This was not the post I planned to write.
In my head, the Valencia Marathon recap would be a triumphant victory parade — Boston Qualifying time achieved, training justified, medal shining, audience applauding. Maybe even a slow-motion finish line video😃
Instead, life handed me an unexpected plot twist with lots to learn.
Boston is the marathon. Historic. Exclusive. Part of the journey to that legendary 6-star medal. It requires not only hitting a qualifying time — but beating it by a solid margin. Because “good enough” is… not good enough. And because running 26.2 miles is not hard enough!
Berlin last year got me close, but not close enough. So this time, I went all in. My coach built the most intense training programme I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure my Garmin considered filing a formal complaint. Early mornings, long miles, energy gels I never want to see again, throwing up on the roadside from the sheer effort of speedwork! And my family? They sacrificed almost as much as I did — patience, schedule flexibility, and probably part of their sanity.
Race morning was perfect. I felt unstoppable. For 24 glorious miles, everything clicked. I was finally doing it — BQ pace felt right there. I even promised myself I’d never subject myself — or my family — to another cycle like this. (Yes, foreshadowing.)
Then at mile 24… well, the wheels didn’t just come off. They rolled away down the street, caught a bus, and disappeared into the Spanish horizon. My brain and my legs stopped communicating. My vision faded. And suddenly a medic was telling me to stop.
To DNF with 2 miles to go? After months of sacrifice? When Boston was practically waving from the finish line?
I wanted to cry. I may have done so internally. But giving up wasn’t happening. I turned on all available diplomacy, charm, and subtle desperation. Eventually the medic let me continue… only if I walked.
Did I walk every step? I’ll leave that to your imagination (and the finish line photos).
I finished. Not the fairytale. But definitely not a failure.
Here’s what I learned:
💥 Hard work doesn’t guarantee success — but it gives you a fighting chance.
There are no certainties in sport (or life), even when you do everything “right.”
🎉 Celebrate every win anyway.
Finishing on my feet, not on my face. Feet only moderately swollen. Wins matter.
🔥 Dreams don’t vanish because the result did.
Manchester Marathon. April. Attempt number three. Medical checks. Coach onboard. The mission continues.
We love the highlight reels. But the messy chapters — the ones filled with grit, stubbornness, and unglamorous resilience — those are the ones that define us.
If at first (or second) you don’t succeed… lace up, adjust and keep going.
