Story
LONDON MARATHON 2025
Having been offered a place last year (that I had to turn down as I was on crutches), I am delighted to announce that I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to run the London Marathon in April 2025.
This event will mean a lot to me on a personal level…
For our beloved Reuben
First and foremost, I will be running the marathon in honour of one of my dearest friends, Reuben. Nearly four years ago, Reuben's life was tragically cut short after a courageous battle with his mental health. This run is a tribute to him and a reminder that just because he is no longer with us physically, he will live on fondly in the memories of everybody that knew him. Nobody should suffer in silence. Together, we can break the stigma surrounding mental health and ensure that no one feels alone in their struggles.
All money raised will be donated to the Mental Health Foundation, to help support the vital work they do researching, developing and advocating for new and more effective ways to support and protect good mental health in the UK.
For Me
My previous health conditions are something I don’t believe I have ever explicitly shared online, I have never had any issues discussing them with people, I had just never really felt the need, but thought this would be a good time to share…
At the age of 14, after a viral infection, I developed Myalgic encephalomyelitis, otherwise known as chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). CFS is a very complex and debilitating illness, and despite being recognised as a legitimate medical condition by the World Health Organization, it is still not fully understood by the medical community. There is no cure for it, and not even any tests you can take to get diagnosed (my diagnosis took 18 months), you just have to rule out every other possible illness first.
Trying to describe the illness generally, it is a “long-term illness that affects multiple body systems, and symptoms of CFS can vary from person to person”. Vague I know, and mainly characterised by, yes you guessed it, fatigue. Chronic levels of fatigue that do not go away with rest. The type of fatigue that CFS patients experience is different from that of healthy people. It is a deep, overwhelming tiredness that can be brought on by the smallest mental or physical effort. Imagine waking up feeling like you have not slept at all, even after a full night's rest. Now, imagine feeling like this every day for weeks, months, or even years. It can be difficult to get out of bed, let alone carry out any tasks. Even simple tasks like taking a shower or cooking a meal can leave you feeling exhausted. This extreme fatigue can also affect cognitive function, making it difficult to concentrate or remember things and having severe “brainfog” for most of the time.
So, what did this illness look for me then?
My life drastically changed overnight. I went from being an extremely active young teenager, playing sports everyday after school and at the weekends, to being all but bed-bound. Overnight. That was tough. Characteristically for the illness, it came in peaks and troughs, but even at my best points during the “Peaks” I was still running on empty, life was nothing compared to what I was used to before. The doctors told me this is how it was likely to go, but to be 14 years of age and told you have got an incurable illness, and that it was more likely than not that I would become bed-bound with it. That was a lot to take in.
During my time at high school and college, from the time I got ill, I averaged about 30% attendance, Year 9 through to finishing college after an extra year. But even when I was able to drag myself physically there in person. Mentally I was not. Severe brain fog and headaches from just exerting the energy it took to sit in class for a couple of hours. I would have to leave the class to go and lay in either the school’s medical room for a bit, or try my best to recharge slumped on the welfare officers desk. While I was in education, this was all I had the energy for (although clearly not enough). Struggle through an hour or two of school/college if I had the ability to get out of bed that day, only to return to bed as soon as I was able to get home. I lost my teenage years to this horrendous illness.
Covid brought around a premature finish to my time at college, and with it, my illness began to get worse. It was like my body was finally giving up, having exerted itself far beyond its limits to (just about) get me through secondary and further education. At its worst, I was in bed for 22/23 hours a day, being able to muster up enough energy to lay on the sofa for an hour or so, before that would get too much and I would have to return back to bed, and just pray that the next day wouldn’t be the same.
I got fast tracked onto a course of cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), partly for the CFS, partly for the “severe depression” that I had developed as a side effect of the illness. After all, what quality of life was I living? Showing no signs of improvement, and if anything, after 5 years I had actually gotten significantly worse. I had a life, but I wasn’t living. So, what is the point, right?
But I persevered. I kept going. As much as it seemed like my only option at times, I did not want to give up. The only slither of hope I was holding onto was that there was the slimmest of chances I would ‘outgrow’ the illness, as I was “lucky” enough to have contracted it at such a young age. 6 months later and things began to take a turn. I was still severely ill, but gone were the days of laying in bed for 23 hours a day, crying myself to sleep every night. I was outgrowing this thing. Upon reflection, I don’t know really know how I got through it all. But the one thing I do know, I owe a lot to the people around me. It was my friends (Reuben included) and family that helped me through my lowest points.
Over the course of the following 12 months, I was building myself back up slowly, and more importantly it was looking increasingly likely that I was going to be able to be well enough to go off to university. Something that seemed beyond far fetched when I had finished up at college. When the time came round, I was not able to live the life of a normal university fresher, but the fact that I was well enough to move away from home, considering the situation I had been in for the previous 6/7 years, that did not bother me in the slightest.
My health continued to improve, and at the end of my second year at university I was discharged by my GP with special interest. That was it. War is over. The unthinkable had happened. It was a long 9 years but we got there in the end. The chances of me recovering enough to live a relatively normal life again were slim; the chances of me making a full recovery even lower. Factor in how bad I had gotten at the start of lockdown, I genuinely feel like I have lived a miracle.
So here we are today, and this is why running the London Marathon is more than just a run for me. I am running for Reuben, and everything he had to endure. I am also running for myself. Due to the physical demands of running the marathon, for me, this signifies the end of my journey with this illness, and I cannot wait to give a big f**k you to the CFS.