The Road To The Berlin Marathon Double

By Isaac Harvey, President, Wheels and Wheelchairs

Where It All Started

If you'd told me a few years ago that in September 2026 I would be in Berlin attempting two marathons in one weekend, I probably would have wondered how we'd got there. Or, actually, knowing how my life has unfolded, maybe I wouldn't have been that surprised.

It takes me back to 2019, when I remember being at Winter Wonderland and someone told me about wheelchair roller skating. I had never heard of such a concept. The idea was simple: wheelchair users and roller skaters coming together, with skaters pushing the chairs and allowing them to experience skating alongside them.

I joined on a Saturday morning and from that point onwards became heavily involved with Wheels and Wheelchairs. It was the first time I'd experienced an activity that not only brought a community together, but that I could also do close to home. There was something about being outdoors, being part of a group and experiencing places in a completely different way.

Due to my involvement, I was eventually asked to become President of Wheels and Wheelchairs. It felt like a big role to fill, but by then I had already seen what this group could make possible, so I accepted. I don't think I had any idea where that decision would eventually take me.

The Adventures Kept Getting Bigger

The more involved I became, the more I realised wheelchair skating could take me much further than I had ever imagined.

I had the opportunity to skate in Paris and Istanbul, experience Berlin and eventually take on one of our biggest adventures yet, skating all the way from Brighton to Paris for the start of the Paralympic Games. That one still sounds slightly ridiculous when I write it down, but it was such an incredible experience.

Wheels and Wheelchairs had travelled internationally before I became involved, so this is very much my personal perspective. But these were the experiences that showed me what could happen when wheelchair users, skaters and the right group of people came together. Something I'd never even heard of before joining the group was suddenly taking me across countries and giving me experiences I never thought I'd have.

Berlin became a particularly important part of that story. I completed the Inline Skating Marathon there twice. Being amongst thousands of skaters taking over the streets of Berlin was something special, particularly knowing how many people still don't even realise wheelchair skating exists.

But through all of those different adventures, there were also people who became a constant part of the journey.

Someone Who's Been There From The Beginning

Kevin has actually been part of my skating story from the very start.

One thing I've probably never appreciated publicly enough is just how much he cares about making sure people are included. From those early skates, he was always looking out for people, making sure everyone was safe and thinking about how we could all be part of what was happening. Years later, that hasn't changed.

And every now and then, the two of us have also wondered whether we could push things a little further.

One of those moments was taking wheelchair skating into London's night skates. Having me join as a wheelchair user was something new, and together we went from that first night skate to eventually taking on the Friday Night Skate and Good Friday night skate too. Something that initially felt like a big unknown gradually became something we knew was possible.

Looking back, I'm incredibly grateful to Kevin for those experiences. But I'm even more grateful for everything people don't necessarily see: the care, patience and responsibility he has brought to skating over the years. It's something I probably don't say enough, so it feels right to say it here.

And then, after years of skating together, another question came up.

The Idea That Took Two Years

Could we complete both Berlin marathons in the same weekend?

The idea of the Berlin Double had been developing for almost two years: complete the Berlin Inline Skating Marathon on Saturday and then, less than 24 hours later, take on the running marathon.

It was exactly the kind of question that sounds exciting when the event is still two years away. The closer September 2026 got, the more we began to understand what we'd actually signed ourselves up for.

Saturday: The First 42.2km

On Saturday 26th September, we took on the Berlin Inline Skating Marathon.

There was something surreal about finally being there after talking about the Double for so long. This was my third time participating in the skating marathon, but it felt completely different knowing that crossing the finish line wouldn't actually mean our challenge was finished.

We had originally hoped for another sub-two-hour skate, but as the race unfolded, that stopped mattering to me. I just wanted to get to the finish.

And we did.

There was an incredible amount of support around us, from fellow skaters to people watching from the side of the course. But there wasn't much time to celebrate. The following morning, we had another 42.2km waiting for us.

