My First Marathon: Conquering the Sydney World Major Against the Odds

I never imagined my first marathon would also be one of the hardest weekends of my life — emotionally, logistically, and physically. This is a story of resilience, of how I almost didn’t make it to the start line… and why showing up mattered far more than the time on the clock.

My First Marathon in Australia

In 2025, Kim-Louise Grundy completed the Sydney Marathon, a World Marathon Mayor, marking her first full marathon. She has also completed half marathons, parkruns, and endurance events including a backyard ultra.

At the start line — where, nerves, hope, and months of quiet determination all meet.

Five Months in the Making

There is a specific kind of silence that falls over you before a race begins, even when you are surrounded by nearly 40,000 other people. On 31 August 2025, I stood at the start line of the Sydney Marathon, feeling every single beat of my heart.

This wasn’t just any race. It was the first year Sydney was officially inducted as the 7th Abbott World Marathon Major, joining the prestigious ranks of London, Boston, New York, Chicago, Berlin, and Tokyo. And it was my first marathon — ever.

The distance of 42.2 kilometres felt like something reserved for other people — people who were faster, stronger, and didn’t describe themselves as “slow runners.” Yet there I was, caught up in the electric atmosphere of a historic day for Australian running.

But as I waited for the starting gun, my mind wasn’t focused solely on the kilometres ahead. It was on the long, unexpected road that brought me there. Getting to the start line had been far harder than I ever imagined — involving my husband’s clinical trial, a cancelled road trip, and a last‑minute scramble that turned a relaxing holiday into a whirlwind 48‑hour mission.

This is the story of how I almost quit — and why I’m so glad I didn’t.

The Excitement of the Ballot

Running a World Marathon Major is a bucket‑list dream for millions, which means entry is never guaranteed. When I entered the Sydney ballot, I treated it like buying a lottery ticket — fun to dream about, but unlikely to happen.

When the acceptance email arrived, the excitement was overwhelming. I was going to be part of history.

The plan was simple and idyllic. I had trained consistently for five months, slowly building my mileage. My husband and I planned to turn the race into a celebration — a 12‑hour road trip to Sydney with scenic stops along the way, a few nights away, and plenty of rest before race day.

That was the plan.

But life rarely follows the schedules we carefully set for it.

Training Through the Storm

Marathon training is demanding at the best of times. It requires early mornings, sore muscles, and a level of focus that can be difficult to balance with family life.

My training block coincided with my husband becoming seriously unwell.

Suddenly, long runs weren’t just physical challenges — they became emotional and logistical puzzles. There were days I felt overwhelming guilt tying up my laces. How could I justify a three‑hour run when things felt so heavy at home? There were countless reasons to quit.

Exhaustion became my constant companion — not just physical fatigue from the kilometres, but emotional exhaustion from uncertainty and worry.

Yet, in an unexpected way, running became my lifeline. Those hours on the road were the only moments my mind found quiet. The steady rhythm of my feet reminded me that forward motion was still possible, even when life felt overwhelming.

I wasn’t fast — but I was consistent.

The Plot Twist

As race week approached, it became clear the 12‑hour road trip was no longer possible. My husband was too unwell to travel, and the dream of a relaxed driving holiday disappeared.

I was devastated. I stared at my suitcase and the unbooked accommodation and thought, I have to pull out. It felt like the responsible decision.

But then I thought about the five months of 4:00 a.m. alarms. The wet mornings. The blisters. The sheer effort it took to prepare my body for 42.2 kilometres.

I realised that if I didn’t go, I was letting the hard moments win.

Three days before the race, I scrapped the original plan and booked two flights — one for me, and one for my eldest daughter, Tearri.

The 48‑Hour Whirlwind

On my way to the start line — tired, nervous, and deeply grateful to have my daughter, Tearri, beside me.

What was meant to be a relaxing ten‑day trip became a fast‑paced logistical mission.

Saturday: 3 hour drive to airport, Fly into Sydney. Navigate the city. Rush to the Expo to collect my bib. Find food. No sightseeing. No downtime.

Sunday: Race day.

Sunday night: Fly home. 3 hour drive home

It was gruelling. By race morning, I was already tired. But having Tearri beside me changed everything. Her presence turned what could have been a lonely experience into an adventure. We tackled the chaos together.

Race Day

The course ahead — 42.2 kilometres through Sydney, each turn representing months of training, doubt, and the decision to keep going.

Starting Wave Red – Group 3 – Entry Shute B – Start time 7:41am

Somewhere on course — still moving.

The race itself blurred into equal parts adrenaline and pain. Sydney’s course is stunning — but it’s tough. As the hills added up, I kept waiting for my legs to give out.

I am not an elite athlete. I am a slow runner. Thousands passed me. But in a marathon, you’re not racing the people around you — you’re racing the voice in your head that tells you to stop.

Every time I wanted to stop, I thought about all the training. I thought about nearly not making it to Sydney, let alone the start line. I thought about my husband at home, and how finishing this race symbolised resilience for both of us.

Crossing the finish line was pure, unfiltered emotion.

I stopped my watch.

5:34:50.

I placed 28,654th out of 39,148 runners. To the world, that’s a number near the back of the pack. To me, it’s a gold medal.

Showing Up Is the Victory

We often believe achievement is measured by the time on the clock. But the real victory wasn’t the finish time — it was booking the flight when I wanted to cancel.

It was lacing up my shoes after sleepless nights.

It was flying into a city with no perfect plan — just determination.

If you’re facing a challenge — whether it’s a marathon or something entirely different — remember this: perfect conditions don’t exist. You’ll never feel completely ready. There will always be reasons to quit.

Do it anyway.

Run slow.

Show up.

Just finish.

Proof that I was always stronger than I thought.

I am a marathoner now — and no one can ever take that away from me.

Chooky xx