I arrived in Edinburgh on Friday morning and was met with a cool mist - bliss. It hung around all day long, and I even started to let myself hope that it might stay like that all weekend. No such luck - by Saturday morning it was glorious sunshine. I could hardly complain though - how often do you get to visit one of world's most beautiful cities in weather like that? Scotland is hardly renowned for its heatwaves.



I visited the expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my race number and chip and look at expensive running gear that I could've easily convinced myself I needed but certainly could not afford. When the guy handed over the envelope that contained my number, I think it suddenly hit me for the first time that I was going to run a marathon. It was no longer just this 'thing' lurking somewhere in the future. He said 'Good luck - it's going to be a scorcher', and I felt a combination of terror and trepidation.

Slept pretty badly on Friday night - strange dreams. Woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep.

On Saturday morning we did an open-top bus tour of the city which was a perfect way to remain off my feet and see Edinburgh's sights. I was overwhelmed by the place. It was my first proper visit (only driven through the outskirts before on my way up to the Highlands) and it surely has to rival any city in Europe for its architecture, its views, its incredible setting and amazing castle. What a shame I couldn't really appreciate it as fully as I'd have liked (I think a jaunt up Arthur's Seat would've finished me off). I'll definitely be back.



After that we went back to the apartment to watch the England game which was pretty lacklustre but at least we won. Then to dinner at Bar Roma where I forced yet another bowl of pasta down my throat. Met some people from the Runners World web forum in there - Ali and Gillian - and talking to them really calmed my nerves as it turned out they were apprehensive too although not as bad as me, I don't think.

Spent the rest of Saturday night meticulously getting my gear ready, and checking and re-checking everything. This took at least a couple of hours and helped to temporarily distract me. I finally got into bed around midnight - so much for the early night - after a warm bath and some light stretching. Ended up having to get up about another five hundred times as had drunk at least four litres of water and sports drink throughout the day. Had a very fitful nights sleep not helped by a continually barking dog and woke up around four. When I eventually got up at 5.45 it was cloudy and I had a vague fantasy of it staying like that all day. But by 7.30am the sun had already broken through. Breakfast consisted of a bowl of porridge with honey, a glass of chocolate milk, bottle of lucozade and another bowl of rice pudding! And lots of water of course. Tried to eat a bagel as well but it was just too stodgy and I couldn't force it down. Felt ok with what I'd eaten. Fully carbed up but not bloated. Stopped drinking around 7.45 and left the apartment around 8. The first frisson of excitement came as I walked towards Princes Street in my gear, and watched as other runners emerged from every direction until we were like one big army marching to the same destination, all with a common goal in mind. I met up with my virtual and now real friends from the Runners World Forum for a quick photo shoot (which ended up on the BBC website!) before making my way down to Princes Street Gardens which were really buzzing - people milling about, stretching, running up and down. I heard the announcer keep going on about the weather and telling the spectators it was going to be 'extremely tough out there for the runners' . I tried to visit the loo one last time but the queues were too long (11 portaloos for 10,000 runners is completely insane) and then I had to get in my starting pen. It was all a bit chaotic at the start. I got mixed up with all the relay runners who weren't supposed to be starting until five minutes after the last marathon runner had crossed the starting line. But I could see that loads of them were in front of me. In the end we were marshalled around them and I eventually crossed the starting line about 10 minutes after the gun went off I think, as I was right at the back.