Sunday: When It Became Very Real

Sunday 27th September was my first running marathon ever, and it became a very different experience.

The atmosphere was infectious. There were so many people on the sidelines, complete strangers shouting our names and giving us so much support, and even other runners alongside us offering words of encouragement. It's really hard to put into words, but it was certainly special.

However, as each kilometre passed, the pain became worse. There came a point where my body was struggling so much that I couldn't think properly. I was getting out of breath and everything became about trying to manage what was happening physically. There was a moment where it genuinely felt as though we had failed.

That was difficult to process because this wasn't just one day. It was nearly two years of planning, training and people supporting us. We had made it through Saturday and suddenly I was having to confront the possibility that my body might decide where the story ended.

Kevin was there throughout all of it.

People will understandably look at the photographs and see me in the chair with Kevin pushing, but that doesn't really explain the trust involved in something like this. We had trained and experimented together, and after all those years of skating, here we were trying to get through something neither of us had ever done before. On the Sunday, when things became incredibly difficult, we were still a team.

Somehow, we kept going. Eventually, we crossed the finish line.

Making History, Even Without The Guinness Title

As the idea initially grew, we started wondering whether what we were attempting could become a Guinness World Record.

That would have been an incredible addition to the story, but Guinness ultimately couldn't recognise the Double in the way we had hoped. They offered us a different record involving the skating marathon, but we knew what mattered to us.

We wanted to do the Double.

After nearly two years of talking about it, planning it and wondering whether our bodies would actually get us through it, a certificate wasn't going to be the reason we crossed those finish lines. We went to Berlin believing we could make history as the first wheelchair user and pusher duo to complete both marathons across the same weekend.

When we crossed that second finish line, that's exactly what it felt like.

The People Who Captured The Journey

One of the reasons we'll be able to look back properly on this experience is Jonathan. He did an incredible job filming and documenting our journey, including so much of what happened before we ever reached a Berlin start line. He captured the training, conversations, funny moments and difficult ones, as well as the weekend itself.

I'm particularly grateful for that because a photograph of a medal or a finish line can make something like this look very simple. It doesn't show the months beforehand, the doubts, the pain or all the people who helped make those few seconds at the finish possible.

Jonathan helped us preserve that side of the story, and he deserves a huge amount of credit for it.

What This Was Really About

It's strange to think that all of this traces back to someone mentioning wheelchair roller skating to me when I didn't even know such a thing existed.

Years later, it has taken me across countries, introduced me to some incredible people and eventually led to Kevin and me crossing two marathon finish lines in Berlin across one weekend. What started as an idea almost two years earlier had actually happened.

But I don't think the medals or even making history are what I'll remember most.

For me, the Berlin Double showed what inclusive sport can look like when people come together and are willing to find a way. None of this happened because one person did everything. It took Kevin pushing me, people training alongside us, people helping behind the scenes and a whole community believing that this slightly mad idea was worth pursuing.

It also gave us an opportunity to tell more people about Wheels and Wheelchairs and raise more than £3,400 to help the club continue creating opportunities, experiences and better equipment for wheelchair users.

To everyone who donated, shared what we were doing, followed the journey, sent us messages, trained with us, supported us in Berlin or played any part in getting us to those finish lines, thank you. You became part of this story too.

I'm still recovering physically, and I think it will take a little longer for everything we've achieved to properly sink in. But I'm incredibly proud of what all of us created together.

Perhaps that's the biggest thing I've learned since discovering Wheels and Wheelchairs: you never really know where the next adventure is going to take you.

And apparently, Berlin might not be our last starting line either…

Two countries, 121 miles, lots of new friends. Our skate from Brighton to Paris

By Isaac Harvey, President of Wheels And Wheelchairs

It's crazy to think that this year we went on a journey from Brighton to Paris… and not any ordinary journey, a journey where roller skaters pushed wheelchair users on a 121 mile trek. The depth of connection and the challenges that was had along the way is somewhat indescribable but I'm definitely going to try.

