When I ran my first marathon back in 2018, I thought “never again”. But then, you start to forget the pain and remember the joy of the experience. So I made a deal with myself — my next (official) marathon would be the London Marathon, whenever and however I manage to get in.
Despite applying every single year, I wasn’t having any luck. Only something like 8% of applicants get a place. But six years later, my dream came true in an unexpected way. In November, I got the news that I had won one of my running club’s places.
Though I should’ve learned my lesson about preparation last time ‘round, after a succession of running, falling ill, running, and falling ill again, I became complacent. After all, I’d run 100 km in three days (including marathon distance on the first day) with minimal preparation last year, so how hard could it really be?
So, again, I failed to follow a training plan. Again, I failed to prep any fuelling strategy. Again, I ended up winging it. But, well, I’m six years older, so I ended up half an hour slower than my PB. In all honesty, I don’t care. Not only did I manage to raise money for a good cause, but I genuinely relaxed and enjoyed the atmosphere.
My husband was volunteering again this year, so I started my marathon journey alone. Luckily, I wasn’t alone for too long — I met some Sutton Runners in the underground, and we made our way to London Bridge together. We had different start zones, so we split up to catch different trains, but their enthusiasm was contagious and I was feeling pumped.
As I made my way to the runners grid at Blackheath, I was awash with emotion. The crowds, the music, the celebration — it was phenomenal. The big screens showed the elite runners start after a fitting tribute to Kelvin Kiptum, a tragic event that still brings tears to my eyes. He was such a talent, gone far too soon.
There’s something so special about mass events like these — they really bring people together. As we waited for our start wave, we were all smiling, laughing, wishing each other luck. And that energy carried through the entire route, bolstered by the crowds. I wasn’t running for time, so I made sure to high five as many children as I could, tap the “power up” signs, enjoy the sights, and even do a bit of celebrity spotting.
I happened across Russ Cook, or “Hardest Geezer”, just after Greenwich and even managed a sneaky selfie. I also ran past someone from Masked Singer in a piranha costume, which I noticed for its extravagance, but was only later informed that it was someone famous.
The Sutton Runners were managing the crossing at Westferry Circus again, so I did my best to run to them — so much so that my body clearly decided that it was the finish line, because after I finally reached them at mile 21, it gave up and decided to walk.
I walked for a bit, then started running again. As I got closer to the final stretch from City onwards, it was as if I had my “second breath”, because I sped up more and more as I neared Westminster and, finally, the finish line.
After the finish, I picked up my kit bag and headed to Green Park to get back to Westferry Circus to meet the team. The trains were surprisingly empty, so I managed to rest my weary legs before being forced to navigate Canary Wharf and all its road closures, which took twice as long as it should’ve because (a) I was slow and (b) I walked back and forth at least four times trying to find a crossing.
Finally, we made it home. I followed my triathlete friend’s marathon advice — first, a bath with Epsom salts in the evening, followed by a short 1km run in the morning. Honestly, I feel great, and even though I don’t think I’ll be running another marathon anytime soon, I applied for the 2025 ballot, so who knows?
I have a few friends who are die-hard lovers of The Old Vic. Maybe I’ve been unlucky, but I haven’t quite understood the fascination. It’s a lovely venue, but the performances leave something to be desired. Of course, I’m not a theatre critic and I don’t know the different methodologies used by actors, but I do know what I like. To me, powerful theatre is the actor’s connection with the audience. It’s intimate.
When I talk, as I often do, of “the next great thing”, what comes to mind are impactful pieces where I don’t just watch someone reenact something on stage, I live it. In recent memory, these are pieces like Arinzé Kene’s Misty, Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, Richard Gadd’s Baby Reindeer. Unfortunately, neither yesterday’s Machinal, nor Jitney, which I saw at The Old Vic back in 2022, fit the bill.
Reflecting on the performance yesterday, which centred around a young woman who murders her husband – inspired, in part, by the case of Ruth Snyder in 1928 – my friend and I agreed that the staging was good, but we weren’t sure about the acting or the screenplay. The story felt flat. I didn’t feel connected to any of the characters, the broad New York accents were all over the place, and the main character’s struggle – her descent into madness – felt, well, scripted.
I won’t give any spoilers, but the strongest part of the performance, in my opinion, was the very end. It was very well done, not necessarily due to the acting, but rather the staging, the lighting, and the beautiful singing voice of one of the actors. In other words, I don’t regret seeing Machinal, but it definitely wasn’t the “next great thing”.
As I was doing a bit of background reading for this review, I watched the trailer for the piece. Even in that short one minute video I saw more passion, more emotion than anything I witnessed during the live performance. But maybe I’m misunderstanding something, because the Ustinov Studio was packed and there were a number of theatregoers who gave a standing ovation.
