The countdown has officially begun.
One month to go until I stand on that start line in Greenwich, surrounded by thousands of runners, all of us carrying our own reasons for being there.
And suddenly, it feels very real.
For months, the London Marathon has been something in the distance, a date circled in the calendar, a goal I have been slowly working towards in early mornings, cold evenings, and miles that felt never-ending.
But now, with just four weeks to go, it is no longer something for the future.
It is almost here.
Training has taken over my routine in a way I did not quite expect.
Weekends are no longer for lie-ins or last-minute plans.
They are for long runs.
The kind where you set off not entirely sure how your legs will hold up, but you keep going anyway.
There have been good runs, where everything clicks and you feel like you could go on forever.
And then there have been the tough ones, with heavy legs, aching feet, and that constant internal battle to not just stop and walk home.
But every mile has been building towards this.
Sun out, trainers on, getting the miles in for marathon day (Image: NQ staff)
What has surprised me most is how much of the marathon is mental.
Yes, the physical training matters, the miles, the pacing, the consistency, but it is the mindset that really carries you through.
It is learning how to keep going when you are tired, how to push through doubt, and how to remind yourself why you started in the first place.
Because everyone has a reason.
And this is mine.
In November 2024, my world changed forever when I lost my brother, Billy, to suicide.
He was just 39 years old.
Billy was not only my brother, he was a dad, a friend, and a huge part of our lives.
He left behind his little boy, who was only four at the time.
Watching him grow, seeing him smile, and noticing how much more he looks like his dad every single day is both beautiful and heartbreaking.
Losing someone to suicide is like having the ground pulled out from under you.
Training helps me heal while raising support for others grieving (Image: NQ staff)
It is grief mixed with questions, guilt, shock, and pain that words can never fully describe.
Navigating that kind of loss is incredibly lonely, which is why charities like Suicide and Co mean so much to me.
Suicide and Co is a national charity that provides vital support for people who, like me, are living with the devastating impact of suicide loss.
They offer up to 12 sessions of one-to-one bereavement counselling, giving people the space and permission to grieve, and helping them to slowly build a life around their loss.
Every £30 raised can provide one counselling session for someone who desperately needs it.
By running the London Marathon 2026, I want to honour Billy’s memory, support his little boy, and help other families who are walking this same painful path.
No one should have to feel alone in their grief.
You can donate here: https://www.justgiving.com/page/holly-brencher-2?utm_medium=FR&utm_source=CL
As the countdown ticks down, there is a mix of excitement and nerves that is hard to ignore.
Half marathon distance done, feeling proud and slightly exhausted (Image: NQ staff)
I find myself thinking about the route more and more, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, the crowds lining the streets, the final stretch along The Mall.
Iconic moments I have seen on television, now something I will actually be part of.
But alongside that excitement is the doubt.
Have I trained enough?
Will I hit a wall?
What happens if something goes wrong on the day?
It is impossible not to have those thoughts.
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But I am learning to sit with them rather than let them take over.
Because the reality is getting to this point is already an achievement in itself.
The early starts, the sore muscles, the commitment, it all counts.
And there is still a month to go.
Four more weeks to fine-tune training, to get those final long runs in, to focus on recovery, and to prepare mentally as much as physically.
It is not about cramming in more miles now.
It is about trusting the work that has already been done.
There is a strange feeling in this final stretch, like you should be doing more, even when you know the plan is to start easing back.
Tapering feels counterintuitive after months of pushing yourself.
But it is all part of the process.
In a month’s time, I will be standing at the start line, probably feeling a mix of nerves, adrenaline, and disbelief that it is actually happening.
And then, just like that, it will begin.
All those miles, all that effort, leading to 26.2.
Right now, though, it is about taking it one day at a time.
One run at a time.
One step closer.
Because the London Marathon is not just about the finish line.
It is about everything that gets you there.
And this one is for Billy.