Charlie's story - Manchester Half Marathon

When I decided to run a half marathon for Beat, the UK’s eating disorder charity, it wasn’t just about the miles, it was about meaning. This wasn’t simply a cause I cared about; it was a reflection of who I am, where I’ve been, and how far I’ve come.

My journey with an eating disorder was filled with quiet battles, silent strength, and moments of transformation that I could never have imagined at the time. For years, I lived under the belief that to be loved, accepted, or even seen, I had to make myself smaller, in every sense of the word.

There were times I genuinely believed that disappearing was the only way to find peace. Looking back, I wish I could reach out to that version of myself, exhausted from trying to shrink into invisibility, and tell her that peace was never going to come from disappearing.

If only she’d known what was waiting ahead. That she’d fall in love and propose at sunset on a beach. That she’d build a life and family with someone who truly sees her. That her body, once the battleground, would go on to do incredible things, like running a half marathon and giving birth five weeks early, going from high risk to fully dilated with just paracetamol and a bit of gas and air.

My body, once something I tried to control, had become something I learned to trust.

Why Beat

I chose to fundraise for Beat because their mission feels deeply personal. Beat represents everything I wish my younger self had known, that eating disorders are not choices, that recovery is possible, and that help is out there even when it feels unreachable.

When I was struggling, resources like Beat weren’t something I had the courage or knowledge to reach for. Running for them became my way of closing that circle, of giving back to the community I now know could have saved me sooner.

I wanted to raise awareness and funds so that someone else, sitting in that same dark space, might find the support they need. Every donation, every message, every step of training felt like a tribute, to the version of me who once couldn’t imagine life beyond survival, and to everyone still finding their way back to themselves.

The Run Itself

They say running is therapy — and in many ways, it was. But no stretch of road ever taught me the same lessons that recovery did. Still, crossing that start line, knowing why I was there, gave every mile a sense of purpose that went far beyond fitness or finish times.

I dedicated my miles to my therapist (Cath at House of Almond Blossom) who changed the course of my life. The one who believed when I couldn’t cope, who met me in darkness and carried the hope.

Each mile was a conversation between who I was and who I’ve become. Every step reminded me: I’m no longer numb.

From the days I doubted I’d survive, to that moment on the course: wholly, vividly alive.

After the Finish Line

Crossing that finish line was emotional in a way I hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t about the time on the clock, it was about the years behind me. Every step had carried a piece of that story, and finishing felt like closing a chapter I once thought would never end.

The support from friends, family, and strangers reminded me how much kindness exists in the world. Every donation felt like a ripple of hope, proof that people care, even when we think we’re alone.

Fundraising for Beat gave my recovery a new layer of meaning. It turned pain into purpose.

To Anyone Struggling

If you’re struggling right now, please know this: it comes and goes in waves, and we can ride those waves together. It’s okay to feel stuck. It’s okay to feel sad. There are no belly laughs without a few tears along the way.

Take it from someone who once couldn’t see the light, but now sees the world in full colour, don’t fear recovery because it might make your body expand. Think instead of how it will make your mind expand.

Want to take your own marathon, run or fundraiser? Take a look at our Runs, Treks & Challenges here: Fundraising challenges