MS, marathons and me: How I became a runner
If you’d told me years ago that I’d be running marathons, I’d have laughed. I hated exercise and I wasn’t any good at it.
I started running for a very ordinary reason: I wanted to lose weight. At first it was something I did occasionally, a way to get fitter and spend a bit more time exercising. I wasn’t a runner. Running was just something I did.
Then I was diagnosed with relapsing remitting multiple sclerosis (MS), aged 24.
I’m sure like other people, my MS diagnosis came with fear and uncertainty. I didn’t know what the future would look like or what MS might take from me. Suddenly, something that had started as a casual hobby became much more important.
Running became part of who I am
Running gave me a sense of control at a time when so much felt uncertain. When MS left me worrying about the future, running kept me focused on the present. It taught me to trust my body again, even on the days when it didn’t behave the way I wanted it to.
Living with MS means accepting unpredictability. Some days I feel strong and capable. Other days not every training session goes to plan. Some days my body tells me I can’t train at all. And on others I have to cut a run short because my symptoms have other ideas. There are moments when fatigue, pain or the unpredictability of MS force me to change my plans, but they don’t stop me from moving forward.
How I manage the unpredictability of MS as a runner
What helps me is being able to work flexibly, plan ahead where possible, and listen to my body. If my body’s telling me I need to take a break or switch around my training, I do. I try to go for runs in the mornings, which helps me both physically and mentally. And being part of a running club means I don’t always have to run alone (particularly if I’m worried about falling over). A run is a run no matter the distance.
I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about never facing setbacks, it’s about adapting, listening to my body and showing up again when I can. Every run, whether it’s five miles or five minutes, is still a step forward. And every challenge I overcome reminds me that my symptoms don’t have to define what I’m capable of achieving.
I have MS – and I run marathons
People are often surprised to hear that I have MS and run marathons. There’s a common perception that MS automatically means giving up ambitious physical goals. My experience has been different. Running hasn’t removed the challenges of MS, but it has shown me that a diagnosis doesn’t have to define what you can achieve. And training for a marathon gives me a goal to focus on.
I ran my first marathon in 2019, the Berlin Marathon, raising money for MS Society.
Standing on that start line I felt an emotional mix of excitement and fear. A small part of me questioned whether I should be running, whether I would be able to finish and whether any symptoms would flare up unexpectedly.
With each mile that passed, my confidence grew. Crossing the finish line wasn’t just about completing 26.2 miles, it was proof to myself that MS didn’t get to decide what I was capable of.
I’ve gone on to complete another 11 marathons. Each one has been different, with different challenges. Most recently, I achieved something I never thought I’d do by completing my first mountain marathon in the Alps in Austria.
The steep climbs and technical trails made it unlike any marathon I’d run before. I had to consider the heat. It was 35 degrees and felt like 40 and being heat intolerant I had to make sure my wrists were cool. I ran with buffs that I soaked in every river and spring on the way. It’s not a part of the world I’d have seen without doing this race, the scenery was incredible!
Every marathon finish line means something to me
Not because of the distance itself, but because of the journey I went on to get there. The early mornings, the difficult runs, the setbacks, the self-doubt and the determination to keep going. Every race leaves me mentally stronger than the last. They’ve taught me that it’s possible to build my resilience.
Today, whenever I run, I’m reminded that MS is only one chapter of my story. It isn’t the whole book. As long as I can, I’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other.