How my late-diagnosed AuDHD helped me run the London Marathon.

Huge congrats to the heroic runners who tackled the London Marathon last weekend. A massive well done to any of you in my network! How are your feet? 

I was one of you a few years ago. I’m not a natural runner. I hate running.

But looking back through the lens of my recent AuDHD diagnosis, my impulsive decision to take on a 26.2 mile ordeal now makes a lot more sense.

The London Marathon is truly inspiring. It showcases the best of humanity and British eccentricity, set against the beautiful backdrop of London's iconic landmarks. It's an event I've loved watching since childhood, as the route passed my Dad’s flat and I can remember the excitement of cheering on the runners as we ate crisps leaning out of the window, with the helicopter overhead. 

Running the marathon had been a lifelong dream for me, but the decision to run it in 2021 was also slightly….what’s the word….unhinged. Like most of the world, lockdown had taken its toll on my mental health, and with most of life's joys outlawed by the government, running became my only option. As any indoor socialising was ruled out, there was nothing else to do. 

Confined at home due to shielding (one of our household is autoimmune) and facing the despair of endless lockdowns, my general well-being had plummeted to new depths. Takeaways to break up the monotony of the week and bottles of wine to reward feeble attempts at “homeschooling” hadn't helped my waistline or mood. I craved a connection with the real world and to escape the house.

Desperate times mean desperate measures

So, as we entered 2021 in the spirit of New Year’s self-flagellation, I signed up for Couch to 5K. It was January, cold and miserable, but anything was better than being cooped up.

I swapped Joe Wicks for Jo Wiley as my virtual cheerleader and embarked on the 9-week program that promised to transform me from couch potato to 5K runner.

But I wasn't content with that. I wanted the Big Kahuna burger – something extreme and spectacular to make me feel ALIVE. After months of feeling meh, I craved the ultimate challenge, the pain, the glory, and the achievement – to push all my buttons and test my boundaries to see how far I could go.

Despite barely being able to run for a bus I signed up for a charity place in the London Marathon, a mere seven months away, kindly provided by The Rainbow Trust.

Not for me Couch to 5K, I was hell-bent on Couch to Marathon. So I told everyone who would listen to ensure no going back.

Enamoured by my ridiculous goal, I pounded the pavement with great fervour.

With limited aerodynamics and an ungainly bunion I was out schlepping in force ten winds and sideways sleet, the Forest Gump of Roundhay, only red-faced and gasping. 

Ignoring the fact that I was more "Gruffalo" than "gazelle", my undiagnosed AuDHD birthed a new obsession and now nothing could get in my way. While suffering shin splints and dodging dog poo on pavements, I pictured myself triumphantly crossing the finish line on the Mall, cheered by crowds and giving emotional TV interviews. 

I was so fixated on the glorious outcome that I hadn’t given much thought to the finer details, like how to train for a 26.2 mile run in seven months when you can’t even complete a Parkrun. But I wasn’t daunted by the magnitude of the task, mainly because I hadn’t properly thought it through. This, I’m learning, is a typical example of how ADHD shows up for me. Enthusiastically say yes to things and figure it out after. It hasn’t always worked in my favour. 

A word of caution, largely ignored of course

My dad was deeply concerned by this tomfoolery. He took me to one side, “You know that people have died trying to do this, don’t you? I don’t think it's a good idea, this sort of thing is for career runners. Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

But although he meant well and his concerns were entirely rational, his words of caution were simply a red rag to a bull making me more determined to prove him wrong.

A little voice inside my head kept niggling, but what if he’s right? 

Undeterred, I steadily clocked up the miles. The evenings got lighter, the weather improved and I began to notice I didn’t feel totally fucked after each run. Running to music, I discovered, was a revelation. An intense therapy – a deep and soulful immersion in rhythm, breath, and heartbeat that shut out the complexities and anxieties of the world. My thoughts flowed freely with each step, my body felt strong, and my mind felt clear. I was at peace.

Of course, with ADHD, the ability to ‘hyper-focus’ means fun things can quickly spiral into obsession. Chasing that high, I ran at every opportunity neglecting family time, social life, and my ever-growing to-do list.

Early Sunday mornings would find me merrily cantering along the canal towpath in the direction of Bradford in the pissing rain at 7 am while normal people slept in their beds. Giddy in my new world, I was smiling at strangers and dogs, and appreciating the little things like flowers, barge names and baby swans. The music propelled me and running nourished my soul.

I ran everywhere I could, even squeezing in a 6am morning run along the Thames while Bank Holiday partygoers did the walk of shame.

The magic formula

Through a better understanding of ADHD, I’m now able to understand why running to music is so helpful for many people with the condition. As a form of mindfulness, it helps to regulate the nervous system and emotions, something many ADHDers struggle with. The release of endorphins boosts the production of dopamine and norepinephrine which are naturally lower in ADHDers.

Read more about the direct link between exercise and managing ADHD

The achievement from each run was a powerful motivator, I started getting proper sleep and my self-esteem turned a corner. 

Go hard or go home

The phrase ‘go hard or go home’ would be a good way of accurately describing how ADHD shows up for me. As a budding elite athlete, I was in my element. 

Race day arrived, and to my surprise, excitement trumped nerves. The party atmosphere on the streets was electric – the thundering live bands, the surging crowds, the sheer energy of thousands of people cheering each other on, and the camaraderie of all the runners each with their heartbreaking stories that brought them to the start line.

It was sensory overload in the best way possible in stark contrast to months and months of lonely solitude. The sun was shining and London looked amazing, alive with colour.

My dopamine levels skyrocketed, carrying me joyously through the miles. Spurred on by hilarious messages from family and friends pinging on my Apple Watch I barely noticed the pain in my feet. I was completely absorbed in the awe-inspiring experience and deeply moved by the kindness of strangers (sparks of human connection = dopamine hit = POWER UP).

I high-fived my family at Mile 16, then powered through the dreaded Mile 18 grinning like a happy fool at the gleaming skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, and even found a running buddy in Poplar when the heavens opened during the dullest part of the route.

When my headphones died at Mile 23 my world suddenly imploded, and the glorious technicolour drained to grey.

My hamstring seized up, the party was over and I hobbled along the Embankment grimacing and cold in what appeared like the zombie apocalypse. The crowd's energy willed me past Big Ben until I finally saw St. James's Park and Buckingham Palace in the distance. A wave of emotion engulfed me – tears rolled down my face in relief and sadness that it was almost over. 

I crossed the finish line in 6 hours and 18 minutes. Exhausted but exhilarated, I was swept up by a St. John Ambulance lady who wrapped me in a foil blanket and undid my shoes while shoving a Snickers into my gob as I sobbed grateful gibberish.

I’m not a runner and hate running. And in my signature ADHD style, once the big day was over and the blisters had healed, I lost my running mojo and moved on to something else. And now I still can’t run for a bus. 

But now four months from diagnosis I’m learning all about my unique cocktail of Autism and ADHD, and why exercise is essential for managing the condition. I’m making more time for running and rekindling that flame. Maybe there’s another marathon in me. 

Or perhaps I could just start with Parkrun.