The atmosphere at the beginning was fantastic - a whole mass of people running down Princes Street in the hot sunshine in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle as hundreds of cheering supporters waved and shouted. I heard my name after about 200 metres and turned round to see my mum and dad standing on a traffic island in the road and waving. It would be another 17 miles before I saw them again. The first couple of minutes were gently downhill before turning into the first uphill stretch up Lothian Road and into the old part of the city. I was amazed to see people ahead of me already walking. I had been worried about this stretch as I'd done next to nothing in the way of hill training for this marathon, but even I could make it up here without any problems. I really enjoyed this part of the route - we weaved in and out of the old town before heading into Holyrood Park and the first water stop at 4.2 miles. I grabbed a bottle and ran on. I was intending to walk through every drink station but I felt strong at this point and didn't need to walk. In fact, apart from the toilet stop in Victoria Park (have never, ever needed the loo before on a run - typical!!) I was able to complete the first ten miles without stopping. I felt totally fine up until this point. Slow, but steady. The heat was extreme, as there was no cloud cover at all, and I could not feel any breeze, but I felt ok. It was when we ran down to the coast and I saw the faster runners already coming back the other way that it hit me just how long this whole thing was going to take me. They were all about 7 miles ahead of me. Then I passed the first Macmillan (my charity) support team. I saw them in the distance at a junction, all dressed in the same green top as me, with big banners, flags, boards etc. They were all screaming and shouting 'come on, you can do it' and 'you're doing great' and as I got nearer to them they all started chanting 'Max Max Max Max' - it was completely overwhelming. I ran past them feeling totally overcome with emotion which made me start wheezing as I thought I was going to burst into tears. I had to slow right down to almost a shuffle for a couple of minutes while I composed myself again.

The next stretch was very dispiriting. We turned away from the beach and up into a grim industrial estate that was completely deserted aside from the marshalls on each corner. The heat at this point was incredibly intense - the road surfaces seemed to be reflecting it back into my face and I started to feel a little bit lightheaded. I saw a sign for the first energy drink station and then I saw some volunteers packing up boxes and picking discarded pouches off the ground. They had run out. Fortunately I had some lucozade and water mix in my water belt but I felt so sorry for the other runners around me who were looking distraught. It was demoralising, especially as the area we were running through was very bleak. This section contained lots of uphill stretches and it was at this point that I first had to have a walking break (it was around the 11 mile mark I think). I had actually thought about a mile earlier, that maybe I would be able to run all the way round without stopping - after all, this was the furthest I'd ever gone without a walk break. Haha, that idea went out the window very quickly. I walked for a couple of minutes only a few seconds after having that thought, as I turned a corner to see yet another uphill stretch ahead. Finally, we emerged from the estate back onto the beach, and the beauty of the calm, glittering sea at low tide was just about enough to take my mind off the fact that it was still another mile or so to the turnaround point. Once I had turned back on myself, I put my music on for the first time as I knew there was now a long, quiet, flat, straight stretch ahead and there was not too much support around. It was a good boost and I had another reasonably strong burst where I didn't need to walk. However, on passing the halfway point at 2hrs 46, which was loads slower than my normal time of around 2hrs 35, I knew I did not have a hope in hell of making my target time of 5hrs 30 for the race. I revised to 5hrs 40 and carried on. I wanted to pick up my pace a little but every time I tried my heart started thumping and my heart rate shot up and I was worried I would burn up and start to have serious problems.



After sixteen miles I remembered that I'd arranged to see my parents again at the Ocean Terminal water stop, about a mile up ahead. By this point I was having to break everything down into smaller, more manageable chunks so I said to myself, right, no stopping until I see them. Fortunately it was a gradual downhill all the way. I saw them in the distance taking pictures as I came towards them and then I stopped briefly, refilled my bottle with the drinks they'd been carrying for me, and carried on. The next few miles were fairly depressing again - past the Royal Yacht Brittania but then out through the docks and wasteland and past a very smelly sewage works. By the time I eventually got within sight of Portobello beach I knew that any hope of a respectable time was gone and I'd be lucky to finish in under six hours. I felt disappointed about this. But people around me were really struggling and dropping like flies. Running along the promenade at Portobello I passed a girl who was in real trouble. I slowed down to ask if she was ok and she said she was going to drop out. She looked absolutely desperate. She was walking and her legs looked like they would give way at any second. She kept saying 'I've hit my wall and it's all over, it's all over'. I walked with her for a bit and kept trying to convince her to just walk to the end, it was only another five miles and she'd come this far. Some other people who were walking caught up with us, and after a while I left her with them, having hoped that I'd convinced her to keep going. Finally the 22 mile marker came into view and I knew that the final turnaround point was looming just ahead and the hardest part of the marathon was about to begin.

