Why Edinburgh Tested My Limits (But Might Still Be Worth Your While)
This bank holiday weekend, I packed my Alphaflys and headed north to the Edinburgh Marathon with one goal: securing a Good For Age (GFA) qualifying time for the 2026 London Marathon.
As a 58-year-old runner, I needed a sub-3:12 finish to stand any chance of a London slot—though aiming for sub 3:10 felt safer given the potential for a tightening of the cutoff times.
According to the London Marathon Good For Age website:
The 2026 Good For Age places are capped at 6,000 (3,000 men and 3,000 women). Meeting the qualifying time will not guarantee a place but simply the opportunity to submit an application. Places are allocated on a ‘fastest first’ basis relative to age and qualifying time.
With 30 years of marathon experience and Edinburgh’s “net downhill” reputation on my side, I thought I stood a chance of 3:10 or better even on limited marathon-specific training. But as Scotland’s weather and my lack of serious lack of mileage reminded me, no marathon ever goes entirely to plan.
Preparation: A Cocktail of Hope and Hubris
Let’s start with what I had on my side: decades of racing wisdom taught me to pace smart. I’d religiously studied my Jack Daniels spreadsheet and run numerous 10K and 5K tune-up races. I knew a steady 149 bpm heart rate was my marathon effort and regardless of terrain, topology or weather I was banking on sticking to this heart rate over pace. Against me? My mileage was embarrassingly low. Too much cycling and short-distance running had left my hip flexors undertrained and my confidence brittle. And then there was the wildcard: Scottish weather. Spoiler alert: it delivered.
Race Day: Four Seasons in 26.2 Miles
Mile 0: Portaloo Purgatory
My day began with a last-minute speed work session around Edinburgh University campus looking for a loo. There had to be more toilets than this surely? But no. This was it. I reluctantly settled for a 45-minute queue for the handful of portaloos at the start line. Note to organisers: when ten thousand nervous runners have over-hydrated, triple the toilets.
Miles 1–18: Sunshine, Tailwinds, and False Confidence
The first half of the marathon felt deceptively kind. Bright skies, a roaring tailwind, and chats with a cheerful “sub-3 hour train” of younger runners. We joked about pace, race-day jitters, and the myth of Edinburgh’s “easy” downhill course (more on that later). I banked time like a squirrel hoarding acorns, hitting splits that would have comfortably given me a sub-3 finish. I knew it would never last and all I could think of was the maxim:
Starting too fast feels great until it doesn’t.
Mile 18: The Stately Home of Pain
Then came the turn back towards Edinburgh at Gosford House. The comfortable tailwind was now a 40mph headwind, and the skies unleashed biblical horizontal hailstones. The “net downhill” course? Now a soul-crushing, gradual climb to the finish line. My hip flexors screamed, my pace disintegrated, and the marathon shuffle began. My mile splits from the second half area testament to how much I slowed.
The Agony and the Camaraderie
At Mile 22, I spotted one of the young runners I had chatted to earlier—now reduced to a stop-start stagger. “Keep going! Catch me up! I am only going slow,” I croaked as I plodded past. Never was a truer word spoken.
What followed was a tragicomic dance: he’d surge ahead, stall, and I’d wheeze past him again, my legs feeling like they’d been replaced by concrete posts. We were the Tortoise and the Hare, and I was the one carrying a house on my back.
He caught me up and passed me again at Mile 22. Then he stopped again. I offered words of encouragement again and plodded past. We proceeded in this fashion over the final 5K. Me getting slower, and him catching me up but having to stop shortly after. All around us people were either passing me or stopping. There was no in between. Just me shuffling along, unable to flex my hips, and internally praying for the race to finish in the hope I could make the London GFA, while he stop-started more than Donald Trump’s tariff negotiations.
Around us, the field splintered. Runners either strode past me or crumpled to a walk. The wind howled. My hips burned. I bargained with the marathon gods: Just let me finish under 3:10, and I’ll never run a marathon again. Even if I do get the London GFA.
The Final Reckoning: 3:09:53
I crossed the line in 3:09:53 — 2 minutes and 7 seconds under the current GFA cutoff. My legs were in agony but I had bettered my London GFA time goal. London’s qualifying times have tightened yearly (last year’s cutoff trimmed 2:53 from the previous year’s M55 target of 3:15), so my fate rests in the hands of the London Marathon Gods. Part of me hopes I’m in; part of me hopes I never have to run a marathon again.
Should You Run Edinburgh? A Love-Hate Verdict
Let’s be real: Edinburgh is no walk in Holyrood Park. The course’s “net downhill” is offset by long, grinding inclines and coastal winds that could knock over a Highland cow. Logistics? Chaotic. Transport? Tricky. The race T-shirt? So small I’m convinced it’s meant for a child.
And yet. The city is stunning—a backdrop of castles, cliffs, and cobblestones. The crowd support, though sparse in places, is warm and witty. There are some friendly people North of the Border, and despite the lack of loos, hideous weather, awful transport logistics, too-tight t-shirt, and don’t-believe-the-hype net-downhill course that is actually quite challenging, it is worth a weekend away if you are looking for a marathon in a beautiful city that also offers a half, a 10K, a 5K and kids fun run too.
Final Advice:
- Train for gradual hills and horrendous headwinds.
- Pack a poncho (and maybe a kite).
- Lower your expectations for portaloos.
As for me? I’m done with marathons. Probably. Maybe. Ask me again after London’s cutoff list drops.
