Back in 2012 I decided to run a marathon. It was my first and last.

I injured my shoulder during training, and the pain never went away. In fact, it decided to spread across the whole of my back. It’s been five years. Spasms and tension headaches are a daily staple, and the only stretch that helps is this one:

It’s not one for the office.

I’ve seen four doctors, three physiotherapists, two consultants, and one chiropractor. It’s no closer to being fixed.

When you become accustomed to putting your genitals in close proximity to your face, you start to wonder where it all went wrong. I don’t have to think all that hard. My training was a catalogue of errors.

I’ve listed my biggest mistakes. Hopefully they’ll be obvious to you. But if, like me, your enthusiasm outweighs your athletic prowess, you’d do well to learn from them:

1) Not knowing how to run

I just assumed that instinct would kick in and I’d have the technique down. I mean, no one teaches a cheetah how to run and they go like shit off a stick.

As my marathon photos show, instinct took the day off. I looked like I was dying:

I should have asked someone to give an honest appraisal of my technique. I asked Brett, my former training buddy, what he thought of my running style. Better late than never.

“It was awkward to watch sometimes. You didn’t seem to derive much forward momentum from your hands or arms because you kept your hands in front of you. Almost like you were covering your breasts.”

Think that “breasts” was an odd term for Brett to use? That brings me to my second mistake.

2) Believing that marathon training gave me dietary carte blanche

As the marathon approached, my training plan had me running 43 miles per week. I still managed to put on a stone (6.35 kilos).

‘Weight gain? Oh, that’ll be my leg muscles!’ It was a masterstroke of self-delusion. Here was a typical breakfast for me:

Ham and cheese omelette

Pastry (at least one croissant, one pain au chocolate, and one cinnamon whirl)

Full English breakfast

Yep. Three course breakfasts. I was convinced that my improved metabolism would figure it out.

Here’s a before and after:

I also told myself that my face looked more plump because I hadn’t had a haircut for a while.

I often wonder if I’d have gotten a better overall time if I’d been more aerodynamic. I also wish that the only photographic evidence of me running a marathon hadn’t been taken at a time when I had started to resemble the bloke who shot John Lennon.

3) Not bothering to stretch

Over the course of long training runs, you’re going to be taking tens of thousands of strides — plenty of opportunities for injury if your form is shit.

The first time I stretched was on the morning of the race, and even that was a half-hearted affair. I only did it because I felt awkward standing around while everyone else was doing their stretches.

4) Having a weak core

I was already spending ten to fifteen hours a week on training. Do you really think I could be arsed to do sit ups as well? After all, my legs were doing the running, not my abdomen. The closest I ever got to a crunch was when I’d reach down to loosen my belt at the breakfast table.

I’ve spoken to a lot of medical professionals since the race. They have all agreed on one thing: a strong core is crucial to maintaining good running form.

5) Being too bloodyminded

Obvious statement: Marathon runners are stubborn.

They need to be. How else could they keep running while their lungs and sinews are screaming for them to give up and adopt the foetal position? They will tell themselves to keep pushing on. ‘Eye of the tiger.’ ‘Fight through the pain.’ ‘Steve Jobs wouldn’t have given up if he ran marathons. And wasn’t dead.’

Bloodymindedness can mess you up. Badly. Three months before the race, I felt a stabbing pain in my left shoulder. I carried on for another five miles and didn’t skip a beat with the rest of my training. This made my already bad form even worse.

It got ugly. By race day I was completely lopsided:

Look at my face. I look like I’m about to have a stroke.

If it hurts: stop. Yes, you’ve put a lot of time into training, but rest is important too. Give yourself time to recover and there will be other marathons for you to get that personal best.

It’s been five years and it’s looking like the damage is permanent.

So there you have it. Everything I did wrong. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t try to run a marathon. It’s a great achievement that you’ll try to shoehorn into every single conversation you’ll have from that point onwards. Just try not to be a fucking idiot about it.

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