Guiding a blind veteran

Guide runner Matt shares his experience of the London Marathon in his own words.

With less than a week to go before the 2026 London Marathon, I got the kind of message that makes your stomach drop and your sense of duty kick in at the same time: “We need a guide runner. Can you step in?”

The runner was Royal Navy veteran Wayne, a man who had lost his sight but not his determination. He was running to raise money for Blind Veterans UK, the charity that helped him rebuild his independence after his life changed forever. As a fellow veteran, I didn’t hesitate. You don’t leave one of your own without support.

What I didn’t fully appreciate at the time was just how much trust Wayne would be placing in me and how much responsibility comes with guiding someone through one of the busiest, loudest, most unpredictable marathons on the planet.

The Expo: Controlled chaos, runners everywhere, and the first test of teamwork

Before we even reached the start line, Wayne and I had to survive the madness of the London Marathon Expo at the ExCeL. If you’ve never been, imagine thousands of runners all buzzing with pre race nerves, weaving through queues, merch stands, charity stalls, and enough Lycra to carpet the entire Docklands.

For Wayne, navigating that sensory overload without sight was its own marathon, dodging people who stop dead without warning, negotiating sharp turns and stepping around bags, boxes and the occasional over excited influencer filming their “I’m collecting my bib!” moment. He had already earned his first medal in patience, humour and battlefield level situational awareness.

Running without sight: The hazards you don’t notice until someone else depends on you

Most runners worry about pacing, hydration, or whether their legs will hold up. When you’re guiding a visually impaired runner, the entire world becomes a potential hazard.

Every metre requires constant communication: “Step left.” “Small rise coming.” “Hold onto me.” “Slowing runners ahead.” “Sharp right in three, two, one…”

It’s a strange combination of choreography, vigilance and trust. Wayne couldn’t see the course, but he could feel every shift in my stride, every change in rhythm, every moment where I tensed before guiding him around something and he matched me step for step, mile after mile.

The London Marathon crowd: A wall of noise that carries you forward

If you could bottle the atmosphere of the London Marathon, you’d power the national grid.

For Wayne, the crowd wasn’t just encouragement, it was orientation. The roar at Cutty Sark, the thunder over Tower Bridge, the chants along Embankment… each section had its own vibe, its own purpose and each represented a milestone that we were chalking off.

For me, the crowd was a reminder of why this race is unlike any other. People shouted Wayne’s name, cheered for Blind Veterans UK and applauded the “link” between us as if it were a medal in its own right. Complete strangers offered support, motivation and the kind of energy that makes you forget how far you’ve already run.

Wayne’s why: Running for Blind Veterans UK

Wayne’s journey didn’t start on the start line in Blackheath. It started the day he was diagnosed and had to rebuild his life from the ground up. Blind Veterans UK stepped in when he needed them most, giving him skills, confidence and independence at a time when the world had gone dark and blurry.

Running the marathon was his way of giving back and an aim to achieve something that he thought was beyond him.

Crossing the line: Independence, pride, and a moment that said everything

As we approached The Mall, the noise growing and the finish line finally in touching distance, I loosened my grip and told Wayne exactly where he was.

I stayed just behind him, watching a blind veteran reclaim something that sight loss had tried to take away. No tether, no assistance, just a hand on my arm for 26.2 miles and then, at the end, the freedom to finish under his own power.

Guiding Wayne wasn’t easy. It demanded constant vigilance, split second decisions and a level of trust that’s hard to describe. But seeing him cross that line alone, running for Blind Veterans UK, running for independence, running for himself, made every hazard, every adjustment, every shouted warning worth it.

The marathon is full of extraordinary stories.

This year, Wayne’s was one of them.

I was just the bloke lucky enough to run beside him.