By: Helena Radcliffe.

Race Date: 22^nd February, 2026.

I didn’t plan to start my Malta Marathon weekend with a shake-out run through Manchester Airport, but fate and a very public tannoy heckling helped sharpen the legs at 5am as I realised that parking in the cheap seats, miles from Terminal 2 was not my brightest idea.

Luckily, Malta was forgiving as it greeted me with warm sunshine as the bus took me to Sliema. I had a lovely stroll to the harbour to pick up my race-pack. I took a moment to soak up the pre-race buzz by pinning my ‘reason for running’ to the giant cork board. I proudly wrote an empowering statement of ‘challenging stereotypes’… then I spotted the far superior honesty of someone who’d simply written: ‘to eat more.’

After meandering throughout the charming streets of Sliema, I checked into my hotel for an early sleep ahead of another 4 a.m. alarm on race day.

By 5am, the streets of Sliema were stirring. One by one, marathon runners emerged from doorways and side streets, all dressed in the signature orange of the Malta Marathon. We looked like Knights of St John, summoned for a secret dawn mission while the rest of the Sliema slept. The shuttle bus carried us to Rabat, the official start line for the Malta Marathon, and by 6:45am, the sunrise had summoned us to the start line.

The route itself was messy, magical, mildly absurd, everything a marathon should be, as it passed through old villages, skirting the walls of Mdina, the ‘Silent City,’ and, and circling the national stadium twice. After a while, even the once-charming sight of Mdina that scars the landscape became a sort of visual heckle, as we kept running past it again and again, never entirely sure where the course would send us next.

Once I settled into the rhythm of the course, the Malta Marathon revealed one of its greatest charms, that every village felt like stepping into a different country. One moment the streets looked almost North African, the next, Italian, with colourful balconies full of spectators leaning out to cheer. It felt like having three holidays in one, a perfect reflection of Malta’s history.

By the time I hit the 20-mile mark, I braced myself for “the wall”, only to find I was climbing it rather than crashing into it. With just 10 km to go or, as every British runner secretly calculates, “two mental park runs”, I started chipping-away at the distance, one stride at a time.

The final four kilometres descended to the light blue harbour, where I soaked in the cheers and took every high five from random strangers in the last 200m up to the finish line, finishing in 4h 35 minutes with a cheeky PB along with a well-earnt tan in the process.

Feeling the perfect cocktail of exhaustion and triumph, a volunteer knighted me with the BIGGEST medal I have EVER received which felt like a true medal of honour.

Overall, the Malta Marathon is a no-frills event, just good old orange slices, seasoned with sunshine and history, served on a medal so BIG it doubles as a dinner plate.

The race was won by Marhoum Bilal (Morocco, but no identified club) in 02:17:04 and Jemima Farley (UK, Ladies Running Club) in 02:40:16 .

(Photos from the author)

Strider’s Result: