For anyone ever thinking about running a marathon, do it as it will be one of the best things you’ll ever do.

I know as I’ve now run a few of them culminating in the 2016 London Marathon, the pinnacle of any long distance runner’s career.

Not that I’m calling myself a long distance runner – far from it! I’m just a normal bloke that’s fallen in love with running, even if it doesn’t love me much back…

I’ll rewind the clock a few weeks into the build up for my trip to London as that’s where the story really starts. My training had been going as well as can be expected for a bloke in his forties now.

I’d completed the Dartford Half Marathon with friends Lee and Brendon in a respectable time of 2 hours and 8 minutes and the pair of us had joined Ben Rogers for a nice comfortable 18 mile run from Sheerness to Rochester.

The four of are all at very different stages of our running lives, but with the ambition to be the best we can possibly be.

I’ll come to Ben in a minute as he’s someone very special and just embarking on his own mammoth challenge, much like another Ben.

It was a few weeks ago now that Ben (Rogers), Lee and I got to run with someone incredibly special – Ben Smith, who is running an astonishing 401 marathons in 401 days.

Lee and I decided to do our usual parkrun on a Saturday morning at Leybourne Lakes (my 50th incidentally) and then made our way to Dame Kelly Holmes’ cafe in Hildenborough to meet up with Ben Smith and the merry band of runners that had left Sevenoaks with him earlier that day.

One of those merry band was Ben Rogers and before we knew it, after a good catch up, we were on our way for the next leg of Ben’s journey (marathon 229 to be precise).

Our part in that journey lasted only five miles, but was enough for me to be topped up with positive energy by Ben who seems to enthuse everyone around him despite facing his uphill struggles.

Twenty four hours later and I was dropping Brendon down into Brighton for his first marathon with an inevitable bumping into Ben Smith – our paths just seem to cross!

Watching the guys head off on their latest 26.2 mile challenge filled me with a real sense of pride and envy – I too wanted to be running with them.

With trainers and running gear on, I didn’t have to wait long before I too was under the starters orders, but first it was the turn of my daughter Ellie.

Totally observing every speed limit between Brighton and Chislehurst, we arrived at Farringtons School in time (well almost) for Ellie’s one kilometre run as part of Why Not Run, the event to raise funds and awareness for the Ben Daniels Memorial Fund and Cardiac Risk in the Young.

An incredibly well organised event, it was so nice to see men and women, young and old, joined by children of all ages and abilities giving it their all around the school grounds.

I was no different as I pushed myself to the limit recording a 5km personal best in the pursuit of getting done as quickly as possible so we could dash back down to Brighton to see the end of the race.

Seeing Brendon having crossed the in an incredible time of 4 hours and 42 minutes was so pleasing having run so much together and to see a big man reduced to tears explains everything you need to know about running.

He’s literally given everything he can to running in this past year in the pursuit of running the Brighton Marathon for Demelza Hospice Care for Children.

No man should be afraid to shed a tear when they’ve achieved something so mammoth and you’ll hear in a minute just how running can affect you.

That day turned out to be my last real run before the London Marathon and I felt as ready as I could ever have been. I’d done the miles (or as many as time would permit) and I felt in pretty good shape, apart from a tight right calf muscle, but I was convinced with a week’s rest I’d be fine.

The day of the London Marathon came quicker than I could have imagined and I didn’t sleep too well the night before – who needs sleep anyway when you’re running on adrenaline?

With a seed sown for some time, I’d agreed that if I reached a certain percentage of my target for Demelza by 7pm on the Saturday night, I’d dye my hair bright red for the big day. Thanks to my lovely, generous friends, needless to say I got on the train at Ebbsfleet with a few people looking at me in wonder.

Only for such a great cause would I even consider looking quite so daft, but it certainly made me stand out.

Arriving in London with some words of wisdom in my mind given to me by Dame Kelly Holmes at the expo on the Friday afternoon, I knew I was ready to give it my all, whatever that ended up being.

