It was a gorgeous day in Brighton. Really sunny, crystal skies. It was my first time running a marathon, but all the training had gone well; my target was four hours.
I’d been training in Amsterdam as I was studying abroad, where it had been a lot cooler. I wasn’t naïve to the risks of the heatstroke, though. I had my hydration pack, my hair was tied back, I’d tested all my running kit. I wasn’t being silly about it. I just don’t think I considered it a real possibility.
There were some warning signs during the race. When I stopped for the toilet, I noted my heart rate was very high. But then you think it’s just the adrenaline, because it was the first marathon I’d done, with that race element and atmosphere. Your body is naturally going to struggle in a marathon as well, so I didn’t think it was really any more than that. You just have to push through it. I didn’t consider these as signs of heatstroke, even though I know now that I was overheating and really struggling.
The last thing I remember was trying to open my gel. I was trying to open my gel and it wasn't opening. I was like, ‘Oh, I'll just get someone to open it for me’, because my parents were at 30 kilometres waiting to cheer me on. So I was like, ‘I'll just wait it out. It'll be 15 minutes. It's fine.’ And that was the last thing I remember doing.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground with four St John Ambulance volunteers surrounding me. It was a really surreal experience. Half my clothes were off, I was covered in ice packs and drenched in cold water.
