Ivana Poku
When I first heard about a mum running a marathon shortly after giving birth, my reaction wasn’t wow.
It was wait… what was really going on behind that?
Because stories like this aren’t about fitness.
They’re about survival. Identity.
And finding something to hold onto when motherhood turns your world upside down.
So I asked Emma to share her story in her own words.
Running Was Part of Me Long Before I Became a Mum
I had a place in the 2006 London Marathon, but an injury meant I had to defer.
That disappointment turned into a quiet, slightly wild thought.
If I moved quickly, I could get pregnant with my second child and still run the 2007 marathon without losing my place.
It sounds calculated now. But really, it was instinct.
Running was already part of who I was.
I wasn’t ready to lose that part of myself.
I was incredibly lucky with both pregnancies. No sickness. No pain.
So I kept running — gently, carefully, gratefully.
With my second pregnancy, I went for a slow five-mile run one snowy morning.
That evening, I went into labour.
Emergency C-Sections Change You in Ways You Don’t Expect
Both of my children were delivered by emergency C-section.
In both cases, alarms went off.
The monitors showed distress.
Everything suddenly moved fast.
My daughter was born on 21st February.
I didn’t get the birth I had imagined.
I didn’t get to labour.
I didn’t get to feel my body do what I thought it was meant to do.
Instead, I was handed a baby.
And while I loved my children deeply, there was a quiet grief underneath that no one talked about.
Seven Weeks Postpartum, I Was Training for a Marathon
I truly believe staying active helped my recovery — physically and mentally.
Seven weeks after giving birth, I stood on the start line of the London Marathon.
Before that day, my longest run postpartum was 14 miles.
I’d run two marathons before, so I knew what pain felt like.
What I didn’t know was how I’d cope emotionally — or how I’d manage breastfeeding while marathon training.
I packed a battery-operated breast pump into my kit bag, just in case.
Thankfully, I didn’t need it.
Although I may have been the only woman to finish the marathon with bigger boobs than when she started.
Motherhood has a sense of humour like that.
Running Was Never About Weight or Medals
I ran London in 2005, one week before my son’s first birthday.
I wanted to run again so both my children could have a medal each.
But the truth is — running was never just about achievement.
Running made me feel capable, proud, and grounded
It helped me manage my relationship with food and gave me space to think.
And the mindfulness I felt running through fields and quiet tracks gave me a peace I couldn’t find anywhere else.
Running was the one thing that was still mine.
My Silent Struggle With Postnatal Depression
After my son was born, I struggled deeply with postnatal depression.
I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.
I just felt overwhelmed, anxious, and completely unprepared.
The lack of sleep hit me hard.
I obsessed over his naps.
I panicked if he slept after 3 pm.
I avoided car journeys and buggy walks because I was terrified of broken sleep at night.
I went back to full-time work when he was six months old and threw myself into exercise — partly for sanity, partly to escape.
It took almost two years before I felt we truly bonded.
The Guilt I Never Said Out Loud
My son was delivered without me going into labour.
I went in for a routine check and was told, “He needs to come out now.”
I felt like I had failed.
Like I hadn’t earned him.
Like I’d skipped something essential.
I was just given a baby.
That thought stayed with me far longer than I care to admit.
The Moments That Should Have Been Red Flags
Looking back, there were moments that scare me now.
At six weeks postpartum, my son was crying through the night. I was exhausted.
I handed him to my partner and asked if he could take him back to the hospital.
I genuinely said I couldn’t cope.
Another time, my mum offered to have him overnight so I could sleep.
I told her I was scared.
Not because I’d miss him — but because I was afraid I wouldn’t want to come back and collect him.
That thought terrified me.
But it was real.
With My Daughter, I Did Things Differently
When my daughter was born, I knew I couldn’t go through that again.
I breastfed her for two years.
Partly for the bond, partly because it forced me to stay present.
I couldn’t avoid bedtime. I couldn’t step away.
With my son, I often tried to avoid time together.
With my daughter, I stayed.
I wish I had recognised the signs earlier.
I wish I had asked for help.
Instead, I told myself I was failing because everyone else seemed to love motherhood.
Where I Am Now
My son is now 15 and my daughter is 12.
These days, I’m mostly a taxi driver lol.
But I’m also someone who understands how fragile early motherhood can be, and how important it is to talk about it.
A Gentle Reminder
If you recognise yourself in any part of Emma’s story — the fear, the guilt, the numbness — please know this:
And you are not alone.
If you want to see it for yourself, check out my book Motherhood – The Unspoken.
