It’s 4am on Sunday 23rd March 2025 on a rainy West Midlands morning. My bedside alarm is set for 445am but I have already been wide awake for a long time now. It’s the day of the Liverpool half marathon and after a two hour drive I will get to run in an event I have long been training for. Except.

The brutal truth is I haven’t trained for it all. Worse still I’ve only taken part in one half marathon before. Even that was six years ago and was shortened to 11.07 miles (I checked via Google) from the regulation 13.1 miles due to a bomb scare half way round the course.

I have religiously run the 3.1 mile park run each week though. It hadn’t taken long to convince myself that if I ran the equivalent of four park runs very slowly I would nearly be done and could get over the finishing line from there. In fact that knowledge combined with the extra power I would gain from bananas and sugary Haribo sweets made completion a formality.

Following an uneventful drive to Liverpool (even I can’t find traffic at that ungodly hour on a Sunday morning), I met up with my daughter Beth and her two friends Josh and Daisy who were also taking part. Disappointingly it seemed they had all put some effort into a degree of training and as the start of the run approached I decided to baseline my expectation for the day as simply to complete the course without walking.

As we shuffled towards the start line along with twelve thousand other people I later realised I had already reached what would be my zenith of enjoyment of the event until the end came. The crowds of encouraging spectators were large at this point. Better still we were heading out of the city towards Toxteth, which is always good for some observing of social history. Then in the direction of Aigburth where I have some fantastic memories of being a student in Liverpool.

So it was that even the long grind up Upper Parliament Street couldn’t spoil my enjoyment of the first three miles. It wasn’t until the end of those that the two hour pacer passed me, engulfed by runners eager to complete the course in that respected time. At this point I felt good and mentally congratulated myself on not having wasted time on training.

In retrospect it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where I started to struggle. As we went through the three mile mark it occurred to me that this was the first time I had run in my current running shoes beyond that distance. That’s when my left foot started throbbing a little.

Simultaneously the top of my right thigh began to feel slightly tight. We were in and around park land now and the support was less. Some of the ‘humorous’ banners that were on display though started to grate. For example ‘Hurry Up. The Pubs Open’. My cheerful optimism was starting to wain.

My daughter had kindly given me energy gels and some sweets before the start with strict instructions that I should take the first of them at the five mile marker. This thought was now helping me grind towards that point. It seemed to be taking a disproportionately long time to get there. When it mercifully arrived I gobbled them down hoping they would help power me on.

If there was any boost at all the best it can be described as is extremely negligible. The foot started to throb more the top of my thigh continued to tighten. Mile five to six. Forever. Mile six to seven. An eternity.

My remaining gels and sweets were supposed to be consumed at the ten mile point. Passing the seven mile mark (still over six miles from completion) I felt I had no choice but to take them. My foot was now burning and trying to stretch out my left thigh while still running was proving impossible. The thought that I was going to have to walk seriously occurred to me for the first time.

The gels and sweets had again failed to have the desired effect. I tried to dredge up as many difficult life events as possible that had needed resilience to get through in the hope that mentality could conquer the physical deficiencies.

Somewhere between mile nine and ten on the promenade and with the higher buildings of Liverpool at least in sight the end came though and I had to walk. Initially I was absolutely gutted. Head down I shuffled along slowly for about a hundred metres. Looking around though I started to feel instantly better. Lots of people were walking. More than a few of them were young and appeared fit. A few unfortunate people were being treated by the emergency services. This wasn’t easy for anyone (apart from the small minority of elite athletes of course) who were probably in their cars on the way home by now.

Armed and fortified with that knowledge I began my walk run strategy and little by little edged towards the finishing line. By the eleven mile point the crowds were beginning to grow and the places in the city were beginning to come more into focus. People able to see your name bib on your shirt were calling out encouragement ‘keep going Dave’.

Despite the continued pain which was increasing the mentality was shifting. I was at least going to complete and if an esteemed publication such as ‘Athletics Weekly’ describes the aim of a first time half marathon in under three hours as a ‘solid goal’ who am I to argue?

The finishing straight and the large crowds lining it almost make the proceeding events worthwhile. Actually they do make it worthwhile. It’s fantastic to take photos of Beth, Josh, Daisy and I at the end with our medals. A special mention to Beth for her half marathon personal best, especially impressive for someone who would regularly refuse to work a few hundred metres to school when she was younger.

So it’s on to celebratory beer and pizza. What better way to ruin all your healthy hard work than with a cholesterol boosting triple pepperoni topping and calorific dips. Five days on I’m able to walk properly again and understand that entries for next years event are already open. Time to start training I guess.