LIKE an oasis in the desert, the “400m to go” sign appeared in the distance, and my legs, aching with fatigue, propelled me towards the finish line of the 2014 Brighton Marathon.
Then, after five months of training, 11 physiotherapist appointments, dozens of High-5 energy gels and hundreds of miles, it was over.
I walked, nay, hobbled, towards the volunteers handing out medals, one of whom hung mine around my neck, and stumbled towards a grassy verge where I lay down on my back and stared at the clear white sky, consumed by 26.2 miles of sheer exhaustion.