So near and yet so far…

Sat in a London hotel counting down the hours to the big one!

My training started too late (although I seem to have been pounding the streets forever) and I am more than a little nervous.

Going for a quick jog isn’t going to help now, unless it’s to the minibar, so all I can do is hope.

Adrenaline and the fantastic crowds make a huge difference so I hope to have finished by nightfall.

The other big fillip comes every time I am notified that someone has sponsored me.

The more the RNIB stand to receive the more determined I am to make the full 26.2.

But whether you give generously or not I can promise I won’t come chasing after you!

A running joke

I went out for a training run yesterday and inadvertently chose a route being used for a half marathon and fun run.

Unfortunately I was going in the opposite direction to everyone else and had to run past a seemingly never-ending straggle of runners.

That was bad enough, but without fail a wag within each knot of runners I passed, shouted out ‘you’re going the wrong way’.

I would like to say it got funnier after the 50th time of hearing but sadly that wasn’t the case.

I consoled myself by shouting at them that the run was ‘there and back’ which seemed to shut them up.

After the Lord Mayor’s Show

Running the marathon for the second time is quite frankly a bit of an anti-climax.

After completing the run last year, I described it as one of the best things I had ever done, and it was.

But so far, training for this year’s event has been one of the worst things I have done.

Running the first marathon is a ‘will I, won’t I’ dilemma filed with a few highs, and many lows, as you doubt your ability to ever cover 26.2 miles at anything resembling a run.

But having done it once, the suspense and uncertainty go. You know you can run that far, it’s just a question of putting your body through the training pain necessary to make the distance.

And yet, and yet. Because I am attempting this year’s marathon with only six weeks training, I am far from confident that I will finish. Well actually I am very confident I will, it’s the where I finish that is in doubt.

And while such a ridiculously short preparation time has meant mainly pain, the ups have been few and far between, in fact there haven’t been any to date.

So why am I running? I can only say that the day itself makes it worthwhile. The people, the noise, the colour, and the pain combine to create a stimulating and sensory experience that assumes addictive proportions.

But it’s not the training that’s addictive, and it’s not the running that’s addictive, it’s the stopping knowing you have just completed 26.2miles.

I’m feeling kind of funny…

Today for the first time in about 20 years I feel fit; not fit like an athlete feels, not fit for purpose, but fit for a fat man.

On Sunday I managed to coax my frame around a 12.5 mile course so today I went out for a short four mile run (’short four mile run’ being a phrase I would have regarded as oxymoronic a month ago) and it seemed, well not to be vainglorious, easy.

But I suppose it was only easy because it wasn’t 12.5 miles.

Friends, family and colleagues have been very encouraging about my marathon efforts so far but a recurring theme is ‘ don’t become a health bore will you?’ which is their polite way of saying I already am.

But can you recite in descending order the calorific content of the eight different fruits in your fruit bowl? Ha! Bore. Me?

No jog, no blog

I have gone two days without training. As a result I am wracked with guilt, and feel like a big jelly. It also means I have nothing to blog about.  I think I have jogger’s block.

Mind that hippo on the inside rail…

I am training assiduously for the marathon, not as you might suppose, because I am determinedly focused on finishing, and certainly not because I am seeking to run a respectable time.

The main reason is the fear of embarrassment. Among the runners in this year’s race will be a 101 year old man and people dressed up in all sorts of weird and elaborate costumes, all of whom could heap ridicule on my efforts.

I have this recurring dream that as I near the finish line the TV cameras pan onto me. I start to raise my hand to acknowledge the fame and acclaim when a large hippopotamus moves effortlessly out of my slipstream and glides easily past me, filling the shot completely.

I was relaying my fears to someone the other day, who casually mentioned how a friend of his was milking the applause of the crowds at the finish when to his dismay he was passed at high speed by a large and definitely less than aero-dynamic canoe, instantly shattering all pride in his athletic achievement.

I’m running out of time

If anyone tells you that running a marathon should take you no longer than five hours, don’t believe them.

A marathon is a thief of time. At first when you are unfit and struggling to get into shape, time isn’t an issue. Even the biggest jellymonster can conquer a one mile run in a quarter of an hour or less.

The problem comes as you become fitter and the distances become longer. After three weeks pretty concentrated training I am now up to eight miles but the downside being that each run takes around an hour and twenty minutes and I am trying to run at least four times a week, plus swimming, cycling and the odd game of five-a-side  football.

Adding all this up means I am spending about 10 hours a week on physical exercise, more than I spent in two entire years. Fitting it all in with a long working week is quite a challenge.

And then of course on top of that I have to add in blogging time. Maybe I should take my laptop with me every time I go out for a jog.

Crumbs of comfort

A strange thing happened yesterday. I was about 2.5 miles into my training run, it was pouring with rain, and the wind was whistling around me, when I had a sudden realisation; I was actually enjoying myself.

No doubt this was partly because the misery was being drowned out by my MP3 player on full blast and I was in the finishing half of my run with a warm house beckoning, but even so it came as something of a surprise to me.

An ounce of enjoyment from this gruelling endeavour was an ounce more than I expected. I hope a habit isn’t forming.

Best foot forward

People have asked me why in my first post I used such a small photo of myself standing on the scales. What I think they mean is they can’t see just how heavy I am, so here is a larger version.

There are two observations I would make; firstly I don’t have dwarf toes like this, and secondly as the scales are showing 15st 3lbs I must buy myself a lighter camera.

The training has now started in earnest. You don’t realise how hard it is to get into shape until you get out of shape. Just being more human shaped is my immediate goal.

After I jogged my first mile, I was actually feeling quite good and wondered just how much worse things could get. Then realised that the marathon is at least 26 times worse.

Maybe I can just walk quickly and hope no-one notices.