2025 Running Review

It’s the early hours of New Year’s Eve Eve, and I’ve just set a personal record for the number of drafts written before publishing. These words have been fussed over more than most, this felt like a year worth getting right.

So, grab yourself a cup of tea, maybe one of those boxes of shortbread still lingering from the holidays, and settle in for a moment. We’ve a bit to talk about.

There’s a certain stillness that comes with the end of a year. A moment where forward motion briefly loosens its grip and makes room for reflection. Time moves on regardless, of course, but every so often it feels worth resisting the current long enough to look back with a little care and intention.

As philosopher John Dewey once wrote,

“We do not learn from experience… we learn from reflecting on experience.”

Running, I think, makes that especially true.

Training compresses time in a strange way. Weeks blur into blocks, seasons pass between long runs, and before you quite realise it, you find yourself standing at the year’s edge, surprised by how close the last one still feels.

Training teaches you how to endure; reflection teaches you what that endurance has been shaping. So while you’re reading this, I’d gently invite you to consider your own year of running.

What held up?

What didn’t?

And beyond the races and the mileage, what did it teach you?

I’ve come to realise that the value of a year isn’t found only in what we achieve, but in what the journey reveals, about our limits, our motivations, and the parts of ourselves that surface when things grow difficult or begin to fray at the edges.

What follows is my attempt to sit with that process. To take stock, acknowledge the ground covered, and decide what feels worth carrying forward.

In Broad Strokes…

By almost any measurable standard, this has been my strongest year of running so far.

I ran further, I ran better, and, perhaps most importantly, I ran with a deeper sense of purpose. The past twelve months have quietly reinforced an approach to training that I’ve come to trust: consistency over intensity, curiosity over ego. Somewhere along the way, I found a rhythm that works for me, and with it, a sense of belonging in the sport that took longer than I expected to arrive.

These past twelve months formed an ambitious arc from the outset: a 75km ultramarathon, followed by a 100km, and then the long-anticipated step up to 100 miles. What I’m most proud of isn’t the medals or finish times, but the fact that I prepared for, and arrived at, each start line healthy, steady, and ready. That, in itself, feels worth acknowledging.

Becoming Club Chairperson

Earlier this year, I had the privilege of serving as Chairperson of my running club.

I’m no longer in the role (we’ll get to that), but the experience proved far more meaningful than I anticipated. There’s something quietly rewarding about giving time and attention to improving the experience of others.

One of the unexpected pleasures was gathering each weekend’s results and personal bests. Seeing, in one place, the collective effort of so many people chasing their own victories became a genuine source of inspiration for me as I prepared for my own challenges. Being Chair taught me a great deal about the club, its members, and myself.

Whether I did a good job or not is for others to decide.

What the role made especially clear was just how much clubs depend on people who give without expectation or entitlement. The communities they create are sustained by those who step up, do the work, and keep things moving simply because they care. Someone whose judgement I value deeply once told me that those most deserving of recognition are often the least interested in receiving it. I’ve found that to be quietly, consistently true.

My First 100-Mile Ultra

I’ve already written at length about the race itself, but the further I get from it, the more I find myself returning to what it revealed.

There’s a certain irony in how often I tell first-time marathoners not to place the distance on a pedestal, when I did exactly that with 100 miles. I’d signed up for the distance before, defeated myself before training had even begun, and quietly convinced myself that this would be the thing that finally legitimised me as a runner.

It wasn’t, of course. No race ever could.

But it did offer something more useful: a reminder to say yes to the things that scare you. To trust that, despite your doubts, you may be capable of more than you realise. There is clarity in that fear, and a quiet honesty in the preparation it demands.

Fathom

This little corner of the internet has long lived slightly out of sight, something I kept half-tucked away, unsure whether it deserved to be seen. I still wrestle with that hesitation, if I’m honest. But this year I let it exist a little more openly: a few more words written, a few more ideas tested.

Perhaps next year I’ll find the nerve to let it grow into whatever it wants to become.

What began as a way to rekindle my relationship with writing has (unexpectedly) become part of my training rhythm. Writing helps me make sense of races once they’re over, to put them properly to rest, and to clear space for whatever comes next.

Beyond that, it’s also a way of sharing what I’ve learned along the way, offering what experience I have, or at the very least, a few suggestions on what not to do. If you’ve been reading, or dipping in from time to time, and have thoughts on how this space might be more useful or more interesting, I’m always glad to hear them.

Stepping Back

For all the miles and moments worth celebrating, this year also carried its quieter tests.

Behind the training and the visible progress, there were periods that demanded more of me than I realised at the time. Only once my main goals were achieved did I notice how much effort it had taken to keep everything upright.

Momentum can be persuasive. You can keep moving, ticking boxes, showing up, and still be slowly running yourself thin. As Bilbo Baggins once put it, “like butter scraped over too much bread.” Recognising that early matters. It’s a kind of awareness I’ve had to learn more than once.

Stepping down as club chair was not an easy decision, in truth, I still hate that I had to, but it was a necessary one. It created space, not from commitment or care, but from carrying too much at once. Space to steady myself, to reset, and to make sure that what I offer next comes from a place of fullness rather than endurance.

What this period reinforced, more than anything, was the value of community. Running has given me people who notice when something is off, who check in quietly, who offer steadiness without spectacle. That kind of support is easy to underestimate until you need it.

And to those I’ve leaned on most this year, committee members, training partners, close friends, you’ll know who you are. What I’ve managed to do and achieve this year is not mine alone. It was shaped and supported by your patience, generosity, and belief.

If there’s something I want to carry forward from this chapter, it’s a clearer understanding that strength isn’t constant, and self-knowledge isn’t fixed. Even those who appear composed or capable are still learning where their limits lie, and when to respect them.

The Year Ahead

Looking forward, the goals are simple enough to write down, even if they carry a little more weight in reality.

I will run another 100-mile ultramarathon. Not to chase a time, of course, but to deepen my understanding of the distance, and of myself within it. I’m still learning how to answer the questions it asks, and I suspect I will be for some time.

I’d like to continue building my UTMB index too. There’s a longer view in mind, but more than that, races like these keep me close to what I value most in running: the landscapes, the effort, the people, and the way a long day on the trails can quietly reorder what matters.

I want to write more. To create more. To give Fathom the space to become something real rather than something I only visit in quiet moments. There’s a future version of me who trusts his own voice a little more, and I think I’d like to meet him.

And finally, I want to keep working on myself. This year reminded me how close I can come to the edges of my own limits, not only physically, but mentally, and how deeply that shapes what I’m able to give. I try to live by the idea that how you do anything is how you do everything, even when I don’t always manage it.

Still, I’m determined to keep climbing back out of the well with patience and intention. If running has taught me anything, it’s that progress rarely arrives all at once. It lives in small steps, quiet discipline, and the decision, made again and again, to keep moving forward.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for your time. I hope the year ahead brings you steadiness, good health, and a wide horizon of possibility.

Until next time.