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As many of you will know on Sunday 21st April, I took part in my first ever Marathon in aid of Kick 4 Life, a charity supporting people with HIV in Africa. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has donated so far. It has been incredible to have your help and it will make a huge difference to people's lives. From family members to friends (that I don't see often enough) to people who know me only by my work, we have raised so much together and your kindness is greatly appreciated. I literally would not have completed the race without you. Between you and I, I just didn't have it in me on the day and it was your generosity that got me through.

I started the race with little adrenalin that so many had told me would get me through. I didn't have the same excited feeling I have had with past smaller runs- I had no idea why! It was nice to see some old friendly faces in the 'celebrity' tent, including a small number of chaps I had worked with before, as well as the odd surprise celeb- Ha! (By celebrities I obviously mean the cast of the apprentice) My highlight being Ed Balls giving pointless tips to nearby runners, merely to point out that this wasn't first marathon. After a 30 second silence we got going. I was very conscious of an injury that I had been receiving treatment for, two weeks leading up the race but my first 13 miles were steady, getting me through at a respectable 2 hrs. At about 15 miles I felt my foot slide on a plastic bottle under my foot. My knee which had been strapped until the day before, started to grind under the stress. I immediately took some aid on the side of the road, hearing medical advice that I should stop. It was never going to be an option for me, no matter how depressingly early that came. The next 5 became tough, even though I could feel my energy was strong, my left leg was failing quickly. A walk-jog started at around mile 18, as it did for so many and the lactic acid "wall" began to form in my slow moving legs. Any time I tried to stretch, the opposing muscle would contract and spasm, stopping me from stretching successfully. Legs becoming iron-like with the acid increasing in my lower body.

I then received a call from my mum, who had journeyed from Kent to catch glimpses of me. She gave me detailed instructions of where she was between mile 21 and 22. I saw her waiting to take a hero shot of me as I flew by. However I was no longer flying and little in me felt like a hero. I sprung up on the railing she was standing by and hugged her tight. I felt disappointment that I may not complete the race. I told her that. She held me like a child and told me it was possible, like she and my father had always done when my brother and I chased professions that people felt too challenging. Nothing was impossible in our lives, no matter how hard anything ever got. A tear in my eye, I left her behind. I don't think she got her 'hero' pic as I ran away without looking back, a shame inside of me that my body was failing. At around mile 22, not long after I had digested the gratitude of my mother being there, I started to gain a second wind. My leg though stiff and heavy, kept moving. I had slowed dramatically earlier and was no longer aiming for a 4:10 finish, however I now ploughed on at a once more respectable pace. Then at the side of the road I saw a young man, in what seemed like far more pain than I. He was literally stopping, something I'd not felt like doing. He looked fit and healthy and my mind speedily wondered what would hurt him so much as to stand hunched over, to stop so near to our goal. I approached him, the crowd in our faces, patting his back and offering us support. I helped him up and explained how near we were. I told him I would run with him. It may have seemed like I was helping, like I was doing him a favour. I wasn't. I needed to complete the run and the idea of giving myself another meaning to this challenge, was the only thing that was going to get me through at this point. I immediately stopped thinking about my own limitations and the lad, who's name I later found out to be Joddy, put his arm over my shoulder and we ran together for another 4-5 miles. Crowds were kind to us as they yelled our names that were printed on our tops. Colin Jackson yelled support and high-fived us as we passed, Joddy literally hobbling toward the finish. Even in our last few hundred metres Joddy had to stop every few yards. The finish so close and so far. As we neared, Joddy removed his arm from my shoulder and ran through the finish, a hero. He'd done it! My hand upon my heart as I cleared the line in honour of those in Boston, I felt gratitude that it was completed. It was done. Joddy hugged and thanked me the other side of the line, until I was separated from him, so he could receive some medical help.

I had so many people tweet and text me as I ran on Sunday, that it had a great impact on me at times. There were so many moments of pain which evaporated when I read something nice, supportive or funny. Thank you to all of you. Thanks to my mum Gill and my brother Mike for coming along. Thank you again all, for sponsoring so much. Especially those that contributed large chunks of money from your own pocket, like Lee and Lucy, Colin, Juliette and Matteo amongst many others. Thank you to Richard, Ade and Claudia Alder for kicking my sponsorship off and for continued support- It would have been lovely to have celebrated with you.

I guess pride is something that you need people to share in it with. Mine had maybe evaporated along with those recently evaporated from my life. As for the medal, I haven't done the whole wearing it about thing, like I should have. To be honest, it looks too much like a 'Jim'll Fix it!' badge for my liking...

;-)