26.2 Miles of Joy: My First Marathon and How Grief Pushed Me to the Finish Line
When I last wrote about running, I talked about how running helped me process the hard times that came with living with grief following my mum’s death. Now, almost 3 years since those words and with a marathon under my belt, the roles have reversed and it is grief that helps me through the hard times of running.
On the 19th of April 2026, I ran my first marathon in Manchester, raising money for It’s Time. Training for a marathon taught me so much about myself and my resilience. With each run, over and over again, I proved to myself that I can do hard things. For me, running isn’t always about PBs, my ego, or achieving anything (although, all of those things do feel great) - it’s about survival. It’s about proving that I can overcome my self doubt and keep going. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, keep going…all running mantras that are reminiscent of the grieving experience. When you’re grieving, you don’t keep going because you’re brave or strong, it’s because you simply have to - you’re surviving.
There is a beautiful, painful irony in my marathon journey: the one person I want to be there to see me cross the finish line is dead and that’s my reason for running. There’s a reason Alanis Morissette didn’t mention that in her song ‘Ironic’, it’s certainly a challenge to articulate with any eloquence. I almost definitely wouldn’t have decided to run a marathon in my lifetime if my mum was still alive, but her death spurred me on, her not being there felt impossible but was almost necessary for me to keep going. Running the marathon was one of the best days of my life and I often fear that admitting that my “best” days can happen without my mum is some kind of proof that I don’t love her. Or worse, that I’m happy that she died. Of course, neither of these things are true. I'm so proud of my achievement but would trade it in a heartbeat for one more second with her. Yet, here I am, motherless but with a shiny medal!
I was lucky enough to have many spectators on marathon day, both in person and cheering me on from home (thank you to all of my loved ones) and everyone that caught a glimpse of me mentioned the same thing: “you looked like you were smiling the whole way around”. Whilst I have the official (and frankly, humbling) photos now to prove this technically wasn’t the case, I was smiling because I was having an amazing time and in some ways, it felt easy! Yes, running 26.2 miles is a humongous physical and mental challenge that should not be overlooked or underestimated, but it's not the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not harder than planning my mum’s funeral, or texting my friends to let them know that my mum has died, or returning to work after her death, or waking up after a dream about her where I’ve forgotten that she’s dead. It’s easier than thinking about what future-me will miss out on, or the ways my mum never got to live, or feeling guilty that I had more time with her than my younger brothers did. It’s much more joyful than cleaning out my dead mum’s flat on the same day of her funeral, or finding out things after she’d died and not being able to ask her about them. It’s way more fun than feeling resentment and jealousy towards my own friends who have a mum, or going to text her something and remembering that she’s gone. I’ve become so
well-versed in living in pain and continuing to find joy that the only option for me on marathon day was to enjoy myself and be grateful.
Training for the Manchester marathon was a 6+ months series of grueling trials and tribulations that forced me to dig very deep at times and constantly show determination. Grieving is a lifelong journey that forces you to confront the same challenges. That’s why, for me, marathon day and actually running the marathon was less of a learning experience and more of a celebration! On the day, I saw so many fellow runners, all with their own challenges, stories and reasons for running, all digging deep to complete the same feat as me but in their own way and I felt privileged to be there. The blisters, the runner’s high, the muscle aches, euphoria, constant greasy hair, never ending carbs, chocolate milkshakes, creaky knees and being unable to tackle stairs. How lucky am I, to be physically able to push my body to these limits and experience life so intensely?
3 years ago, I was running to try and escape my grief, to switch off and break free from my own thoughts. Recently, during my training and on marathon day, my grief was right there with me, my thoughts have become a catalyst for my performance. Yes, sometimes it’s heavy and yes, sometimes it makes everything feel harder but it’s also my fuel, my energy and my drive to persevere. My mum’s death no longer leaves my mind during a run, even when I am not conscious of it, because my grief is evidence that I can do anything that I set my mind to, no matter how difficult.