I ran around the final corner and back up the way I'd just come down. I looked up ahead and saw the road stretching uphill into the distance, and I knew it was going to be like that for the rest of the race. This was the part I'd been dreading. I don't know what on earth happened to me at this point but I actually started overtaking people. It was like I'd turned into a robot. I couldn't feel any part of of my body and it was as though my mind had taken over and was pressing some kind of invisible remote control buttons in my brain that were sending signals out to my legs without any conscious decision making on my part. I really don't know what happened but for about a mile I had my second wind. At this point I saw the girl I'd passed earlier still struggling on down to the turnaround point. She spotted me and shouted 'Thanks Max I'm still here!' across the road and I felt so happy she was still going.

Then I started to feel really, really sick and my left hamstring was starting to play up. Up until this point all of my various injuries had not re-materialised. But my hamstring was really starting to hurt and I had to clutch the top of my thigh to support it as I was running along. The heat was also finally really getting to me badly. I had eaten a couple of jelly babies en route but now I couldn't stomach them. I then tried a couple of salty pretzels but had to spit them out too. I was desperate for something to give me energy, for a cold drink, but not any more fucking lucozade. My skin was covered in a layer of dried salt from all the fluid I was losing. The metallic taste in my mouth was disgusting and I needed cold, cold water. I passed a drink station and grabbed some water but it was warm. I thought I was going to puke. Then I saw a little convenience store and I knew I had a pound in my belt and before I knew what was happening I was queuing up at the till with a bottle of ice-cold water in my hand. This little episode knocked at least five or six minutes off my time but I needed that water like I've never needed anything before in my life, and by this point my finishing time was no longer an issue. Back on the road I felt stronger again and as I turned another corner, to be faced with yet another hill, I knew I was going to make it to the end. There was no way in hell I was not going to cross that finishing line. Around about this point the course entered a residential area and people were lined up in chairs outside their front gardens, with sprinklers and hosepipes and handing out slices of orange. I ran through every sprinkler and soaked myself, but was dry again two minutes later. The sky was starting to cloud over a little and it was very, very muggy. There were about two and a half miles to go. I passed the 24 mile marker and saw some casualties by the roadside. This was very upsetting. I felt so sorry for those people. Up ahead of me, people were zig-zagging across the road looking completely disorientated. One guy, who I'd been following and passing from around mile 7 overtook me one last time, but just as I got to the 25 mile marker I saw him lying on the pavement with a foil blanket over him, getting oxygen from a paramedic. He'd been wearing a vest which said "In memory of my Dad" on the back, with a picture of his dad printed underneath. I felt absolutely gutted that this bloke didn't make it after running 25 miles.

The entrance to Holyrood Park seemed to elude me for what felt like forever. When it finally came into sight, I ran through expecting to see the finish line ahead but it was a long curving road and it was out of sight. Then I came around the bend and the 26 mile marker came into view and I could see crowds of people and hear the announcer about 400 metres ahead of me. I felt like collapsing and I have no idea where the last few scraps of steely resolve came from but I'd always been absolutely determined to have a 'sprint' finish and somehow I managed to lift my feet slightly higher off the ground and run the last 0.2 miles faster than I'd run at any other point in the race. Because I was so near the back of the pack, I actually had the run-up all to myself and was fortunate enough to have the entire crowd shouting my name and cheering just for me. I looked for my mum and dad but couldn't see them anywhere, then just as I crossed the line I saw them about ten metres up ahead, hanging over the barriers.

It's difficult to know what to say now. I've written everything above in a pretty matter-of-fact, as-it-happened kind of manner. But I think it's fair to say that what I experienced going over that finishing line is a feeling that can't be described in the same way. I'm aware of what a cliche this is, but it's very hard to put into words the emotions that I felt at that point. It was as though six months of pain, anguish, joy, self-doubt, happiness, misery, effort, commitment, tears, motivation, pure fear and simple, elated, exhausted relief rose up inside me like a tidal wave and I was bent over double, clutching onto the barrier and sobbing so uncontrollably that a nurse had to ask my parents if I needed treatment! I regained enough composure to be able to tell her, no thank-you very much, I was quite ok, just a little overcome. But really, I had no control over myself whatsoever. None at all. But it didn't really matter at that point I suppose. I had just run a marathon.