Things I notice to pass time when running

Things I overtook on run home yesterday:

• 4 bikes - 2 ridden by women of a certain age, 1 small child and 1 father teaching aforementioned small child how to ride a bike
• 1 motability scooter - I may have lost control momentarily and actually made the sound of an F1 car as I overtook, rather than merely thinking it
• 2 fellow runners - in your face!
• 1 dog - not so much overtook as ran away from

Things that overtook me:

• multiple cars - obv
• multiple bikes - including another woman of a certain age who couldn't seem to ride in a straight line
• 1 goose - doing weird running take off thing by the river

Snow running – will it catch on?

Was down for eight miles tonight, but the rubbishness of path clearing and the fast-falling temperature meant I only made about six and a half.

Now, I knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park, and I'd carefully surveyed much of the route on the way home. Strangely, there was a lot of places where one path had been cleared, but the other hadn't – I guess old women with bags of shopping were expected to zig-zag across the road on their way home.

Down by the river, the “path” isn't the best example of modern engineering. No perfectly laid paving, with a gradual camber to allow water to run off. Instead, there's grass, which when wet, is mud, when it snows, it's slush, and when it's cold, it's ice.

There are a few wider parts where the snow had settled nicely, and you could run through it, though when you're wearing a pair of ordinary road trainers, it's pretty heavy work – as my weary legs will testify.

At one point I thought I was going to be attacked by a flock of killer geese – they had menace in their eyes, and I'm sure blood on their beaks. I managed to swiftly evade them, and I think a few got scared by my hi-viz and manly demeanour.


I was going to try to get onto the road for “dead swan bend” (it's still there, though seems to have moved – very macabre), but there was too much traffic, and the edges were too icy.

This left me facing running along the icy path of death that is where the path narrows, with the road raised slightly on one side, and the very cold looking river on the other.


Thanks to years of Arctic combat training* I was able to successfully emerge from the other end, unscathed. Had their been a crowd, it was at this point they would have burst into rapturous applause.

But there wasn't, so their praise, like so many things, was purely in my head.

This route seems me rejoin the main road and pass through a nice little village, where thankfully most of the paths had been cleared.

After I was through it it was a lot patchier, and the slush had started to turn to ice. Eventually I was just stumbling across sheets of refrozen slush, and looking down the straight stretch of road, there was no sign of any respite so I had to make the choice whether to go on or not.

I took the cowards route, as I'm still uber-paranoid about injuring myself, and lets be honest, I did an inadvertent few miles yesterday.

Saying that though, my time was well down, but my legs feel like they've really been through the wringer. I could really feel my calves working through the snow, so perhaps I've had a better workout than I thought.

I reckon I'm still ahead after losing a mile and a bit today, but that's not really the point as I'm still building up the miles at the mo.

Hopefully current weather reports for Thursday are as wrong as they were about more heavy snow last night, as that's a nine miler I need to nail.

*Snowball fights in Yorkshire as a child 2cm

Reflections on the evolution in rants...

It's been two days since I finished the marathon.

Two whole days since I suffered the unimaginable pain and emotional torment of the 26.2 mile run across London.

It seems a good time to update you a bit on the day itself, now that I'm remembering it not through the pain, but from the experience.

And what an experience.

First off, and I mean this with all due respect to them, but it's not Flora's Marathon.

It's not the charities' and it's not even the runners.

It's London's.

I'm sure everyone who's hear of the London Marathon knows the cliche about the crowd getting you round.

As the cynic I am, I put this down to not wanting to embarass yourself in front of so many people. Yes, this was a factor, but I was constantly amazed by the genuine encouragement of the thousands of people who lined the streets in rain and hail to cheer and enthuse the thousands of runners.

It wasn't like they came out for a bit then pop off again. They'd be out there for hours, cheering strangers running along the streets that for the other 364 days of the year are like the ones outside your house.

There were three different phases of spectators.

First off were those south of the river. Blackheath, Charlton, Woolwich, Deptford, Greenwich, Rotherhithe, Bermondsey (and apologies to any I've missed). None of them are places I'd been, or associated with the kind of enthusiasm and warmth I felt running through the streets.

Bands, church choirs, PA systems set up outside people's houses, kids lining the street with their hands out wanting the runners to give them 5 as they ran past.

I never realised, watching previous ones on TV, that when people had made an effort, the runners applauded them. But it felt like the least I could do for these people who had given up their time to help see us off.

It hadn't quite hit home that I was actually doing it until about mile three, but when it did, I looked around at the beaming faces and realised it was ok. My pace was good (despite the loo stop!) and I felt fresh and ready for anything.

Repeated "oggy oggy oggying" kept the mood up, and I was genuinely enjoying it.

