How to avoid hitting the wall
James Dunn went from a man who doubted he belonged as a runner to preparing to complete his 50th marathon. He offers heartfelt advice for first‑timers: that the real marathon begins long before Event Day, that feeling like a 'real runner' is not about speed or shape, and that the toughest miles are often fought in your own mind.
My first marathon: what I wish I had known
If you’d told me 10 years ago – when I was 130kg (20st 6lb), struggling to get out of bed most mornings and quietly losing battles with my own mind – that one day I’d line up in London for my 50th marathon, I would have smiled politely and assumed you’d mistaken me for someone else.
Because the version of me who threw his name into the 2016 London Marathon ballot and got in wasn’t even remotely a runner. I wasn’t even particularly hopeful. But I stumbled blindly through the training, battled the endless doubts and eventually made it through race day to finish my first London Marathon. I vowed to use my experience to help people feel better than I often did during that long journey from training to finish line.
So if you’re reading this because you’re thinking about your first marathon, or you’re counting down the days to this year’s London event, with that mixture of excitement and dread beginning to bubble (a feeling with which I am very familiar), I want to tell you a few things I wish I’d known. Not about splits or carb gels or what socks to wear, but about what really happens when you decide to run 26.2 miles.
The start line is already a victory
Your first marathon doesn’t begin when the gun goes off, it begins months earlier.
It starts on cold mornings when the alarm feels cruel. It starts on evenings when the sofa whispers your name louder than your running shoes. It starts on those slow, awkward miles when you wonder why on earth you thought this was a good idea. It is in the moments when no one is cheering you on.
The marathon is the victory lap for all the days of deciding to keep going and the changes you went through along the way.
You might never feel like “a runner”
When I trained for my first marathon, every run felt like proof that I didn’t belong. I was heavier than most runners I saw online or sprinting past me while I struggled to not cough up a lung. That’s why I ran at night a lot, so I wouldn’t be seen. I was afraid I’d be judged. Thankfully, 10 years on, the running space is a far more welcoming environment, though those old feelings can still sometimes rise to the surface. This is what comes from comparing yourself with others.
I spent months before and after my first marathon waiting for the moment when I’d suddenly feel like “a runner”. I assumed there would be some kind of official transition. A ceremony, perhaps. A nod of approval from someone wearing split shorts. It never came.
I thought that it might happen if I ran the marathon in a certain time, and when I fell short of that time at my first attempt, I felt I wasn’t a real runner. That’s why I often tell first-time runners to make finishing the race their A goal, with a specific time as their B goal.
Looking back with the gift of hindsight, I see that the version of me who peeled himself off the sofa and went out for that first run was already a runner. So if you are struggling, feeling you don’t belong, let me formally welcome you to the running community, friend. You’ve already been a member for a while.
I also wish I’d known how much marathon training happens in your head
Physically, yes, you will get fitter. You’ll discover muscles you didn’t know existed when you try to go downstairs after your long runs, and you’ll begin to measure your lunch breaks in miles run rather than minutes on Instagram. But the real shift is psychological.
For me, running became a way to sit with thoughts I’d spent years avoiding, without the noise of the rest of the world. It allowed me to reopen old wounds and let them heal properly.
Those miles didn’t cure depression. I wish it were that simple. But they did give me structure and purpose. Small, manageable wins in a period of life that otherwise felt overwhelmingly grey. Those wins are something you should pile upon one another now, if you can, and grab on to them when the marathon starts to feel tough.
Nobody is paying as much attention to you as you think
I was deeply self-conscious when I started (to be honest, I still am). About my pace. My weight. My lack of technical knowledge about things such as gels, cadence and why everyone suddenly had very strong opinions about miles or kilometres.
Turning up to running clubs felt like going to a party I hadn’t been invited to.
The truth (which became obvious only much later) is that most runners are far too busy worrying about their own training to judge yours. The marathon community is, by and large, wonderfully indifferent to how you look while you’re suffering. You’re just another human trying to get through a long run and there’s something quite comforting in that.
In fact, most runners out there are looking for a sense of community, so help if you can, be that on race day if you see someone struggling (I carried someone from mile 21 at London in 2018 and, in so doing, made a friend for life), or by cheering on someone's training online.
Race day taught me perhaps the biggest lesson of all
I remember the final mile of that first marathon far more clearly than I remember most of the training for it. I had long since stopped trying to negotiate with my legs. Everything hurt in new and “fun” ways, and when the finish line came into view, I couldn’t muster the strength for a sprint finish. Instead, I stopped and caught my breath while a man dressed as a Minion overtook me.
I remember repeating in my head the mantra that has been with me every step ever since: “Always forward, forward always.” Just a simple reminder to keep moving regardless of pace. Feel free to steal it if you find yourself struggling on race day.
That finish line isn’t really a finish line
I had imagined the finish line would feel like an ending. A neat conclusion to months of effort. A box ticked and life returning to normal. Instead, it felt like a beginning, so be prepared for that.
I went home to the same house. The same worries. The same version of myself, in many ways – though with more chafing and a glorious bit of bling – but something had shifted. That’s the thing about marathons; they don’t just change what you can do, they change what you believe is possible. It’s why I have kept putting one foot forward ever since; to see what else running a marathon might lead to. So when you reach that finish line, take a moment to really feel it all, because it might just be the start of something much bigger than you planned.
And, finally, a reminder for when those long runs start to feel tough or, come April 26, when you need to catch your breath and someone dressed as a cartoon character overtakes you, to just keep moving. Not faster always, not stronger always and definitely not happier always. Just forward always. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.
James Dunn is a runner, mental health advocate and content creator. Since taking part in the 2016 London Marathon, he's completed epic ultramarathons like the legendary Marathon des Sables and is currently preparing to take on his 50th marathon. You can follow his journey on morningcoffeerun.com and on Instagram.
