I ran the London Marathon in 10 hours - no, you're not too slow to be a runner

When my mum, aged 75, said she wanted to do the London Marathon this year, I didn’t quite know what to say. Her first attempt in 2023 ended at mile 17 when painful cramps stopped her from finishing. Soon after, she was diagnosed with blood cancer.

A marathon is 26.2 miles (42.2 km) and hard enough for someone fit and healthy, but my mum was determined to come back to complete her unfinished business with the distance, even after her diagnosis.

As a keen runner myself, although never particularly drawn to marathons, I knew this would be a huge challenge. But if this was her dream, then I was going to stand beside her and help her get there. We signed up through my community group, Asian Women Run, and almost immediately, the doubt crept in. As runners, we are constantly surrounded by conversations about PBs, pace and finish times. I caught myself wondering, 'will I get a good time?' But then I realised, this marathon was never about me.

I decided we weren’t going to race. We were going to “Jeff” it, a mix of running and walking. If we walked most of it, that was absolutely fine. The goal was simple: finish together.

Training went well. We built up to 18 miles (30km), despite mum being unwell for a week of training. Then, before we knew it, marathon day had arrived.

The lead-up to a marathon is intense, but the morning itself feels even harder. We woke up early, pulled on our running shoes, and walked over a mile to the start line, battling nerves and upset stomachs. We reached the Pink Start, Wave 10, due to begin at 10:38 am. Looking around, I could see runners preparing to race the route hard, while Mum and I were focused on something very different: surviving, soaking it in and earning that medal together.

That morning, I had to change my mindset completely. I realised that if we crossed that finish line before midnight, it still counted as much as someone who'd done the marathon in the standard five-hour time. Speed suddenly felt irrelevant.

The problem with running culture is that so many people fear being “too slow” or finishing near the back, or finding it difficult and worrying others will judge them. Because of that, they never sign up at all. But honestly? The people at the back often show the greatest strength of all and have a lot of perseverance. Take it from me, being out on the course for 10 hours is very, very hard work.

As we set off, the crowds carried us forward. The cheers gave us comfort, but after just six miles, it already felt tough. I hit the infamous 'wall'. It was a hot day, and exhaustion crept in early. There were moments I wanted to give up, but every time I looked at my mum, I could see determination written all over her face. She smiled through the hardest moments. In truth, she carried me more than I carried her in the end.

At around 10 miles, we noticed the so-called 'broom wagon' - the car that follows the very back of the marathon - driving right behind us. That was the moment it hit me: we were at the back of the race. Slowly, the roads reopened behind us, barriers disappeared, and we were moved onto pavements. The crowds, who'd cheered us since the first mile, disappeared. It became quiet and, at times, lonely. I felt tearful because all I could think about was all the miles we had to go.

Our trackers stopped updating because we were no longer going through the official closedroads race. Friends and family messaged to ask if we were OK. It would have been easy to feel defeated or to give up and get into the car. Nobody wants to feel like they’re last.

But being at the back taught me something important: this is where you truly see what a marathon demands. Not speed, but mindset. Patience. Resilience. The ability to keep putting one foot in front of the other when nobody is watching anymore.

We kept going and smiling when we could, pausing only to catch our breath, never sitting down. We knew getting back up would be harder. Along the way, strangers showed us incredible kindness. One woman, Reena, offered to buy us an ice cream, and somehow that small gesture lifted our spirits enough to keep moving.

At halfway, someone shouted, “I’ve been waiting for you!” It was Rob, one of the Tailwalkers, a group of volunteers who try to keep the atmosphere going for the final finishers of the London Marathon.

From that point on, we realised something beautiful: nobody gets left behind. The Tailwalkers stayed with us, checked on us constantly, carried mum’s backpack at one stage and made sure we had snacks, toilet breaks and layers when the temperature dropped. Their support became part of our journey.

Mile by mile, we laughed, chatted and kept moving. My ankles hurt, my lower back ached, and by the evening, it started to feel cold. But my mum stayed determined.

Then came mile 17, the mile where her first marathon dream had ended in 2023. Passing it this time felt emotional. We knew we had overcome the hardest mental hurdle.

By mile 20, exhaustion hit hard again. Knowing there was still more than six miles left felt overwhelming. We kept hydrated and took electrolytes to prevent cramps returning. Mum’s hands were swollen, and I started to worry, which really made it hard to focus on just moving.

Finally, we reached mile 25. At that point, we both felt completely drained. Then suddenly we saw Big Ben, and everything changed. The finish was close.

Mum looked at me and said, “Let’s go for a sprint finish.”

As we entered St James’s Park, the crowds returned. The cheers were deafening. Somehow, after nearly 10 hours on our feet, we found one final push and sprinted across the finish line together.

It was one of the most emotional moments of my life. My mum became one of only 35 women over the age of 75 to take part in the marathon and the oldest British Asian Indian woman to complete it that year. Meanwhile, there I was at 45 years old, complaining about sore legs, while she refused to give up despite blood cancer and every obstacle thrown her way.

Yes, it took us 10 hours. But a 10-hour marathon does not mean you are too slow to be a runner. I'm a runner, and I completed the London Marathon 2026.

To be a runner means you are someone who keeps going. It means you show resilience when your body wants to stop. It means you dig deep mentally. When you take on a marathon, regardless of time, you complete the same 26.2 miles as every other runner, and you earn the same medal.

A marathon is not just a race. It’s a challenge, one that less than 1% of the population ever completes. Whether you finish in two hours or 10, the achievement is extraordinary.

Most importantly, this experience showed so many South Asian women that they belong at the start line too. You do not need to look a certain way, run at a certain pace or fit the stereotypical image of a runner to deserve your place there. You just have to start and keep going.