One year ago, I experienced a relapse of Graves’ disease — an autoimmune condition I had first faced three years earlier. The relapse was brutal. I could barely walk up the stairs without becoming breathless. My strength vanished, along with my cognitive confidence. I withdrew from my university degree because I no longer had the physical or mental capacity to continue, and I focused entirely on recovery.

At the time, I couldn’t have run for a bus — but last Sunday, I crossed the finish line of the Royal Parks Half Marathon. Thirteen point one miles (21 km) of gratitude and determination.

My Graves’ Disease Journey

I was first diagnosed with Graves’ disease at the end of 2021. It felt particularly cruel: the world was emerging from a pandemic, and I was just beginning to get my head around retirement. Graves’ is an autoimmune disease – and I already had one , psoriatic arthritis. Having one autoimmune condition increases the likelihood of developing another, so given the stress of the previous two years, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that I succumbed to a second.

Fast forward two years: I had responded well to treatment and was discharged from the hospital – only to relapse eight months later.

The relapse hit hard, but once again I responded well to treatment. However, this time the medication began to affect my liver, so it was never going to be a long-term solution.

In July, my endocrinologist suggested radioactive iodine (RAI) treatment as a permanent solution for my overactive thyroid. From what I understand, RAI is controversial because it effectively destroys the thyroid. Graves’ disease isn’t a disease of the thyroid – it is the victim of an  immune system which mistakenly attacks it, causing it to produce an excessive amount of thyroid hormone. So RAI essentially destroys a healthy organ. But since I couldn’t stay on medication, my options were limited: RAI or surgery to remove the thyroid.

On 19th September, I swallowed the radioactive iodine capsule and spent nearly two weeks in semi-isolation to protect others from my radioactivity.

All the while, I was training for a half marathon.

Training for the Royal Parks Half Marathon

Earlier in the year, I saw a social media post inviting people to enter the Royal Parks Half Marathon ballot. The event would take place exactly one year after my relapse – so I thought, why not? A week later, I got a place. Only later did I realise how lucky I’d been to get in.

As summer arrived, I began training. It was glorious. Most of my runs were in my local country park, through the forest. The weather was kind, the scenery stunning. I probably didn’t clock as many miles as I should have, but I worked up to 8 miles and lost some weight with the support of my coach.

When I became ill with Graves’, my VO₂ max, a key measure of aerobic fitness, had crashed to 27. By race day, it had risen to 33, the highest it had been in years. I felt ready, physically and mentally.

I was supposed to run with my friend Helen, but she had to defer her place due to a particularly nasty bout of Covid. She and her husband, Ade, however, were to be my cheerleaders on the day.

Race Day

I travelled to the Event Village thinking I had plenty of time before my wave started. I was wrong. The place was heaving with 16,000 runners and their supporters. I had to weave through the crowds to drop off my bag and then wait over half an hour for a pre-race loo stop. My wave was due to start at 9:42, but I reached the start line at 9:50 – not that it mattered; many others had the same experience.

And then – I was off.

I ran the first 7 km before slowing briefly to walk a few steps. The support along the route was incredible. For anyone unfamiliar with London, the race is a beautiful tour of the city’s landmarks — Buckingham Palace, Admiralty Arch, Big Ben, Horse Guards Parade, Trafalgar Square, and the Royal Parks of Hyde, Green, and St James and Kensington Palace. The weather was perfect for running.

The only thing I began to regret was doing most of my training on forest paths – the hard road surface started to take its toll on my legs and feet.

The Final Push

I had previously run a half marathon in 2017, at age 57, finishing in 2:45. Now, at 66, I was aiming for 3 hours. I kept a close eye on my watch and was on track – until the inevitable fatigue set in after the halfway mark. My legs began to complain, but I stayed focused.

When my calculations told me I had just 500 metres left,  the 800 metres to go sign loomed. Panic! I picked up the pace. At 200 metres, the sub-3-hour mark was slipping away – but with Helen and her husband cheering me on, I dug deep. I crossed the finish line at 2:58:12. I was absolutely delighted.

Thirty minutes later, I was celebrating with a well-earned sourdough pizza, my medal safely tucked in my bag.

The Stats

• Overall place: 15,322 out of 16,121 runners

• Female place: 7,969 out of 8,578

• Age group (65–69): 40th out of 56

Running for Mind

Two days before the race, I decided to run for Mind, the mental health charity. Graves’ disease can have a serious impact on mental health, and over the past year I’ve also faced personal challenges that led me to seek mental health support. I’m deeply grateful to everyone who donated — every little helps.