I swapped Tower Bridge for a towpath in Staines for my 42nd marathon

The wall-to-wall coverage of this year’s record-breaking London marathon on 26 April means it’s very easy to believe it’s the only marathon in the world - a bit like Wimbledon is the only tennis tournament in the world or the Tour de France is the only bike race. But there are, in fact, hundreds, probably thousands, of other marathons. If you put your mind to it, you could easily find a race to run every weekend of the year. Which is how I found myself on the towpath at Staines-upon-Thames early last Monday morning.

In terms of low-key, lo-fi, grassroots enthusiasm, the Staines May Bank Holiday Madness marathon is about as far removed from the glossy professionalism of Big Running as you could possibly get. No timing chips, no gels, no mile markers… just the towpath and a few handmade signs pointing the way. It feels as if you are on another planet, which considering this race was organised by Saturn Running, seems very appropriate.

There were about 60 of us at the Staines event, but I was supposed to be one of the almost 60,000 runners who started the London marathon. Along with four of my colleagues from the Observer, we’ve been charting our progress on these pages over the past months. But five days before the race, I fell off my bike while cycling into the office. It was during one of the 24-hour tube strikes and the bike lanes were packed with riders trying to beat the traffic chaos. When one of them suddenly slammed on the brakes in front of me, I had no way of avoiding him and nowhere to go. My front wheel snagged the kerb and next thing I knew I was flat-out on the pavement. Somehow I managed to break my fall, but only at the expense of my face. You’ll be relieved to hear my bike didn’t have a scratch on it, but I split my lip badly, broke a finger and snapped off both my front teeth. There was a lot of blood. As I lay there, stunned and shocked, people rushed to my rescue. Everyone was kind and helpful, but then I heard words no one wants to hear: “Let’s try and find his teeth!”

My wife came to pick me up and drove me to A&E. I refused an ambulance as I couldn’t accept that I was actually injured. After 12 hours of tests, scans, x-rays and wonderful care, the doctors agreed. I’d been very lucky. It could have been so much worse. I was released, battered, bruised and broken-toothed; a fortnight of soup and soft food awaited. Before leaving the ward, the nurse who cleaned me up asked if I had any questions. “Just one,” I said. “Can I still run on Sunday?” She laughed, thinking I was joking, then said, “No, that would be a very bad idea.” I had to give up my precious place in the event. But after months of winter training, jogging in the dark and endless drizzle, I was still all revved up and ready to go. My face might have been hurting but my feet were itching to run.

So, a week later, on the spur of the moment, I entered the Staines marathon. There is no ballot or charity places, you can just turn up and run. The race instructions told me to meet outside the Last Hop pub by the bridge in the town centre. Runners can choose their own start time (as long as it’s between 7.30am and 1.30pm). I arrived early to find the organiser, the charismatic Leon Hicks, a veteran ultra runner who is no stranger to gruelling 100-mile events, setting out his stall. There were snacks and sweets, muffins and brownies, jugs of juice, a few colourful T-shirts. I was given a number and pointed towards the pub behind me to use the loos and get changed.

A few other runners milled around, all smiles, many carrying their hydration packs and neat little rucksacks. They looked like they knew what they were up to. This was club running, these people hadn’t been caught up in the jogging trend, they’d been doing it for years. A fellow competitor helped pin my number on my vest (tricky for me with a broken finger). 

I nodded at Leon. “All set?” he said. “Keep the river on your right and look out for the turn marker. Ready? 1, 2, 3 and you are off.” And that was it. He started the timer on his iPad, gave me a thumbs-up and I trotted off down the towpath. The only people ahead of me were a few early-morning dog walkers and a couple of teens fishing with a broken rod.

The route couldn’t be simpler: 3.5km along the towpath, past boats, houses with gardens opening on to the river, gliding swans and graceful scullers, Penton Hook lock, fields, more swans and then, at a small U-sign propped up on a stick, I turned around and retraced my steps. Then repeat. Three times for a half-marathon; six for a full marathon.

At each turn I’d have a biscuit or a chew, a slug of coke (“Don’t eat those,” said Leon, pointing at some cheese puffs. “I bought them but they’re not very nice.) After a pause, I’d nod at him and head out for another lap. Slowly ticking them off. Other runners joined the race through the morning, some doing shorter runs, other longer ones. Everyone smiled, we encouraged each other out on the course. “That’s it, mate! Great running! Looking good!”

Finally, I started my last lap, an extra bounce in my step as I counted down to the marathon distance. I stopped my watch at 4 hours and 8 minutes. “Not bad,” said Leon. “Come again, we’re often here.” His partner asked if I’d like a medal. She indicated a random colourful assortment hanging from a wooden rail. There were some Ghostbuster ones, a princess and a rainbow one. They looked like a job-lot from eBay. I chose one that said, “No Cake, No Run.” It was a small race, but the medal – and the shared passion – was enormous.

Sign up for a run like the one Martin did at saturnrunning.co.uk