Marathon training is well underway — or, well, nearly over. Race day is this Sunday and I’m severely underprepared, yet somehow relaxed. Que sera, sera. I’m raising money for a good cause, who cares if I walk the whole thing? Not caring about setting a personal best does allow for a certain joie de vivre. Like spending my lunch break exploring the Flaming June exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art.
The exhibition is quite small, but, as most things from the nineteenth century, leaves an impression of grandeur. I was introduced to the work of Frederic, Lord Leighton for what I thought was the first time, but was surprised to discover that I’d actually appreciated his sculpture in the National Gallery. In addition to Flaming June, he’s also the sculptor behind An Athlete Wrestling with a Python.
The description for the miniature plaster cast he made in preparation of the full scale sculpture read, “the final piece, when unveiled, was greeted with immediate, rapturous applause”. I’m paraphrasing, but the idea stuck with me — how often do we celebrate new pieces of art in the same way these days?
The rest of the exhibition featured works of artists who either inspired Leighton, such as replicas of sculptures by Michelangelo and paintings by da Vinci, as well as those who he himself inspired. There was even a small section dedicated to a contemporary artist exploring colonised identities. And, of course, the masterpiece, Flaming June, almost in the flesh. Regardless of what critics say, I thought it was a gorgeous display of colour.
Don’t miss the chance to see Flaming June, on loan from the Museo de Arte de Ponce in Puerto Rico until 12 January, 2025.
It may have taken almost four years since we got married, but my husband and I finally had our honeymoon. And we could not have chosen a better place for it — a road trip through the national parks of Nevada, Arizona, and Utah! We picked late March as (a) it was quieter, (b) we caught the Easter weekend, which was early this year, and (c) there were no snakes.
We arrived in Las Vegas late on Friday, checked in to our hotel, and managed a few hours of sleep before jet lag woke us up. It was the perfect time to explore Las Vegas at night! We walked all the way down to the strip, which was about 2km away. It was certainly a sight to behold — and even better, no people.
After making it from the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign all the way to the Venetian, we somehow managed to catch enough WiFi from a nearby casino to hail an Uber and make it back to the hotel for another nap. The next morning, we killed some time in a nearby shopping centre before catching another Uber — our first Tesla ride! — to the campervan rental place.
It was our first real taste of the local Americans. It was an odd experience. We got everything from being completely ignored at an empty AT&T Mobile to Mormons attempting to speak to us about the Bible to our Uber driver asking questions like, “how could the UK leave Europe if Europe is a country?” In his defence, he made some interesting parallels with the US system once we’d explained everything, and he did treat Cristian to a doughnut.
We picked up our massive Ford Transporter nicknamed “Shroom” and made our way to — where else? — Walmart. It was incredible. The sheer amount of stuff. We got what we needed and more, and started our long drive to the Grand Canyon. Turns out, we weren’t completely over this whole jet lag thing, because as soon as it grew dark, we grew sleepy and had to pull over for the night.
When we woke up at 4 or 5 in the morning, it had snowed absolutely everywhere. I had not prepared for this turn of events. We put on all the jumpers we had, stopped at a petrol station for hats (US Army branded, of course) and coffee, and drove the final stretch to the South Rim. When we got there, it was around 6 in the morning, but the place was surprisingly lively — despite the low visibility. The bottom of the canyon was concealed in fog.
Which probably explained why there was no one on the trail. But we persevered, and after a few minutes, the sun came out, the sky turned blue, and the fog dissipated. The views were stunning. We couldn’t get enough. I was running around and jumping in delight. I couldn’t believe it — there was just so much space. The canyon was so deep, it went on forever. And every step opened a new viewpoint, each one more impressive than the last.
We walked to the end of the trail we were on — I can’t recall the name off the top of my head, but it was partially under reconstruction, hence the last 2km or so were fenced off. It was right about the time we got there that the weather started changing, so it made sense to head back to the car. It was lucky we did, too — as we approached Shroom, visibility was back to zero and it had started hailing.
We were famished after an entire morning of exploring, so we drove down Route 66 to the town of Williams, which was the (very touristy) epitome of Americana — diners, dive bars, lots of souvenir shops selling rock memorabilia. We loved it. We weren’t sure where to go next, but we’d seen something called Bearizona and decided to check it out.
It’s like a nature reserve, except you mostly drive through the animal habitats. It was a bit strange, especially because it didn’t feel like the animals had much room, but we later learned that most, if not all, were rescues. Unfortunately, the weather had deteriorated by the time we got to the wolves and bears, so we barely saw anything. Luckily, there was a portion at the end where you got out of the car and walked around the enclosures, so we read about the park and how the animals had ended up there. My favourites were the otters.