My name is Isaac and I am the proud president of Wheels And Wheelchairs. If you know me, I love a challenge so when the idea of doing this came into play I was all up for it. I knew it was going to push me to my limit and it sure did in ways that I did not expect. This was more than a physical journey; it was a exploration of strength and the bonds formed under the shared spirit of adventure.

RAIN AND PIZZA

Our trip began with us having to shift our starting point from Brighton to Newhaven due to rain. Meaning we were not able to do the first leg of our journey, although it was a shame it did not dampen our spirits. As we shared pizza the air buzzed with anticipation, and despite the change, we were ready for what was about to come. The ferry to Dieppe carried us not just across waters but also into the heart of our adventure.

Upon reaching Dieppe, the real challenge began. We faced a route that tested our endurance and drive, especially on the longest day when we covered over 72 km. Despite the physical demands, where my legs started to kill me after the first two hours, the journey was visually and emotionally rewarding. The landscapes we passed were breathtaking, something you just wouldn't get if you were doing a road trip, so I took in every moment. We laughed, supported and just rolled with each other at its best. And with the support crew boosting our spirits with well-timed, nourishing supplies at every break and a warm welcome made every mile worth it.

Each day brought new challenges and with them, new victories. A particularly steep 1 km-long uphill climb tested our teamwork. The effort was demanding, but the shared success of reaching the top was exhilarating. This climb showed the strength of our journey - facing obstacles together and overcoming them with collectiveness.

HEARTWARMING

For me the most heartwarming moment came during our surprise visit to a local retirement home. The residents, having only learned about our challenge a few weeks prior, greeted us with cookies, decorations inspired by the upcoming Paris 2024 games, and an outpouring of support that surpassed language barriers. Their enthusiasm and the touching gesture of one resident who coloured in The Kingsguard gave our endeavour a deeper meaning behind what we were doing. Us rolling from one country to another meant so much to some people beyond our intimate community.

As we came to the last day before arriving into Paris, an unexpected tumble happened a day before. Accidents happen and I knew by taking part in wheelchair roller skating there is the chance of it happening. This was the first time in five years that I've tipped – evidence to the safety procedures, practice and skill within our group but a reminder of the risks involved in an activity that can push the limits when we are skating long distances at speed.

Despite some advice to take the support vehicle for part of the last day, I was like, ‘I have come this far, I have to see it through!’.

DETERMINATION

This determination was bought on from the support from everyone and knowing the significance of what we had just done for the past couple of days. Even though I knew I probably was going to regret it afterwards (which I slightly did) knowing how much pain I was going to be in, I just knew I had to do it. And that's what I did.

Arriving in Paris was a moment of overwhelming achievement. The challenges, both physical and emotional, finished in a great sense of accomplishment. Even more so as we rolled into the Stade de France, greeted by cheers and a sense of completion. The journey was evidence to what we can achieve together, no matter the ability. It's community got us through it and it's community that made us complete what may have seemed like the impossible to some people.

Looking back, I am filled with gratitude for every skater, volunteer, and supporter who joined us on this remarkable journey. Thanks to your support, I was able to get to the whopping number of £5,824, which it's thanks to all the generous donors who will fuel our future endeavours and help us continue breaking barriers. This journey has not only been about covering distance but about deepening our understanding of what we can achieve together.

How rollerblading saved my life

The eight-year-old me hated Barbie. My family couldn’t afford the impossibly-proportioned doll that my friends gleefully dressed as an air hostess or housewife. I made do with her cheaper, lumpen British equivalent, Sindy, instead.

And yet I shall be in the queue for the Pepto-Bismal explosion of neon that is the new Barbie movie, starring Margot Robbie as my friends’ brash plastic heroine made real.

What won me over is not that the film stars bare-chested Ryan Gosling, as Barbie’s anatomically-challenged boyfriend Ken, although obviously that is quite a pull. The lure for me is this year’s hottest summer movie features Robbie and Gosling rollerblading, the hobby that saved my life. 