When the red starters (the masses I was in) joined with the blue starters (elite men and more masses) there was some good banter and well meaning booing of the other starters, which was another surprise that put a smile on my face.

By the time I got to Tower Bridge (about 12.5 miles) and the first sighting of my family, I was still feeling good, despite the first heavy shower.

At this point I should make a special mention of "Yasmine" who was running for Children with Leukaemia (a brillaint charity). She was one of a handful who thought they were the only people on the road. Cutting across people, barging through people who were waiting for a gap themselves, causing people behind to trip and fall. I dont' know what happend to you, but I hope you were in a lot of pain you selfish cow.

Anyway...

Crossing the bridge was strange as the road narrows and the crowds are thicker, but coming out onto the north of the river saw a change to the second phase.

Now, I will be honest and admit that I did not like the Canary Wharf/Isle of Dogs section. It was too windy and impossible to work out where you were and how far you had to go.

But here, when people were starting to feel how tough it was the crowds were out armed with oranges, jelly babies, drinks, bananas, anything they could do to help the strugglers.

I had my own stash of jelly babies, but needn't have bothered.

I was doing fine up until mile 17. Two loo stops had affected my pace but I was still hoping for some negative splits to reel it back in as the runners were thinning out and you could start to move up.

The drummers (you probably saw them on TV) were amazing - you came round a corner and there was a wall of sound and tempo that pushed you on.

When my knees went, I could quite easily have given up. The pain was phenomenal. My right knee had been sore for a couple of weeks and was strapped up, and I think I was over compensating onto the left and my calf tightened. I pulled over to a railing and started trying to stretch it out like I'd done on training runs, and it seemed to loosen so I set off again.

The pains that shot from both my knees was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I managed about four steps and nearly collapsed. I took a few breaths and gingerly started walking until it eased a bit, but I knew this wasn't something I could run off. Not 10 yards down the road a bloke in his 20's at the side watching just said - "come on Phil," (I had my name on my vest - he wasn't psychic or anything.) "you've come this far" and I just gritted my teeth and jog-hobbled on.

A short while later, and with many more "come on Phil"'s and "you're doing great"'s the second major shower hit.

Christ it was cold.

I flimsy lime green vest is not the best protection against heavy rain with some hail thrown in. Believe me.

I even screamed "for f**ks sake, give me a break!".

I slowed right down again with pain and then felt a friendly tap on my shoulder and saw another lime green vest with "kevin" written on it, and a friendly face telling me "keep going, you'll get there".

I wanted to scream at him how much I was hurting, but he set off again almost straight away. I calmed down and got going again so when he glanced back he could see I was still moving. I felt like I didn't want to let him down.

Ridiculous I know. I'd never seen him before, and will probably never see him again, but the fact someone just gave me the right encouragement at the right time made me want to keep going.

By the time I'd left this phase, my times had plummeted to about 13/14 minute miles - ie marginally faster than walking. But I didn't care then, I just wanted it all to be over.

I'd arranged to see the family again around mile 22 but they weren't where I expected them, but I saw a former workmate who gave my some jelly beans which were greatly apprecaited. I also made a rude gesture to another friend who wanted a picture.

Now I hate pics at the best of times, but when I was in a world of pain and torment, I felt justified in my actions. I love her to pieces, but don't point a camera at me when I want to die!

A bit further up I saw the family and could have cried. I told Laura how horrible it was, but I'm not sure she understood. Probably becase I was a gibbering wreck. It gave me a great feelingto see them though and i set off again, almost running.

That didn't last long.

I had to stop to stretch again a bit firther on, and the same happened as before. Now I don't know much about these things, but I'm damned sure your knees aint meant to do that!

By now I was cursing everything - myself for doing this, my right trainer for the sole going, my vest for making me so conspicuous and the crowds for their "you're nearly there"ing.

When you hit the last phase along Embankment, the crowds are different again. They're not locals. They're tourists and visitors. Families and friends. They're people who have made the effort to travel in to watch you run the last leg.

Another thing about this phase is the fact it was the only bit I know. This meant I knew exactly how far it was to the end and It wasn't a happy thought.

I was wet, cold, in pain, looking like a knob. I was not in a happy place. I'd been relying mainly on self hatred ("it's your own stupid fault you tit") and determination ("tha's from Yorkshire, lad").

Eventually it dawned on me though. I was nearly there. And I was from Yorkshire. Had i been lancastrian, I'd have been crying at the side of the road in the foetal position miles ago.

In my head I was working out the distance to the end as the short runs from training. The little one's that I eventually managed to see as nice and easy.

