My First London Marathon...

What an amazing experience!

Last Sunday, I ran the London Marathon, my first ever live marathon, 25 years after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, at the age of 58 and 8 months. It still feels surreal to write that.

I’d worried in the lead-up. The sheer size of the event, the noise, the energy: all things that can be overwhelming for me. But from the moment we arrived, I knew it would be okay. The organisation was phenomenal. Despite the huge crowd, it never felt chaotic or claustrophobic. Everything flowed beautifully, and the atmosphere was electric in the best possible way.

The crowd was magic. Absolute strangers lining the streets, cheering, lifting every runner step by step. Children handing out sweets lovingly. And among them was my greatest support: Peter, my husband and official support runner. He ran beside me the entire way, and when he wasn’t pacing us perfectly, he was getting the crowd to cheer even louder. I couldn’t help but smile every time I saw him leaping around like an overexcited kid: it kept me going. There were signs along the route that kept me smiling. My favorite? “Pain is just French for bread.” Another one read: “You’re a total stranger, but we’re proud of you.” When you’re running a marathon, this really helps.

As for the other runners around us? They created a kaleidoscope of energy, colour, and pure, unfiltered joy. People of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds: a mix of determination and eccentricity. Among them were costumed crusaders: a man hauling a fridge on his back, another dressed as an old red phone box, ten participants sprinting in unison as test tubes, a knight in faux armour, and even someone lugging an ironing board (iron included). Most were running for charity. In that shared space, the divide between runner and spectator disappeared; it was humanity at its wildest, kindest, and most inspiring.

We planned our pace carefully and managed to avoid hitting “the wall,” though I did need to walk at times after the 30 km mark. My lower right leg went numb, a strange but familiar sensation that I had experienced during my long runs before, and Peter ran behind me, watching to make sure I placed my foot safely. I had to trust that it was okay and keep going. And I did. No other MS symptoms cropped up, which in itself felt like a victory.

I have a very selective memory and always forget the tough moments straight away. But as Peter reminds me: I did have to dig deep towards the end. It took everything I had. But not once did I think of giving up. There was no mental battle: just the physical challenge. And when we crossed the finish line, we just stood quietly. We were in awe. We had done it.

Thank you for reading and for cheering me on in spirit. I carried every bit of support with me. Thanks also for the donations. We raised about €1500 for a local charity called Refood. They provide meals for those in need. They plan to buy a van for deliveries, and we are delighted we can help a bit. If you’d like to donate, the link is here.

With love,
Véronique

PS: I put our names for next year’s ballot already… Fingers crossed we can experience the London marathon magic again.