About 4 months ago I started out with the best intentions to run the marathon \x96 and even went on a few training runs.

But then life and red wine got in the way and training went out the window. So I decided I\x92d just walk it instead.

The first few miles were pleasant enough especially coming through Phoenix park. But from mile 8 things began to go downhill (although perversely the course itself took a steep incline around about this time).

Mile 10 was a watershed moment.

Lost in Kilmainham\x85.

I knew with absolute certainty that this was the stupidest thing I had ever done in my life and I swore to never again make rash decisions if only I survived. Any chance of dropping out was hampered by the fact that I had no idea what part of Dublin I was in. They had also closed off the routes so I couldn\x92t even get a bus or a taxi. So onwards and upwards it was.

Coming into Drimnagh one of the course marshals yelled out encouragement telling us we were half way there. He lied. I passed the Mile 13 marker twenty minutes later.

The pain EVERYWHERE increased exponentially for every following mile and the pace slowed considerably.

Mere Pedestrians\x85.

The organisers started opening up the route in my wake and by Terenure the roads are fully open again. We were no longer marathoners but mere pedestrians.

Traffic lights become a major problem: if I stopped moving I\x92d knew I\x92d never start again so I walked in circles waiting for the light to change. The 26.2 miles was rapidly increasing in length.

People along the way were so nice offering words of encouragement and telling me I was nearly there (funny, really, considering the mile markers indicated otherwise). The real comedian however was the young girl on Orwell Road who yelled at us to go faster. \x85.

Bicycles and bananas

But it was the overriding kindness of strangers that really got me through it.

From Merrion Road onwards a lovely man on a bike kept cycling between the different walkers offering encouragement and bananas (but never a lift). A guy with pink hair from Canada just seemed to be constantly running back and forth encouraging anyone and everyone with a lot of whoops and an Oprah style \x93you can do it\x94 attitude.

At mile 25 I was a total wreck. The sadist who organised the route gave us a tantalising glimpse of the finish line as we turned down Westland Row but there was still another mile to go\x85\x85

There was not one part of me that didn\x92t hurt in some way \x96 my ankles in particular were not helped by a woman with a buggy who rammed into me in an effort to speed past me on Nassau Street.

But my faith in humanity was restored by an angel in a high-vis jacket at the corner of Clare Street and Merrion Square. He stopped the traffic to let me cross the road and while I cried like an idiot he led me up to the finish line. Eight painful hours and twenty minutes later I finally made it. Now all I had to do was somehow walk to my car\x85.