When told I was planning to run the London marathon, lots of people asked me why. It's a really good question for a non-running, non-exercising, recently ex-smoker with an aversion to exertion and a penchant for vertiginous heels. The truth is I had ghosts to exorcise.... One of my early memories sees me pressed up against a steel marathon barrier, aged five, looking not at the race but forlornly up into the sky at my rapidly escaping helium balloon. I remember the feeling of desolation amongst all the noise and mourning its loss with hot, silent tears. Twenty something years later I fought the same tears for the last few miles of the 2010 London marathon.

I didn't feel despair and I never questioned whether I would make it, but at about mile 22/23 there seemed to be nothing left. Those of you who have fixed on a physical challenge and dug deep to reach it will recognise that emptiness. The void you reach when all your reserves appear already to have been spent. It is small, quiet grief and there is nothing else like it. It is here that you start to run on determination and sheer bloody-mindedness. As the Tower of London wobbled vaguely in the left of my vision I realised that I couldn't cry and breath and run all at the same time and as breathing is pretty essential to running, the crying was going to have to stop. 'This will just have to wait' I remember thinking, 'right now you are running, putting one foot in front of the other, later you can cry all you want'. So that's what I did, for about four miles and, like my five year old self, it felt like a pretty lonely endeavour even surrounded by all the noise and joy and encouragement of the supporting crowds; ultimately this is really what the marathon is about - you against yourself.

So that was the last four miles - what about the first twenty or so (this kind if sentence still makes me smile - ' first twenty miles'?/!!!). There are lots of slices of the day that have been coming back to me this last week.... The foot high pile of banana skins on top of every bin between Greenwich station and the start of the race, soaring over tower Bridge bursting with patriotic pride to the strains of the British Airways theme tune, the bone bouncing drum beats of taiko drums under an Isle of Dogs bridge, a woolly brown water spaniel barking excitedly and repeatedly at a SPANA charity runner dressed as an incredibly realistic donkey, dancing through the on-course showers to a remix of 'Singing in the rain', a pub full of cheering pirates brandishing swords, running through the towers of Canary wharf thronging with people and bathed in sunshine, drinking champagne with friends and their little ones at the end of a VERY long day, watching my parents bust with pride and, above all, that last 385 yards. Giving in and crying and running and digging, digging, digging.

It was a deeply moving, humbling experience and everything I hoped it would be. I know I have said it before but the support of friends and family, colleagues old and new, really helped to get me through the training and round that course, so thank you. On top of all that I have personally gained we have, between us, raised a considerable amount for a charity which benefits the men and women of the British Armed Forces who daily make enormous sacrifices for your and my freedom. If you haven't managed to sponsor me yet, please do so - it is so quick and easy. If you know someone who might like to give but hasn't yet, please forward my link on www.justgiving.com/gghmarathon and if you'd like to give again, please don't hesitate.

From the bottom of my rather tired but completely chuffed heart, thank you.