Emily was all set to walk down the aisle, but first, she had to cross the finish line…
As I stumbled out of my room, my head pounded.
‘Are you ready?’ my friend and bridesmaid, Jazz cheered.
In her hands was a bright yellow tutu and matching chicken hat.
I burst out laughing.
‘Pass it here then,’ I said, pulling the tutu on over my running gear.
I was on my hen-do and, after telling my bridesmaids I’d wanted to do something memorable, I was running the Brighton marathon.
Only problem was, I was horrifically hungover.
The night before, we’d ventured out on ‘Emily’s Ale Trail’.
We’d visited pubs and bars all across Brighton, downing pint after pint.
The last thing I remembered before crashing into bed at 3am was dancing to Rhianna as bright lights spun around me.
Now, donned in my hen costume, I tried to get some porridge down me.
As bad as the hangover was, there was no way I was chickening out!
An hour later, I stood at the start line, taking deep breaths.
You can do this, just take it easy, lots of walking, it’ll be fun, I told myself as another wave of nausea washed over me.
As the start gun sounded, I started running.
The girls had promised to line the route at different mile markers.
On a hot day, I started to sweat.
I don’t think I can do this, I thought.
But then I heard the crowds cheer.
‘Look, a chicken!’ someone shouted.
I’d run 17 marathons, so knew what to expect to a degree,
But I’d never done it in fancy dress.
For the first few miles, it was the clapping and whoops that kept me going.
Then out the corner of my eye, I spotted a gaggle of my girls.
‘Emily, you’re amazing… put this on!’ my bridesmaid Kat said, handing me a blue garter.
I laughed, slipping the garter on over my running shorts before carrying on – beaming.
And as I reached the midway point and others around me starting to struggle, my hangover begun to ease.
To my surprise, I felt amazing.
Reaching mile 18, I spotted more of my pals.
‘Go on Em!’ they hollered, handing me a pair of white heart-shaped sunnies.
‘Thank you!’ I giggled, keeping my pace as I slipped them on.
A few miles on, I spotted a sign.
‘A hungover bride might win, she got in at 3am!’ it read, my chuckling chums holding it high.
It gave me another boost and soon I was making good time.
At mile 20 I stopped for a pep talk with my girls and was handed a white veil.
‘You’re in sixth place! Keep going,’ they encouraged.
My competitive streak kicked in and I stepped things up a gear.
I can hen-do this! I thought.
As I rounded the last bend, everyone was clapping and shouting.
Then I spotted a familiar face in the crowd.
It was my fiancée Charlotte.
But it wasn’t the real Charlotte, my bridesmaids has stuck her face to an inflatable doll and were handing it to me.
Grabbing blow-up Charlotte, together, we ran the last 100m.
Up ahead, I could see three people.
I ran as fast as I could – overtaking the girl in 3rd to bag the 3rd place for myself!
And I crossed the line at the 2 hour 58 minutes.
‘Congratulations!’ my hens clucked, circling me.
‘I’m exhausted!’ I said.
We celebrated with a hair-of-the-dog beer and fish and chips on the beach.
While I’m so proud of my achievement, I certainly wouldn’t recommend running a marathon on a hangover to others – and I’m sure doctors wouldn’t either!
It can be unsafe, and I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the race if I’d really not felt up to it.
Now, I can’t wait to walk down the aisle with Charlotte.
This time though, it’ll definitely be a walk and not a sprint!
Emily Marchant, 34, Swansea, Wales