From then on I jog-hobbled along, trying to get some kind of speed going. Along Embankment was mad with cheering. Parliament square was rammed too. Heading along Bridcage Walk there's a hoarding with "800 metres to go" on it, and I've never been so happy to see a sign
in metric.

Then it's an age until you see the next one and you think "how the hell was that only a few hundren metres!?"

The big one is the 385 to go. You've done 26 miles and it's literally the last stretch, with crowds cheering and tannoys blaring. Crossing the line was both a blesed relief and pretty underwhelming.

You know it's over and you've done it, but then you have to queue tog et your chip taken off, get your medal and get a bag with snacks and space blanket (which took two squaddies way too long to find for me - though they were much quicker than I'd have been!) before trekking up The Mall to find the truck with you clothes etc in you dumped at the start. Mine was miles down and I thought I wasn't gonna make it.

I couldn't be bothered to keep going down to the changing area so slipped between two trucks and got changed there. There was a nice gentleman who was chuffed he'd made it, and a woman in her 40's who confessed to having only run up to 12 miles in her training.

I could have lamped her.

The rest is a bit of a blur as I found family and made my way home. I was aching, and miffed i'd taken about 5 hours.

That was my mood for a while until I started to think about it more rationally:

• I'd run a marathon despite only a few months before having done no running since school;
• I got round on a knee that the week before had given up after a mile and a half;
• I'd raised more than £1,500 for Asthma UK (and still rising);
• I'd proved to myself that if I put my mind to it, I can do much more than I realise.

That might sound a bit limp wristed, but that's where my head is at the moment.

Despite the pain, the mentally draining process of running, the doubt, the self-loathing and the thoughts of giving it all up, I'm glad I've done it.

People have said they're so proud of me, but immediately afterwards I couldn't see how. Now I think I can. Sort of.

Laura's already entered the ballot for next year, and I've said I'll help her train.

Will I do it again? Two days ago, I would have laughed in your face and said no chance.

Now?

Well, I've entered the ballot, but, it's not likely I'll get a place is it...?

Only, 24 hours from suffering

In less than 24 hours I'll be running the Flora London Marathon.

Kick off is 9:45, so it'll be somewhere around 10:00 by the time i cross the line, and probably another half an hour or so 'til I actually get running.

I'm on the red start (ie the massed runners) and won't join up with the other two starts until about mile 3. Since the other 2 starts are the elites, I don't imagine I'll be seeing much of them until I've crossed Tower Bridge around mile 13, and they're heading back from Canary Wharf on the other side of the road at mile 22.

That won't be depressing at all!

So It's around about half one at the mo. Theoretically I'll be somewhere around Docklands in 24 hours (if it were a straight run with no crowds from 9.45 and no dodgy knee, I'd hope to be well ahead of that!). That's the quiet bit they don't show much of on the telly as there's nothing there.
That's probably where I'll try to eat/drink as I'm still not able to do that whilst running and don't want to be seen choking to death on jelly babies by too large a crowd!

The fam are down and shall be along the route at some point, as will friends from work, and elsewhere. I wish they weren't as I have a strong feeling that I look ridiculous whilst running (it's no accident that there are no pics of me running on this blog!)

If you do see me at some point, be nice. I won't be enjoying myself.

In fact, pretend you don't know me! That'll be best for everyone involved I think.

right, got my playlist to sort out now. I'm tihnking Queen, Muse, Jimmy eat World and some early Rage Against the Machine to keep things moving along...

Essex blonde shouts out my name

Apparently I've just been "shouted out" to on the Capital Breakfast Show by the ever-Essex Denise van Outen.

Now, I'm normally at work from about 7.30 am and can't get the radio to work on this computer, and I'm also quite English, so I didn't really know what that meant when I was told.

Apparently, Essex's finest regularly "shouts out" (definition: greeting or acknowledgment of a person, group, or organisation of significance. It is often done as a sign of respect, synonymous with "giving props.") to people on the her show, and this morning wanted some marathoneers to "shout out" to.

My lovely other half took it upon herself to text in and I have subsequently been "shouted out" to/about/for (I have no idea how that works gramatically).

I'm strongly trying to resist the urge to make any jokes about the last time an Essex blonde shouted out my name.

As you can probably appreciate, that's quite difficult.

1000's of people + London transport = absolutely nothing to worry about...

I'm back from my trip to the Excel Centre to register and get my running chip thingy. Sadly, not of the potato variety - though I was hankering for some chips and mayo when I was there (very continental of me!).

We had to take a mainline train that was thankfully delayed so we got an earlier one at off peak prices (God bless South West Trains) . This was followed by another lovely experience on the tube, followed by two DLR trains.

Obviously, as this is London, there were delays. We got registered pretty quick, had a mooch around the exhibitors (nothing thrilling there), picked up a free goody bag (more later) and set off back.

