I contributed the Thought for the Day on Sunday 3 May, the morning of the Belfast Marathon.
It was, of course, pre-recorded, as I was running the marathon that day. I finished up in 2.47.18, the seventh woman overall. It’s not my best time ever, but at this point (49 years old), I am in a race with Father Time!
I ran in support of Christian Aid – please consider contributing here.
You can listen here, or read it below:
Belfast Marathon 2026
All the signs are there.
Have you noticed them, too? They began appearing across Belfast several weeks ago: large, yellow, rectangular signs with bold black lettering reading, “Caution: Marathon Route.”
Some are bigger and more detailed, listing the hours roads will be closed today as more than 20,000 marathon and relay runners take over the city streets.
If you’re running the marathon, like me, those signs may stir mixed emotions. Excitement, perhaps; but also, if I am honest, some dread about what lies ahead.
The Psalms describe the sun rising “like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, like a champion rejoicing to run his course.” But I’m not sure if even that champion would be rejoicing if his course were 26.2 miles.
I have lost track of how many marathons I have run, but I’ve run enough to know what to expect today: suffering.
So spare a thought for the five and a half thousand runners tackling the full marathon, who have freely chosen suffering today. Why do we do it? To paraphrase Nietzsche, “Those who have a why to run can bear almost any how.”
A few at the front will be chasing prizes and fast times. Others will run in memory of loved ones or in support of charities. Many today will be remembering Belfast Marathon founder John Allen, who died the day after last year’s race.
This will be my seventh Belfast Marathon. It is my hometown race, on roads I could follow without needing any signs at all. But like most people on the course, I’ll still be looking for them.
There are the official mile-marker signs, of course, which can bring either comfort or despair – depending on how much ground has been covered.
More interesting are the handmade signs held by the creative citizens of Belfast. The first year the race was run on a Sunday, I saw one that read, “Run like you’re late for church!”
Another year, at the Manchester Marathon, I passed a sign saying, “Keep going – you paid £65 to enter this!” – proving that for some, perhaps, mammon is a stronger motivator than God.
In my younger years, when I was chasing personal bests, I barely noticed the signs at all. These days, as I approach my fiftieth year, I remember one in particular, held by a spectator at the start in Stormont Estate:
“Some day you won’t be able to do this. Today is not that day.”
God willing, today is not that day.