Our next destination was Horseshoe Bend. It was a lovely drive through gorgeous scenery, all red clay and tumbleweeds. At one point, we pulled over for a snack — this would prove an unwise decision. Turns out, Shroom was too heavy for the clay, and we sunk significantly when we tried to drive away. We were beginning to panic — middle of nowhere, barely any cars, no signal. But, as luck would have it, a pick up truck pulled over in front of us and a lovely Navajo lady named Laverne asked if we needed a hand. She pulled us out with no trouble at all — must happen to unwary tourists all the time in these parts.
We got to Horseshoe Bend right in time for the golden hour. There were lots of people, but so much space that it didn’t feel crowded. We sat and soaked in the view — and took lots of photos, of course! The natural beauty is incomparable. As the sun was beginning to set, we decided to search for a place to spend the night. We thought we found a nice campground, and Cristian was going to prepare dinner while I explored the nearby rock formations. Unfortunately, after I’d returned from an exhilarating solo hike, I found out he’d been chased out by a rude American lady who thought he’d parked too close to her.
No problem, we found a huge car park on one side of the Glen Canyon. As it turns out, there are free camping spots and paid camping spots, and as the neighbouring campervan told us, there’s an app to determine which is which. The one we were chased away from was a paid one, whereas the new one we’d found was free. We downloaded the app to make sure we wouldn’t make the same mistake again and enjoyed a stress free night.
The next morning, Cristian offered to make breakfast while I wandered around some more rock formations. There was a hike to something called the Hanging Gardens a mere 2km away, so I figured I could run there and back while he was occupied. The Hanging Gardens themselves proved not particularly noteworthy, but I went off-piste to explore the adjacent hills and was rewarded with phenomenal views. The amount of space was staggering.
We replicated the hike after breakfast, because I wanted to show off what I’d discovered, and then stopped by Lake Powell. Cristian risked a quick dip, but I preferred to stay dry and warm. Shortly thereafter, it was time for Antelope Canyon, which we’d prebooked a week before. We actually got pretty lucky, as there were only two spots available that entire week, and they were on the day most convenient for us.
Antelope Canyon is an interesting place. It’s only accessible by private tour, because of flash floods that have killed unsuspecting tourists in the past. The wind and water have hollowed out the canyon in intricate ways — particularly beautiful under strong sunlight, we were told. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to experience it for ourselves as the sky was overcast. The expedition was nice, but everything was targeted at getting “that Instagram photo”, which didn’t sit entirely right with me. Still, we enjoyed the walk and the views — nature never fails to amaze.
Our next destination was Zion, but we were ahead of schedule and figured we’d hang around town for a while. We’d passed a shooting range and, well, when in Rome. Before going inside, we agreed that we’d spend a maximum of $60 per person — a decision shot to bits, pun intended, when we saw the prices. Cristian got one of the more expensive packages for $179, but on the bright side, he got to try out a hunting rifle, a handgun, and a semi-automatic rifle. He was surprisingly decent — all his shots went through the target’s chest or head.
We then drove for five hours or so to Moab, where we’d booked a motel for the night. It was amazing to finally have a proper shower and sleep in a massive king size bed. After a refreshing sleep, we were up bright and early to make our way to Arches National Park. We missed the stop to Delicate Arch and decided to catch it on our way back, instead setting off from the Devil’s Campground. After checking out the immediately accessible arches, we headed off on the Primitive Trail, which promised a much less “polished” experience.
We got more than we bargained for. We thought it’d be easy — the first few kilometres were a straightforward trail, maybe sandy in places, but no steep inclines. It soon became apparent that we didn’t actually know how to follow paths, because Americans block off incorrect paths with stones. We simply stepped over those stones and ended up deep in the middle of a canyon with no idea where to go. On the bright side, we found wild deer. On the less than bright side, we were lost.
After trying to reach higher elevation, I pointed out that there was something that had clearly been a river at some point, and our Arches map showed that the path diverges at the river. By my logic, all we had to do was follow the remnants of the river and we’d make it back to where we’d started. It worked! And even better, we found a middle-aged American couple looking for the path as well, except that they were familiar with the way things worked, and managed much better than we had.
We found our way up to the Private Arch, followed by the Double O Arch and a few of the other ones, after which we made it on top of the canyon and looked down at where we’d been less than an hour before. By this point, it was getting pretty crowded, as the Primitive Trail came to an end. We made our way back to the car and were shocked at the amount of traffic in this remote area — hundreds of parking places were full and cars were circling, waiting for a spot to open up. We snacked on some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and headed to the Delicate Arch viewpoint.
