Manchester Marathon 2025 and the sleeping policeman
The dreaded taper actually went surprisingly well. I was buzzing, my legs felt fresh, and I sprinted away from anyone who so much as cleared their throat within a ten-foot radius. On Tuesday, I went up to see Coach Dave for a tactical chinwag. After looking over training stats and recent race carnage, we decided I'd aim for 6:48 per mile pace — hold that steady for 20 miles, then basically cling to life one mile at a time until the finish. Sounds easy when you say it fast.
The day before the race, I went down to stay with my Mam’s cousin, Val, where I was treated like absolute royalty. Plates of food appeared before me like magic. It was brilliant — great food, even better company, and some much-needed banter. Before heading to bed, I did the classic “confident but trying not to jinx it” Instagram post, telling everyone they could read about the race here. I even wrote, “Hopefully my race report is really really boring and just says: I had a plan. I stuck to it. I crushed it.”
Spoiler alert: the plan went up in flames.
Val and Ian dropped me off right outside Old Trafford — practically VIP treatment. I set off on a brisk march to the start area and somehow sailed straight through without any drama. Standing in the start pen, I gave myself the classic "keep it simple" pep talk: Stay cool, calm, and collected. Fuel and drink like a responsible adult. Enjoy the madness.
As we set off, Galvanize by the Chemical Brothers was pumping out — a proper throwback to my first senior match for Keswick 1st team. I remember strutting into the changing room to that tune, feeling like a professional... and we only went and won 5-2! My brain, clearly not needed for running yet, decided it was the perfect time to reminisce. I started trying to remember the starting lineup: "Me in goal, Martin Kirby right back, Eddie Thompson centre back with... ummm..." — and then THWACK!
A poor lady hit the deck like a sack of spuds and got trampled by the stampede of runners. It sounded nasty. Two people thankfully hauled her up while the rest of us, caught in a tidal wave of nerves and blind panic, just charged ahead — because apparently, nothing says marathon readiness like barely surviving the first two minutes.
I made a tactical decision to speed up and escape the three-hour pace group, which had grown into a full-blown mosh pit. Safer to be ahead, I figured, rather than stuck in the middle of a stampede. I lapped my watch manually at every mile marker, just in case the GPS got confused by the sheer volume of sweaty humanity and buildings around me.
First mile: 6:44. "Alright, maybe slightly too quick," I thought, trying to look unfazed. Second and third miles: 6:47 and 6:50. Lovely. Textbook stuff. Coach Dave will be proud.
I could list out every mile split for you... but honestly, you'd be fast asleep drooling on your phone long before we got to the interesting parts.
The support around the course was absolutely unreal. Val, Ian, and the rest of the family were tram-hopping like pros, popping up at different points to give me a boost. I was absolutely loving it — the legs felt great, the miles were ticking by like clockwork, and life was good.
Then, around mile 7, I went downhill. Not in a "things are falling apart" way — I literally.
I’d found myself tucked nicely into a small group, drafting like a pro. Every road race I’ve ever done, I’ve been out there solo, so I’ve always been secretly jealous of people who can work together like that. I was feeling pretty smug about it — until I heard someone shout, “Go on, Tonk!” from my right. Naturally, I glanced over, flashed a winning smile and a wave... and when I looked back, the group had suddenly parted like the Red Sea.
I had just enough time to wonder what I'd missed before I caught my foot square on the top of a speed bump and absolutely ate it. Flat out. Full send. The irony wasn’t lost on me: a speed bump — designed to slow you down — had brought me to an immediate, undignified stop
I hit the ground hard — right knee, left hip, right elbow, and, just for good measure, my face. As I went down, my fancy Oakley sunglasses flew off dramatically, like a slow-motion action scene nobody asked for. I skidded across the tarmac in true cartoon fashion.
In a flash, I scrambled to my feet, scooped up my sunglasses, and tried to rejoin reality — just in time to catch a few stray knees and elbows to the head from the stampede behind me. Brilliant.
As I accelerated back up to pace, I felt dazed, I had one clear thought: Please tell me that hasn’t actually just happened.
I, Jacob Tonkin — proud fell runner, self-proclaimed mountain goat — had just been wiped out by a speed bump (sleeping policeman).
At the start of the marathon. Before it even got hard. At least the sunglasses survived though.
I could feel my heart thumping like a drum in my chest. "Alright lad, calm yourself," I muttered. I did a quick on-the-move damage check: elbow shredded, hand throbbing, knee bleeding. Lovely. I figured if I just kept everything moving, I might actually survive.
By 13 miles, we rolled into Altrincham — and the atmosphere was absolutely bouncing. Crowds packed the streets, cheering like we were all Olympic heroes. You definitely don’t get that sort of fanfare in a fell race... usually it’s just a few sheep and the odd confused hiker.
Out of nowhere, I started to feel a bit queasy, and my knee was locking up like an old door. Time for another Mountain Fuel Jelly, I thought. I’d been slamming these every 35-40 minutes, because let’s be honest, they really work for me. I’d usually take my sweet time, slurping it over half a mile or so, like some kind of race snack connoisseur. But right now I needed fuel in me, fast!
Before long, I was overtaken by the 3-hour pacers and their entourage — seriously, they had a whole marching band of runners with them. “I’ll just stick with them for now, then blast ahead in the last mile,” I thought, trying to keep my optimism alive. Meanwhile, my knee and hip were turning into a very unsympathetic duo of agony.
Mile 17 came in at 7:21, and while I wasn’t exactly throwing a party, I still clung to hope. “I’ve trained way too hard for it to end like this” I thought.
By mile 19, the 3-hour pacers were long gone, leaving me in their wake. I was down to a limp, each step a struggle. My left adductors were cramping, a result of trying to keep my right leg straight. The sub-3 hour goal was out of reach, but I wasn't giving up. I’d come too far, worked too hard for this to end without a fight.
I was surrounded by the walking wounded — cramping, overheating, and clearly battling their own demons. But I wasn’t about to let them get in my head. Keep fuelling. Keep moving. And bloody well try to crack a smile!
Those last 7 miles were ugly. But somehow, I dug deep and pulled every last bit of energy I had left to cross the finish line. 3 hours 22 minutes. I was relieved to be done. As I hobbled over to find the family, a kind volunteer draped a medal around my neck. I was bleeding, covered in sweat, and probably smelled like a dead sheep, but as I looked down at the medal, I couldn’t help but think, "You know what? I’m actually pretty damn proud of that today."
Despite the pain I was in, I had achieved my main goal for the marathon... I’d finally beaten my mam’s marathon time!
I found the family, limped home for a much-needed shower and a final meal before heading back up North. A lot of people had told me that road running would soften me up. Well, I didn’t feel soft today — not one bit.
I’m incredibly proud of what I’ve achieved over the last five months of training. Now I’m curious to see how this road fitness will transfer over to the off-road races I’ve got lined up. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.
This isn’t goodbye from Tarmac Tonk. He’ll be back to chase that sub-3-hour marathon. But for now, let’s welcome back Tonk the fell runner!
A huge thank you to everyone who has helped me along the way. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about it all. My next major race is the Keswick Mountain Festival 50k in mid-May. I’ll keep you all updated how the transition to off road world is going!
If you want to read Jacob's journey from the fells to the roads you can check out his earlier updates here - Mountains to the Roads and marathon training is tough.