’ve got a race plan. “7,6:40, 7” I mutter to myself. Three miles later I hit the 5km mark and realise I’m averaging 6:40 minute miles.

Then I make the mistake most marathon runners make. I do the checks. How do I feel? Good. How am I running? Is this pace ok? Yes. Brilliant, looks like I’m bossing this. Let’s kick on. The goal is sub-3 but I start to believe my training means I can go faster. The question is how greedy should I be?

It’s this kind of thinking that sees you wretching up your pre-race breakfast at mile twenty two.  

First I hit 5km in 20:56. Then I reach the six mile mark having run every mile between 5 and 20 seconds faster than the plan. When it’s time to up the pace to the planned 6:40 for mile six to 14, I naturally start clocking 6:30s. 

London’s streets and sights whizz by in a blur. I’m in the zone, taking one mile at a time. Every mile that ticks by in the planned 6:40 or less is just another piece of this puzzle I’m slotting into place.

Around mile eight, I get a little nudge. My friend Simon has arrived running alongside me just in time to catch me singing terrible Euro techno out loud.

We share a few words. He’s incredibly chirpy but then he’s a comfortable sub-3 runner. “Having a great day,” he says. “Suns out, I’m running in my home city, catching up with friends.” His positivity gives me a welcome boost. In a sea of 35,000 runners it’s a great moment to literally run into a mate. But it’s brief. I have to say goodbye and get my head down to run my own race.

At mile 12, we cross Tower Bridge, one of the most famous sections of the course. I’ve been here before. Back inn 2012 it made every hair on my neck stand and salute and this year is no different. 

The crowds line the bridge with balloons, banners, clappers and klaxons. It’s a truly special moment, striding across an iconic part of London in the blazing sunshine with the cheers of thousands pushing you on.

No one here wants anyone to fail. It’s quite a unique feeling.

Mile 12 ends up being my fastest of the race so far at 6:33 and it means I hit the halfway mark in 1:27:54. I’ve bagged myself two minutes and five seconds. At this point I can still do the maths, I have 1:32:05 to get home.

But it’s starting to hurt. I’m already finding I’m having to dig a little deeper than I’d like and there’s a long way to go. The heat is taking it’s toll. The demons are starting to wake. 

“The race starts at 20” I tell myself, starting to fear I’ve gone out too quick.

Luckily I’ve been here before. The Classic Quarter, the Marathon du Mont Blanc, the Thames Path 100km, Chicago, Valencia, Berlin, all the races that have stretched me in the past, now give me a powerful weapon to deploy - belief.

It’s a trick I tell myself over and over. Relentless forward motion. Quicken the foot strike, loosen the shoulders, drink water, eat a gel. Do anything that diverts your attention.

Four more miles pass, two of them worryingly ten seconds or so over the 6:40 race plan. I’m starting to lose some of the time I banked earlier. I’m starting to slow down.

Sometimes while you’re busy watching for that big right hook, running delivers an unexpected body blow. Just after half way, the London Marathon rabbit punched me in the kidneys. 

I like to listen to music while I run. It’s a huge part of what keeps me going. For each marathon, I create a bespoke playlist with tracks carefully timed for the start, the metronomic middle bit, the tough part and the balls-out run in. 

To make this possible, I carry my phone in a little belt around my waist and usually this is fine but around mile sixteen, just as Michael Jackson’s Beat It comes on, the tracks start to skip erratically.

Every three seconds the track jumps. I realise the phone touchscreen has come on inside the belt and, wet with sweat, is now happily skipping and jumping. Every part of me is soaked and I have no way to dry it and reset. It’s buggered. 

I struggle on with the 15 second snippets for half a mile, hoping it’ll sort itself. It doesn’t. Eventually I have to make the call: stop and fix it or ditch the music.

Having lost time on the last two miles I decide I’m going to have to go au naturel for the final ten. It’s a big blow. I love my music and the loss of it weighs on my mind.

It’s stupid but the smallest things can throw you into a negative spiral when you’re pushing yourself on a run like this. The mind uses anything it can to try and make you quit.

I deploy another trick I’ve learnt on the ultra trails: let go of the negative thoughts, find the positives. Instead of Skrillex, I decide to tune into the crowd for encouragement.

Luckily London isn’t lacking in this department. Every twenty metres someone screams your name, urging you on. I decide to distract myself further by looking for familiar faces in the crowd. 