As it turns out, the Delicate Arch viewpoint is very much not the Delicate Arch hike. You can see it in the distance, but just barely. But we were tired, and the amount of people we could see beside the Delicate Arch was enough to put us off. We drove back to Moab and grabbed lunch at a food truck park. I don’t drink, but I was craving a beer — turns out, Americans don’t have the same concept as we have here in the UK and the food stalls didn’t have an alcohol license. So we popped into a bar, but, well, the idea was much more pleasant than the actual pint of Moab Pale Ale itself, and I only managed a third or so before abandoning it.
We weren’t ready for Zion just yet, so we popped over to the nearby Canyonlands for the evening. I think Canyonlands is one of my favourite destinations on this trip — the views were incredible, the weather was warm, and there were much fewer people than anywhere else. We didn’t get a spot in the local campground, nor in the first external campsite we visited (despite a friendly Canadian couple offering to share their pitch), but we did find a place in the wonderfully named Horsethief, where we bedded down for the night.
The next morning, we woke up early again and headed to the Visitor Centre, where Cristian made us a delicious omelette. Our tour of Canyonlands began — first with Mesa Arch, then the Green River Outlook, then a hike down the canyon and back up on the Alcove Spring trail. It was a bit surprising to us that the Americans we encountered didn’t have the same culture of greeting fellow hikers, so we felt a bit awkward with our cheerful hellos that went completely ignored, but it didn’t deter us too much.
Our last hike in Canyonlands was a visit to the Upheaval Dome, where I wandered out further and meditated on a rock overlooking the valley. We then finished up by stopping at a few more overlooks, my favourite of which displayed the beautiful La Sal mountains in all their glory.
The drive to Zion National Park was long, so we stopped for the night at a rest stop en route. In the morning, we popped over to a town called Beaver, where we had breakfast with real American portions (read: we couldn’t eat more than a third). Our Zion adventure began at the Kolob Canyon, where the rangers at the Visitor Centre informed us to expect long queues due to the Easter weekend. Which also explains why we didn’t get an Angels Landing permit despite applying two days in a row.
In Zion proper, we did a random hike from where we finally found a parking spot. We followed the river upstream, but there wasn’t much there in the end. I’m not sure if we missed a turn, but we ended up (as usual) in the middle of the canyon. Still, it was a great experience — we saw bighorn sheep and chipmunks, and found incredible rock formations. Our last stop that night was Canyon Overlook, where we finally got to look into the canyon and saw even more bighorn sheep, this time with their offspring!
As we came back down into Springdale, we figured it was time for another motel. I snagged one of the last rooms in the lovely Zion Park Motel, where we took advantage of the nearby launderette to wash all our clothes. The next morning, we grabbed breakfast at the restaurant next door and headed back up to the canyon on the bus. We had decided to hike to Scouts Overlook, which is the starting point for Angels Landing. A ranger we met on the way up recommended we walk the West Rim, and it didn’t disappoint. Equally steep drops, but without the crowds. We also had a look down The Narrows, which would’ve been fantastic, but we hadn’t realised preparation (and equipment!) was required.
Back in town, we picked up a few souvenirs and headed on our way. We stopped to try a prickly pear smoothie and visit a tourist shop done up as an old Western town with a petting zoo. Cristian finally met some alpacas! Our next (and last) stop was the Valley of Fire, so we tried to fit in as much as possible. We did the scenic drive and the Fire Wave hike, followed by quick stops at as many attractions as possible — the park closed at sunset, and it was already getting late.
Finally, we made it out of the park and found a spot to spend the night. Unfortunately, our first stop was beside a grumpy old man, who started berating us for parking too close (if you consider 10m too close). No problem, we found a much better spot away from his negativity. But it’s one of the mysteries to me on this trip — Americans have a reputation for friendliness, but apart from people in the service industry, who have vested interest in getting a tip, most of the people we encountered weren’t very nice.
We woke early again and drove straight to return our car. We then grabbed breakfast, put our bags into storage, and walked straight to the pick up point for our Hoover Dam tour. The tour guide was very knowledgeable — her grandfather had worked on the Dam back in the 30s and never called it after the President he felt betrayed them, preferring to use its original name of “Boulder Dam”. Too bad the tour was very quick, with only three short stops at great height, so we didn’t see very much before it was time to head back.
Back in Vegas, it had started raining (to the delight of the locals), so we stayed indoors. We had a tasty lunch at Buddy V’s and decided to try our luck at the Venetian casino. Our budget was $20 each. We sat down at the roulette table and won a combined $15…only to lose it along with everything else within five minutes. Still, at least we got a voucher saying our winnings (read: balance) was $0.15, which I think I’ll frame to remind ourselves of the ills of gambling.
We wandered around some more, checked out the Sphere — which, interestingly enough, they wanted to build one of in London and didn’t get permission — and got absolutely drenched walking back to pick up our bags. The flight back was uneventful, just sleep and F1 documentaries. But all in all, a real one-in-a-lifetime experience.
Swordfoosh 