Why I’m Chasing the World Marathon Majors — And You Might Too

When people talk about London, Boston, or Berlin marathons, they’re talking about the World Marathon Majors: a series of the biggest and most iconic marathons in the world.

They’re the kind of races where hundreds of thousands of people apply, but only a fraction get in.

To put the hype into perspective: this year, a record-setting 1,133,813 (1.1~ million) people applied for one of the 55,000~ spots available at the London Marathon. And I was one of them.

It’s a similar story for the other majors, too. Which begs the question: why are so many people — myself included — so keen to run these marathons?

What’s so special about the World Marathon Majors?

From Newcastle to Hanoi

The Great North Run is the world’s largest half-marathon — and, luckily for me, the finish line is in my hometown.

In North East England, it’s almost a rite of passage to run the GNR at some point in your life. I vaguely remember my dad coming home the year he ran it, wrapped in his foil blanket and proudly holding his medal.

When my turn came to run it in my early twenties, it was my first foray into running — and it spoiled me.

The Great North Run is simply too good.

The atmosphere is phenomenal: there’s a palpable buzz from start to finish. It feels like the entire North East comes out to support. As a local lad, it’s a feeling like no other.

You couldn’t ask for better organisation or logistics, either. The race starts on time, it’s safe and secure, and you’re never in need of a water station (or even on-course showers on a hot day).

Not knowing any better, I assumed all races would be like that.

How naive of me! Few races are like the GNR. In fact, most are far from it.

Races can be lonely and disorganised (with few spectators, runners, or aid stations), and they can be downright chaotic.

Here are a few examples:

• In Singapore, a half-marathon where the lead cyclist took me the wrong way

• In Malaysia, a 5K road race where they didn’t close the roads

• In Vietnam, a marathon where I nearly got hit by a motorbike that sneaked (without remorse) onto the course

These episodes all make for fun stories in retrospect. If you’re just running for fun, almost getting hit by a motorbike might be the highlight of the race.

But if you’ve trained hard, remained disciplined for months, and you show up on race day ready to give everything — only to find the course organisation in disarray, it’s crushing.

Take my experience in Vietnam, for instance.

I trained for the Hanoi Marathon for 18 weeks, training in less-than-ideal conditions in Southeast Asia, taking substantial time out of my travels to do so, only to crumble on race day.

The marathon isn’t well-known. At the time, that didn’t faze me.

It should have.

Alongside racing with motorbikes, the course was poorly signposted and lit — a lonely and chaotic experience. It crushed me. I vowed never to put myself in that position again.

Why the World Marathon Majors matter

When it comes to “A races” (that is, the races I explicitly train for — usually marathons), I decided: if I’m putting in that much work, I want the experience to be worth it.

Why can’t every race be like the GNR? A buzzing atmosphere, other runners and, above all else, reliable organisation.

Well, that’s where the Majors come in.

What are the World Marathon Majors?

For me, the World Marathon Majors represent the pinnacle of marathon racing. These are the races that every marathoner dreams of doing.

The original six majors — London, Berlin, Boston, New York, Tokyo and Chicago — were joined by Sydney last year, with 2 more events — Cape Town and Shanghai — likely to join in the coming years.

Aside from each being iconic in their own right, each marathon in the series has a proven track record of solid organisation and attracts thousands of the world’s best runners. The races invariably include the likes of Kipchoge and Hassan.

For a new event to join the series, it has to undergo a rigorous process.

It’s kinda like joining the European Union: candidate events must undertake a multi-year application process to ensure they meet high standards of organisation, safety and so on.

That’s the beauty of the whole thing. When you sign up for one of these races, you know you’re joining an event that has had to jump through hoops to be in the series. That means you’re getting the gold standard for event organisation.

Not only that, these events are lined with people. While an empty race can deflate you, a race lined with spectators is an undeniable psychological boost.

It didn’t take much to convince me: I decided I wanted to run them all.

The Goal: The Six Star Medal

That might sound extreme, but it’s a thing. There’s a bit of a cult following around the coveted Six Star Medal — a medal given to anyone who runs all six of the original events.

And it’s an exclusive piece of metal. Few runners have ever completed the challenge. At the time of writing, the total is just over 20,000.

If these races are so popular, then why is the Six Star Medal so exclusive? There are a bunch of reasons.

For a start, running all six events is a demanding challenge — 6 marathons anywhere in the world is no easy job.

Running the series is also insanely expensive, requiring:

• Travel across 3 continents in some of the most world’s most expensive nations (flights, hotels, etc).

• Entry to 6+ of the most expensive races in history (the entry cost for Chicago this year was $279 USD).

• The luxury to take enough time off work to train, travel and race.

This is compounded by the fact that, for most races, you need to be a fast runner, a lucky runner, or both. For instance:

• Wanna race London next year? You’ve got a 1-in-52 chance of entry in the ballot — unless you’re fast enough to get a Good For Age spot (for a 18-39 male like myself, that means a sub-2:52 marathon).

• Boston is even more brutal — you can’t even apply unless you have a fast marathon time. For me, a sub 2:55 marathon is the bare minimum. Even then, I’d not be guaranteed a place.

In short, that limits the Six Star Medal to a handful of people in the world who can complete 6 marathons, can run a fast marathon, have a reasonable amount of disposable income and a relatively flexible job, and have luck on their side.

For someone like me, that fits — I love running marathons and travelling, and I have a remote job. I’m one of the lucky few — and I certainly recognise it — who can complete this challenge.

Let’s be real: I’m not going to be in the elite field for London, I’m not going to the Olympics — but completing a challenge like this would be a realistic achievement to take pride in.

But for me, it’s not about the medal per se — I mean, anyone who has been racing for a few years inevitably ends up with a shoebox full of pointless ribbons and tin.

It’s not about the travel, either. That’s a bonus.

No. For me, it’s about the security of knowing that when I set aside 4 months to train hard for a marathon — training hard day after day, eating well, giving up booze, prioritising training over sitting in front of the TV, and so on — I want to know I'll show up on race day confident that everything will be in place.

All I need to do is focus on giving the best performance I can.

That’s why I am going to run them all. Eventually.

Next stop: Chicago.