It really did. Six years ago in London’s Battersea Park, I was unloading my teenage daughter’s wheelchair to take her for a stroll. Elvi has physical and learning disabilities, it was impossible to find a sport we could do together so we did a lot of walking.

Rollerblading joy in Santa Monica from Margot Robbie as Barbie and Ryan Gosling as Ken

In the next disabled bay a man wearing rollerblades was also unloading a wheelchair. Curious, I asked what he was doing. “I’m not abusing the blue badge,” he replied. “I’m part of the charity Wheels And Wheelchairs. We push wheelchair users around the park at speed, would your daughter like to join us?”

That one serendipitous moment transformed our lives. The next weekend we tentatively joined the Wheels And Wheelchairs crew, me wearing rollerblades pushing Elvi with two other skaters pushing me to increase our speed. The sensory rush of racing, with the wind in her face, was like nothing my daughter had experienced. Elvi doesn’t have many words but her excited giggles told me, and the smiling passers-by, this was something she loved.

We’ve been rollerblading ever since. Every Saturday we’re in the park. As my skills and fitness improved we graduated to the Sunday Stroll,150-plus skaters speeding through the streets of London en masse. Elvi and I even participated in the Paris Rolleur Marathon.

Parenting a disabled child is isolating. There are crashing lows of despair and loneliness through lack of support, but skating has given us entry to a community that is as welcoming as it is fun.

The sport attracts a wild cross-section of devotees. The hip hop and Tik Tok crowds love it because it looks great and you can do it to music. But our gang includes a retired barrister and a graphic designer who started skating in her late sixties.

I learned the chap in the car park, Muhayman, is a brain surgeon turned palliative care consultant who swapped running for skating because it had less impact on his knees. Inspired by the 2012 Paralympics, he co-founded Wheels and Wheelchairs.

In 2021 so many people had taken to wheels during the pandemic that the BBC reported a worldwide shortage of skates. Model Liberty Ross, wife of music mogul Jimmy Iovine, reopened Flipper’s trans-Atlantic chain of roller discos last year. Her father, Ian, had managed the glamorous “Studio 54 on wheels” Hollywood club in the 1970s. The StarWash Roller Disco opens in Manchester’s Trafford Centre imminently, just in time for the school holidays.

Sam pushing Elvi on a skate in Battersea Park

Ross says: “You can be really bad at it or really good, but no matter what, you’re smiling when you put your skates on. Roller skating forces you to put your phone away for a few hours, to get into your body and have some fun.”

This summer you’ll find Elvi and me at Flipper’s in Westfield White City or in a cinema watching Barbie. All these years later, it’s incredibly satisfying to finally have something in common with my nemesis.

This article first appeared in The Spectator














How NOT to travel with a wheelchair. Travel accessibility from London to Dijon

By Muhayman Jamil, Wheels and Wheelchairs Secretary

We completed an Inline Half Marathon last month with our friend Matthew. 

It was actually called ‘Le Marathon des Grands Crus’; but let’s call it the Dijon (Inline) Marathon / Half Marathon.

We had GLORIOUS weather, and it was a beautiful route. It was a little hilly, and therefore a bit of a challenge; but doing the Half Marathon itself was soooo much easier than getting there from London. Matthew is a wheelchair user and public transport has a long way to go before it is genuinely accessible. 

As an organisation that encourages all our members to travel and participate in sport, we have made our way across the UK and Europe. We know to plan ahead because accessibility is often promised but little practiced when it comes to travel. This journey was something else.

Four of us set off from London for Dijon via Paris. There was an attendant and a ramp waiting for Matthew at the St Pancras Eurostar platform. He and his carer, Jared, were pampered in Business Class, while fellow skater Alastair and I huddled in ‘Cattle Class’.

We arrived, unscathed at Gare du Nord, on time, with our helmets, skates, suitcases and Matthew’s Lomo wheel. This attaches to the front of a wheelchair, allowing greater stability and speed. Once fixed on it’s aerodynamic but when carried it is pretty cumbersome.