Meeting up with Ben Rogers (starting his quest of running 365 marathons in 365 days) and Kent Sports News’ Cricket Editor, James Crouch, before the race aided my nerve calming as we were able to chat and reassure one another before our 42 kilometre struggle.

Ben left us and I knew he’d be fine – as for James and I it was another matter! I’d already had my blood taken for a medical survey to see how my kidneys reacted to the challenge of keeping me going throughout the day and so I was sporting my first plaster of the day.

Standing in the holding pen waiting for 10am to come around seemed to take forever and what sights we saw. Every conceivable fancy dress costume was worn on the day and in the back of my mind I just knew I had to beat some rhinos, Elvis and a man with a tumble dryer on his back.

What no one tells you before you run a marathon is that you will need to pee a lot more times than seems humanly possible.

I’d already been a number of times that morning and standing in that pen I was busting again, but knew if I dashed back into the park to the toilet, I’d come back to find everyone had gone. I made a big mistake here as I waited for ages and should have gone when I had the chance.

We didn’t actually cross the start line until just gone 10:30am and were literally one of the last few hundred of the almost forty thousand to start their trip around London’s tourist trail.

James and I had started with the plan of trying to stick together for as long as possible, but that proved to be almost impossible. The sheer volume of people running makes it incredibly difficult as there are runners everywhere.

I think we’d barely made it to the one mile mark before we both had to break out of the pack and into the nearest convenience. A few pounds later and we were on our way again.

We couldn’t have been running for much longer than another five or ten minutes and we lost sight of one another and that’s probably my fault. I was so used to trying to carve my way through the parkrun pack that I was endeavouring to do the same in the London Marathon.

With James somewhere not far behind me, I assumed we might just bump into one another again soon and got my head down, picking my way through the field whilst trying to high five as many little hands sticking out from the crowd.

This is where I must mention the crowds in London. I’d run in Brighton the year before and they were incredible, but here in London they were phenomenal.

As far as the eye could see there were crowds. People lining the streets, up trees, hanging from lamp posts, peering out of their windows or blaring music from their balconies. Every turn of a corner brought a new treat for the eyes and ears with the bands something to behold.

Every kind of music that uplifts at just the right time. Bagpipes, steel drums, gospel choirs, thrash metal, you name it, I heard it.

The banners that adorn the streets of London give you something amusing to read on your way round, but can be one hell of a distraction when you are looking for loved ones in the crowd.

Thankfully for me I knew roughly where they’d be waiting to see me and coming down the road with the Cutty Sark on my left it was great to see them there cheering me on, along with hundreds and thousands of others.

I stopped for a quick kiss with Ellie (and of course a few pictures) before heading off on my merry way feeling on top of the world.

The next five miles or so up to Tower Bridge felt pretty good and I’d been keeping an eye on my times, seeing that I was doing about ten minute miles, keeping me on target for my secret target for 4 hours and 30 minutes.

Going up over Tower Bridge will live with me forever. It’s one of those iconic moments as marathon runner, a London Marathon runner especially, as it’s not only a great place to run, but also means you are about halfway.

Heading east towards the Isle of Dogs, this is where the wheels really came off. Now I’m not one to be superstitious, but someone knew something I didn’t.

There amongst the crowds was someone dressed as the Grim Reaper. Now he had a running number on, but he was just standing there. Was I imagining things or was that a premonition?

I don’t think I’d run that much further when my hamstring cramped and cramped badly. It was like being hit by a bolt of lightning. I thought my race was over and I’d have to pack it in there and then.

Looking back I’d clearly not taken on enough fluids in the first half of the race and in hindsight losing six pounds during the day proves I should have drunk a lot more.

Urgently getting fluids on board, I managed to free it off long enough to get moving again, but it was never the same after that. My pace dropped to an alarmingly low pace. I thought I was in reverse at one stage. Friends and family were sending me texts and messages to see what was wrong as they could see on the app that I’d hit a wall.

A few fired off messages saying I was broken were returned with equal measures of encouragement and reassurance. I’d come too far to give in now and it was only another ten miles or so to go. How hard could it be?