If I can hang on at 6:40 pace until mile 20.2, I’ll have more than 7 minutes per mile to bring it home. Mile 19 and 20 turn out to be two of my fastest. I smash 19 out in 6:02 and twenty in 6:27. Now all I have to do is keep that watch at 7:00 or under for six more miles. It feels like a long, long way.

At some point the zig zagging stops and the London course spits you out onto a long four mile-ish home straight. I don’t realise it but dotted along those four miles are all of my friends, all at different points.

First I run past my family. It’s brief but I see the excitement on their faces. Their belief tops up my own reserves. 

Every half a mile another familiar faces buzzes with the same enthusiasm and I realise this is what’s going to power me home.

At mile 22, I see the charity I ran the December Half Marathon Challenge for, Starfish. A little later there are friends from work belting out encouragement.

As I push my way down the Embankment with Big Ben in the distance, my friend Simon appears at my shoulder again. 

“Lock onto it Kieran. Just lock onto it,” he says. It’s another little timely kick. Another half mile of motivation. Another mantra to utter. “Lock onto it.” I repeat to myself, trying to visualise the red tarmac of the Mall.

As we pass London Bridge to our left and sweep past the iconic sights that hug the Thames, I cash in some credit I’d stored up seven days earlier.

On my last long run I came into town and ran the last three miles of the course. This turns out to be a very smart move. Psychologically, I have the upper hand.

My brain knows what’s left, every yard of tarmac is in my mental and physical memory. I’m able to tell myself that I’ve done this before. I know if my mind believes it can be done, my body will follow. And it does.

With a mile to go the course hangs a right. Westminster Bridge veers off in the opposite direction and the Houses of Parliament loom large and majestic to my right. Oliver Cromwell’s statue peers down as I struggle past. I glance at my watch.

I’ve got about nine minutes to do the final mile. For the first time in three months, I realise I’ve almost certainly achieved my goal. Barring a catastrophe, the sub-3 marathon is mine.

I check the watch again to make sure. 

And again. And again.

I’m still doing the sums when we reach the red asphalt of Birdcage walk with 800m to go.

To my left I notice a blind man and his guide pushing hard, the guide shouting encouragement with every step. I tune into his shouts and pretend they’re for me. That’s true achievement I think to myself. If he can, I can.

With four hundred metres left Buckingham Palace comes into sight. The crowds reach deafening levels. One more u-turn and we turn out back on the Queen’s London house, onto the Mall.

I’ve run this road over and over in training, each time visualising the moment I’d stride down here, wondering what that clock above the big red FINISH sign will say. 

Thirty seconds later, as I cross the line, I look up and I know.

It says 2:59.   



Thanks…

For all the wonderful messages from everyone. I’m so touched.

I’ll write more about the race when I put this beer and burger down!

But for now, just a big smile to all you guys.



Job done: 2:58:10 on my watch.

Job done: 2:58:10 on my watch.



My final motivational message from Team @adidasUK.



Race day is finally here. Time for the biggest run of my life.London’s pretty still outside. The skies are clear. No rain. Just a sky that looks like it might turn a little bit toasty. But could be perfect weather.I wee’d clear wee. This is also a great sign. Hydration: Check.I’ve scoffed my pre-race breakfast. Ask me a year ago if I’d be eating smoked salmon for breakfast before a race and I’d have told you you were mad but it’s what I’ve been doing in traing.I really wanted to thank everyone for their messages of support over the past few days. You guys have been amazing. Too many lovely, kind words to mention everyone here in the few minutes I’ve got to write this before I Vaseline my body from head to toe, but it’s really special to read these messages.Anyway, here goes… it’s time. Hold tight London.

Race day is finally here. Time for the biggest run of my life.

London’s pretty still outside. The skies are clear. No rain. Just a sky that looks like it might turn a little bit toasty. But could be perfect weather.

I wee’d clear wee. This is also a great sign. Hydration: Check.

I’ve scoffed my pre-race breakfast. Ask me a year ago if I’d be eating smoked salmon for breakfast before a race and I’d have told you you were mad but it’s what I’ve been doing in traing.

I really wanted to thank everyone for their messages of support over the past few days. You guys have been amazing. Too many lovely, kind words to mention everyone here in the few minutes I’ve got to write this before I Vaseline my body from head to toe, but it’s really special to read these messages.

Anyway, here goes… it’s time. Hold tight London.



1dreamatatime asked: Good luck on your race!!! You'll do great!!

Thanks very much. Here goes…



fasterphil asked: The very best of luck tomorrow. You can do sub 3!!

Cheers Phil. Time to get this thing done.



thatcrazyxcfrosh asked: Buenas suerte!

Thanks so much.