From Gare du Nord, we had a ten minute walk to Gare de L’Est. We then had an hour and a half to make the connection to Dijon

We arrived at Gare de l’Est soooo early; and as we were wondering what to do with all that spare time, I glanced up at the display screen.

The train we were waiting for was the very top of the Departures List, and flashing underneath it in big bold letters was the word 

Supprimé

In English that means – 

Your train has been CANCELLED

The next train from Gare de l’Est to Dijon was at 8.05 … the next morning.

We begged the Ticket Assistance Office. ‘Please, please get us to Dijon tonight!!!’

Luckily, my sister, had accompanied us to Gare de l’Est. She is a proficient French speaker, who has lived in Paris since the 70s, She pleaded our case with vigour and eloquence. Looking at Matthew, the woman on the other side of the counter dutifully assured us that she would do her very best to get us to Dijon that evening.

She did … but it took her forever.

There were no further trains from Gare de l’Est heading in the direction of Dijon that day. Even if we changed at a nearby station, we wouldn’t be able to make a connection. So she tried to get us onto one of the high speed trains heading south. It was possible, but she needed authorisation to transfer our SNCF tickets to TGV (high-speed network) tickets.

Twenty minutes later, a Regional Manager approved the request. We were on our way.

Well, not quite. The train was heading to Lyon, and we needed to change trains in Macon, and wait there for two hours.

‘Yes, yes’ we said. ‘We’ll do it’ … but now another problem emerged. Because Matthew did not have a FRENCH Disability Travel Pass, it was not possible to request any assistance, nor would it be possible to book him into a seat allocated to a wheelchair user.

‘Is he able to walk a few steps with assistance?’ the woman asked.

‘Oui, oui’ we confirmed. Between the three of us, we were even prepared to lift Matthew AND his wheelchair to get him onto the train.

The train’s final destination was Lyon, so it didn’t leave from Gare de l’Est. It departed from … Gare de Lyon.

Not a problem. Gare de Lyon was a mere 4km away … and we had 55 minutes to get there.

So out we staggered to the taxi rank.. The drivers eyed us and our luggage with disdain. They told us dismissively that there was no way they could take us all in any of their vehicles. One gentleman with a larger vehicle stepped forward and offered to take us … for 70 Euros!

Uber quoted a far more reasonable 30 Euros for a seven seater. So we booked it, and waited, and waited and waited. On the Uber app, our allocated driver seemed to be getting further and further away. Apparently, there were anti-vaxxers protesting at Place de la Republique and the Uber driver was struggling to get past them.

In desperation, we cancelled the Uber and ran back to the Taxi rank. ‘We’ll pay the 70 Euros’ we condeded. ‘Please take our money, just get us there …. Pleeeez!’

Luckily, the man at the back of the queue was happy to take us all. We clambered in, and he zoomed us across town. Zoomed is a bit of an exaggeration, but with a bit of creative Parisian driving, he managed to get us to Gare de Lyon 10 minutes before our departure time.

We ran to Platform 13, made our way through the ticket barrier, and smiled as we approached our ‘Promised Train’. But no … things couldn’t possibly go that smoothly. We found our path blocked by an imperious-looking railway official.

‘You cannot board this train,’ she declared.

‘But, but …we have our tickets, Madame’ we implored as we waved them hopefully in the air. ‘It is your colleague at Gare de l’Est who issued them just now’

She snorted in derision.

‘Wheelchair users have to be booked in 48 hours in advance. We cannot accommodate you on this train.’

A lot of begging and grovelling ensued, and eventually Madame relented and struck a deal with us. If Matthew could walk a few steps with our assistance, and transfer from his wheelchair, into one of the seats on the train, then she would let us on.

‘Oui, oui …’ we assured her; and as we were about to start helping Matthew out of his wheelchair, she said dismissively ‘Non, non!’ She pushed a button, and as if by magic, the ground floor inside the train started to rise upwards, until it was level with the platform.

