Royal Parks Running

The Royal Parks Half Marathon 2025 might have been the turning point of my running career. A retirement from road racing that barely triggered a bleep from the constellation of satellites orbiting the Earth, transmitting unique signals of my decline to my Garmin watch.

Six minutes slower than my half marathon a year ago. The global positioning system in the stars confirming my miles, splits, running power and results belong to a man with the fitness age of a 53-year-old. I am only 45 but there is a new world order with me not even in the top 50 male runners within my postcode. Many women in my postcode storm past me at the Saturday parkrun too.

It’s time to change my relationship with running as “the hips don’t lie”, said the pensioner with a hip replacement who beat me in a sprint finish at a 10K I’m not going to recover my pace. Not that I ever caused a ripple in club running, peaking as a strong intermediate runner, two minutes shy of the iconic sub-40 minute 10K and 90-minute half marathon milestones. The effort to get those times broke my body and then I had children, never recovering from the impact.

I am not a natural runner. Short strides and running into the pavement instead of on it resulted in unsolicited coaching advice on how to run properly. This was far outweighed by all the positive feedback from people I met along the way. Running does not cure mental health challenges, but it gives you a reason to keep going and teaches you to never give up.

The glory days of British Military Fitness in Blackheath to running with Serpentine along the O2 in Greenwich and the Charterhouse running track with Waverley Harriers. The freedom of running at night makes you feel like a king and I hope women can feel like a queen if they run at night. The belonging of running in a group, catching up with a friend and the headspace of running solo.

Royal Parks

It felt great to be part of the Royal Parks Half Marathon as I travelled with hundreds of other runners last Sunday. However, while the crowds packed into London Bridge station toilets, I found peace and solitude in Guy’s Hospital to prepare for the 13 miles.

I arrived in Hyde Park, dumped my bag and was ready to go. As I ran 1:50 at last year’s Brighton Half Marathon, that was my target time, but after six miles I slowed down as runners sped up. Someone even said “excuse me” to get past me. Humiliating but not humiliated. I did not care about being slower; I just didn’t want to be that runner who slows everyone else down.

I don’t want to be the runner who gets evangelical about running, espousing the joys of coming together to run, wanting everyone to love it as much as they do, latching on to anyone who looks their way. Nor do I want to be the ruminator who cannot talk about the present without reminding you of their race times when they were younger. I don’t want to be the bitter runner who refuses to run because he has lost his pace. I can only be me and I will always run, apart from when I am hiking.

I have four more international marathons to achieve my 10-marathon challenge. Apart from that, I’m saying goodbye to racing and mass participation events.

Everyone runs the same distance. If you run you’re a runner. Do you want to see my splits to show how much faster I was 10 years ago? Hello?