After a six-year break, I somehow found myself running another marathon. Well, “decided” might be too strong a word-let’s just say I was bullied into it by an ex-colleague. He prefers to call it “enthusiastic encouragement,” but I’m sticking with bullying.

That said, I’m genuinely glad he did. After all my complaining and excuses in the lead-up, I couldn’t have asked for a better day or a better reminder of why I love running.

The Scottish Highlands in late September can be unpredictable, you never quite know what you’re going to get but this year, it was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, not a breath of wind, and just the right temperature.

The Baxters Loch Ness Marathon is a unique experience. You’re bussed to the start from Inverness, an hour-long journey through narrow roads, steep hills, and some of the most spectacular scenery imaginable. It’s a mix of nerves and excitement as you drive further into the wilderness, realising there’s only one way back, on foot!

When you arrive at the start, it’s a bit overwhelming. Thousands of runners, endless queues for the portaloos, and plenty of people giving up and heading into the trees instead. I found the friend who’d “encouraged” me into this, thanked him again (sort of), and started getting ready.

The moment you cross the start line, you’re hit by the scenery-it’s simply stunning. The first few miles are mostly downhill, and it’s easy to get swept up in the excitement, but I knew my pace. My days of chasing personal bests are behind me; this marathon was about finishing strong and enjoying every mile.

Unlike city marathons, where the streets are lined with cheering crowds, Loch Ness offers something different, silence, space, and views that could stop you in your tracks. Running along the loch was incredible. Sadly, no Nessie sightings, but you can’t have everything.

As the miles ticked by, I felt surprisingly good. Teaching my core classes twice a week has made a huge difference to my overall fitness. Around mile 20, there’s a notorious hill that catches a lot of runners out. I pushed through steadily, passing those who had gone out too hard or were now just trying to hang on.

I’ve always had a personal rule for marathons - no walking breaks. I worry that if I stop, I might not get going again. So I kept running, one step at a time.

At mile 23, you start to enter Inverness, and the atmosphere changes completely. The quiet country roads give way to crowds, music, and shouts of encouragement. By mile 24, I noticed a large group of supporters ahead it turned out to be residents from a local care home who had all come out to cheer. I crossed the road, high-fived a few, and thanked them for the support. It gave me a real lift.

By mile 25, I knew I had it. I’d paced myself well, still felt strong, and savoured that final mile. A few of my old colleagues were marshalling along the route, and it was brilliant to see familiar faces cheering me on as I passed.

I crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 18 minutes — not my best, not my worst, but honestly, I didn’t care. I’d done it, and I’d loved every second.

That was marathon number 19. And now, of course, there’s only one problem…
I can’t stop at 19!