Amazed, we wheeled Matthew’s wheelchair onto this enchanted chariot. A few easy steps later, and Matthew was ensconced in one of their luxurious seats.

The train whisked us to Macon. We were now a mere 45 km from Dijon. It did however take us to the Intercity station, where all the fast trains stopped. Our next train, was the slow stopping service to Dijon, and as it was the local service, it set off from the OTHER train station, the one in Macon Town Centre. So we clambered onto the shuttle for the 10 minute bus journey; and we got there a whole hour and a half before our departure time. We went for something to eat and returned to the station.

We had seven minutes to reach platform one for the Dijon train. We followed the arrows as they guided us round the corner … then stared with horror at the sight that confronted us, Two flights of stairs leading to the underpass that would take us underneath the railway tracks. From there, another two flights of stairs that would take us up onto platform one, which was on the other side of the station.

‘The lift, the lift’ we asked the Station Attendant, with a hint of desperation in our voices.

‘There is no lift at this station, Monsieur’ he replied.

‘But we, but he, but …’ we stuttered as we pointed at Matthew, seated in his wheelchair at the top of the staircase.

‘Did you inform us 48 hours in advance to let us know that you would require assistance?’

Words failed us. We just ran back to Matthew’s side and offered to help him to his feet as we heard our train pulling into Platform 1.

I grabbed a suitcase and the Lomo wheel, and ran down into the underpass, hoping I’d be able to delay the train. As I attempted to negotiate with the guard, I looked across to try and work out what was happening on the other side of the tracks.

Matthew was still seated in his wheelchair, and being pushed by Jared. Alastair had our skates, our helmets and all the remaining suitcases, and they were following the station attendant. They were heading AWAY from the stairs that lead down into the underpass.

At the very front of the station, the attendant flung open a set of double doors that lead out directly onto the railway tracks. Over here was a concrete ramp that went all the way down to the level of the railway tracks. At this end, Matthew would be able to access Platform 1 without having to use the underpass … but of course, they needed 48 hours notice to open that set of double doors.

I stared in amazement at the distant row of tiny figures, as they marched in a single file across the railway line.

‘I’m with them’ I told the guard on the train, pointing to the four little specks in the distance.

‘Jump on,’ he said. ‘They’ll be using the very front of the train.’

Tired now, I dragged the suitcase and the Lomo wheel up into a carriage. Slowly, and in stages, I finally made it to the front of the train where I was reunited with the others.

I honestly have no recollection of how Matthew made it onto the train – whether a ramp was provided, or if he had to climb up the two steps to get onto the train.

That slow-stopping train got us all the way to Dijon, and I’d love to say that everything went smoothly after that … but it was not meant to be.

By the time we arrived in Dijon, it was 10.30pm, and at that hour, there was only one taxi outside the deserted station. It was obvious that he would not be able to take us all, so we decided to split up. Matthew and Jared went ahead with the luggage, while Alastair and I stayed behind, debating whether we should walk the remaining 1.5 km to where we were staying, or try for an Uber out here. As we were trying to decide, another taxi pulled up. A few minutes later, we were standing outside the building where we had booked our Airbnb.

The flat was on the first floor, but we had been reassured there was a lift. We had also been warned that were three little steps between the main entrance and the lift.

‘Pas de problème’ … Matthew had overcome much more substantial hurdles over the course of the day; those final three steps paled into insignificance.

Finally; we were outside our apartment. We located the key safe, unlocked it … but it was empty. There were no keys inside.

I will not burden you with the details of what happened next. We did eventually manage to get into the flat that evening. It was 11.30pm local time. We had all left our homes around 7 am that morning. It had taken us over 15 hours to travel from London to Dijon. With very little thanks to the public transport and the cab drivers of France, we’d made it!

The next day, we had a Half Marathon to do … but that is a different story.

ENDS