Here's the secret: nobody actually feels like a runner until they’ve done one run that makes them late for something. My mate Dave signed up for his first marathon thinking he’d be bored. He spent the entire training period listening to audiobooks about medieval farming. By mile 20, he knew more about crop rotation than his own shoe size. You don’t have to be fast or cool. You just have to own a pair of trainers that don’t smell like a crime scene.
Also, the London Marathon is basically a giant street party with a bit of running in the middle. Strangers will hand you oranges, a bloke in a banana costume will overtake you, and you’ll high-five a toddler who is frankly more interested in the ice cream van. The training is the hard bit; the actual day is just a very long, very loud walk where you occasionally jog to avoid looking like you’re giving up.
Why 2027? Why Not 2026 or 2026?
Because 2027 gives you a life lesson in patience. You get to be the person who says “I’m training for something in 16 months” at a party, and everyone thinks you’re a zen master. Imagine the smugness. You’ll have time to try running three times, quit, take up swimming, get bored, come back to running, and still finish with time to spare. That’s not procrastination; that’s a strategic emotional journey.
Plus, think of the fundraising. If you ask people for sponsorship now, you can casually say, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m running in 2027—no rush.” They’ll feel weirdly pressured to give money because it seems so far away they can’t say no. It’s like asking for a favour so early that people forget to regret saying yes. Use that power wisely.