How hard – I will tell you. Nigh on impossible, that hard! Those ten miles seemed to take forever, and I don’t mind admitting I probably walked half of them. I was well and truly done for and every fibre of my being was telling me to stop, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t.

Grit, determination, stupidity, I don’t know what it was that got be through those last ten miles. One thing that really helped were the kind words of complete strangers, along with their jelly babies.

There’s no better feeling that someone you’ve never met before, looking you dead in the eye and shouting “Come on Steve, you can do this!”

The best thing you can ever do when you run a marathon is get your name on your shirt. The worst thing you can do is find yourself running near someone called Eileen.

I spent possibly two miles in her company and I think Dexys Midnight Runners deserve royalties for the amount of times I heard “Come on Eileen!”

Being overtaken by three blokes in a canoe, I kid you not, spurred me on and with every last ounce of effort I had, I made sure I got back past them.

This is where I came to regret having had my hair sprayed bright red. On a warm day in London and sweating like a turkey at Christmas, I was oblivious to the fact my dye had run down my face and onto my chest.

The rather alarmed St. John’s Ambulance personnel lining the course had taken a look at me on more than one occasion and tried to pull me out of the race thinking I’d sustained an horrific head injury and needed urgent treatment.

Thankfully, I managed to persuade them all it was self inflicted and my head was probably the only thing that wasn’t actually hurting.

Seeing some familiar faces in those last five miles was something special. Being cheered by a few celebrities gave my flagging ego a boost and then getting to mile 25 knowing I’d soon see Ellie was a real charge of the batteries.

When I finally laid eyes on her opposite the London Eye, I knew I had to lean over the barriers for another quick kiss, but mentally and physically exhausted, I broke down.

With tears in my eyes and another mile still to face, I knew I had to get moving again and sharpish otherwise I never would.

Running past Big Ben and Houses of Parliament is a bit of a blur along with going down Bird Cage Walk, which seemed to take forever.

Seeing the lovely team from Demelza at the bottom gave me yet another much needed lift and turning the corner past Buckingham Palace and into The Mall is something that will live with me forever and a day.

I’ll never forget those last 385 yards.

Running across that finish line brought out every single emotion in me. Joy, pain, despair, pain, delight, pain, pride, you name it and of course pain.

I don’t think I could have run another step.

Getting my medal put around my neck and picture taken with it were real highlights of the day. That’s what we all go through it for.

Knowing you’ve completed the London Marathon is a special feeling in itself and I was staggered to find I’d even somehow managed to record a personal best time. Not quite the four and a half hours I’d wanted, but still a personal best time of 4 hours and 56 minutes – not bad for a bloke in his forties that had cramp for over ten miles.

Happy with my lot, it was off to find the family and get my next sample of blood taken. A few quick phone calls to family that couldn’t make it on the day left me feeling teary again – bloody emotions!

With my tin foil wrapped around me and looking like I’d survived the blitz, it was the journey home for me, moving like someone in their nineties.

How quick I seized up is beyond words, but with a big shiny gold medal around my neck, I didn’t really care.

To be met by Lee and Brendon back at Ebbsfleet was a massive lift. That’s what good mates do. They support you when you need it most.

I’ve had a week now to reflect on my race. I’ve also had the chance to get back out running and realise I don’t hate it as much as I did for those last ten miles.

I made massive mistakes on the day, I really did. I didn’t warm up ot stretch enough, I clearly didn’t take enough fluids on board and I probably went out too fast in the pursuit of an unrealistic target time.

What I have got though is a medal and t-shirt that says I did the best race in the world and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a London Marathon runner…. I’m One in a Million.

You too can be and I’m delighted to say the journey doesn’t end here. Along with Brendon, I will be on the start line for the Brighton Marathon next year along with marathon first timers Lee, Nicola and Catherine.

I’d urge anyone that’s thinking of doing a marathon, or any kind of run, just do it as it’ll be one of, if not the best things you’ll ever do.

Pain is temporary, pride is forever.