Missed flight (seriously), Deteriorating race number, New PB and Medical tent.

Writing about London Marathon earlier this year wasn't much fun. The heat, early cramps, and a not-so-fun marathon left me wondering if I'd lost my spark for racing. Prior to London, in March, an email landed in my inbox. Half in German, half suspicious, it looked like spam. On closer inspection, it was an invitation: a second-ballot entry for the Berlin Marathon. I didn't even know a second ballot existed.

I hadn't planned another marathon. London was already on the calendar. But I'd made a promise to myself years ago: if I ever got into one of the majors, I'd travel and do it—solo. After making excuses to myself. Decision made. Berlin it was.

Training

After London, Rahana and Cindy reassured me: "Don't worry, Berlin won't be like London". To be fair it was 9°C last year! The training from London would carry over, a bit more work, and I'd be good to go. Easy… or so I thought.

Summer training hit differently. Hotter days, more commitments, less motivation. But with Eren, Cindy, and Indra at my side for long runs, the miles ticked by. Then came race week.

Missed Flight

Flying isn't my favorite thing, so my strategy was simple: arrive at the airport not too early, not too late. Perfect plan… until the Elizabeth Line decided to put my nerves to the test. Delayed trains, cancelled trains, Google Maps telling me I might just make it. By Paddington, chaos. They told us to grab taxis. Sprinting to the rank, I shouted, "Anyone to Heathrow?" and three of us piled in—me, a lobbyist who'd missed her flight thanks to a heavy drinking night out, and an accountant who liked to arrive early. They did everything possible to keep my mind at ease.

We split the fare, wished each other luck, and I dashed into the terminal. BA check-in gave me one minute to get to security. I thought I can still make it. Bags on the belt. Then: "Sorry sir, luggage check-in has closed." I pleaded. I tried the marathon card. Nothing worked.

I was told to visit the customer service desk, who advised I'd need a brand new ticket and a new return. Expensive. Maybe just go home, they suggested (this was real poor customer service in action). For a second, I thought about it. Then I rang BA helpline myself. Miracle! They put me on the next flight. A little stressful, but I made it to Berlin.

Race

Race morning: 9:45 start. The promised cool weather? Nowhere to be found. Another heatwave. Of course. I recorded 27°C, others said 28°C. If you wanted to avoid the heat in 2025 it was probably not a good idea to race with me. But maybe all those races I did in the heat over the summer prepared me for Berlin.

I set off determined to keep things relaxed. I wanted to avoid the cramps I experienced at London. I saw the first casualty before the 5K mark — it was not good. This was a worrying sign of things to come. I decided to stop at every water station. Take it easy in the hope I would get near the end strong. I threw water over my head and back, drank what I could. My race number was drenched. Staff tried to put the number back on but it was falling apart. By about mile 20 we agreed that I should put it in my pocket and run.

As I went past the 10 mile marker I was expecting cramps but they never came. I got to the halfway mark and still felt in control. Next marker was 25K — that flew by — and up the hill I went around the 27.5 mark on towards 30K and still felt surprisingly quite well. I even got to mile 20 seemingly feeling OK.

The sun was shining and no place to hide. I was running away from the blue marker to try to get some shade. The heat eventually crept in. By the final 5K, cramps started and became brutal, but the only way to get home was across the finish line. I was also determined not to leave Berlin without a PB. I continued in the heat, desperate to bring the race to an end. Feeling a little dizzy with around 2K to go, I continued with my forward motion. I kept telling myself: you ain't come all the way to Berlin, ran a very good race, and not going home without a PB. The last 3K seemed to go on forever. I knew I had overheated.

I made it. A new PB. But I was feeling quite dizzy. I tried to remain brave and walk, but realising the situation I was taken to the medical tent. I was checked over, temperature was high, and was then given electrolytes. Great medical service.

I really enjoyed the race for the most part. The organisers made the message clear: today wasn't the day to chase a quick run. And that was fine — I was very pleased with the first 37K I ran. I feel confident of the future possibilities.

On the train back to the hotel, I ended up chatting with a 12-time Berlin Marathon finisher and someone who does a foreign marathon each year. He was disappointed — much slower than expected — and described it as the toughest conditions he'd ever run in. The stories across the field were similar. Even the pacers struggled.

With water stops almost every 2.5K, a few pauses to fix my race number, and some walking and stretching to ease the cramps, it was a true test of patience and grit. Now, the focus is on working through that final 5K. The picture of my race number pretty much sums it all up.

It's been quite an adventure. People run for all sorts of reasons. For me, PBs matter — they're not just times on a clock, but benchmarks that show where I stand and whether I'm moving in the right direction with my training. At the same time, race times don't always define me. Weather conditions, injuries, and most importantly life commitments all need to be factored in. On the plus side, they do help with a few kudos on Strava 😉