The first DLR went the wrong way for one stop befiore returning to where we got on, before continuting the right way. Then changed for another, which was possibly the most wobbly journey of my life.

Then tube to Waterloo (where I realised I'd lost £15!!) and a half hour wait for a train at which point I temporarily mislaid Ben in M&S, as the after queuing to pay for ages I realised my salad had sweetcorn in it and had to start again. When will people realise sweetcorn has no place in a salad?!

Philistines.

The train to Chertsey takes a billion years so we thought we'd be clever and get a fast one to Virginia Water to overtake the one we'd missed.

Unsurprisingly, this didn't work, so and we had a half hour wait for the Chertsey one, so we went for a brew.

Again, unsurprisingly, we messed this up and missed the next train so opted for a taxi.

Now, as you're not my travel agent, you're probably not hugely interested in this, but there are two important lessons here:

1. The journey on Sunday morning to the start (using public transport) will be hellish. There's no way trains won't break down. Not a chance in hell. Also, with only small crowds going to Excel today, the stations were pretty rammed. Knowing my luck, I'll break my leg as I'm leaving the station to get to the start when someone falls down some stairs onto me.
   
2. If it weren't for the blue line painted on the road to mark the route, it's highly likely that two well-educated (I've got a 1st for god's sake) 20-somethings would still be trying to find the finish line in August, having run thousands of miles and being particularly British and refusing to ask for directions or give up.

Both important lessons, I'm sure you'll agree.

The upshot to all this is I'm not actually thinking about the actual run much at the moment, more about getting to the start line on time and in one piece.

I suspect it's my subconsciousness' way of protecting me from actually realisin that I've got to run 26.2 miles in a couple of days.

How very kind of it!

Next?

A friend kindly sent me this article from The Guardian. I don't know the writer, but I feel a deep sense of connection with his outlook.

His motivational technique for example:

surrounded by very short young women, whose legs must have been half the length of mine, I told myself I was pathetic if I couldn't keep up with them

sounds very much my kind of thing.

He's also touched on something thats been niggling me for a while too - what next?

He had a curry and went on holiday. I will just stop running. I can't imagine wanting to do it again, unless I have some kind of mystical epiphany on the way round and God/Allah/Vishnu/the Flying Spaghetti Monster tells me the purpose of my life is to carry on and bring us Olympic glory in long distance running.

Not likely, me thinks.

So, I'll probably be left with a sense of unease and disappointment - an effect I normally work my ass off to achieve on others.

Something to look forward to I guess!

Anyway, off to register and collect my number now. I'll keep my eyes open for a sense of purpose while I'm out

Squeaky bum time

Getting down to it now.

Only four days to go until my public humiliation and suffering.

On the plus side, it'll all soon be over.

• no more aching;
• no more having to get motivated to go for a run after a crappy day at work; and
  
• no more wearing shorts in public.

On the down side

• my knee is still being weird so there's the very real risk of doing myself some lasting damage;
• there is the possibility I may be seen in shorts by millions of people watching television; and
• potentially dying.

So swings and roundabouts really.

I'm not nervous yet. I expected to be, but it just isn't happening. The fact is, I've known I'll be doing this for a few months.

I've done the time on the road. After my long runs, I'm pretty sure I can make it around one way or another. I've also eaten more pasta in the last week than Pavarotti could do in a year.

I'm sure I should be freaking out more, but I'm not. And even that isn't freaking me out.

The best way I can describe it is like the condemned man, heading to the firing squad.

I've accepted my fate since the judgement was passed all those months ago, now I'm just waiting for the blindfold and the bang.

Just wish my last meal wasn't sodding pasta...

Eighteen sodding miles...

A little over an hour ago I stumbled home from my 18 miler.

This was originally scheduled for yesterday, but snow etc made me postpone.

The last mile was a bit of a blur, as I was really feeling it by then. I even started screaming at myself to keep going. It was probably meant to sound like "come on", but came out more like "mnnneeer"!

I apologise to the good people of Chertsey who had to see that. I assure you, I'm not a mentalist. At least not that kind.

I do, however, think I'm an absolute idiot for doing this - who in their right mind would do this for fun?!

It was horrible. I ache. There's bits of skin hanging off my foot (sorry, no pics). All for "charity".

Got to do it all again next Sunday, then get to taper down before the big day.

Off out shopping now, which I imagine will be interesting as I hobble slowly behind. At least I get to spend some time with my good lady who very kindly made me egg and bacon muffins when I got in!


+++++++++++UPDATE+++++++++++++++++

We went to Guildford, which is only 15 miles from my house!

I could have run it and met her there!

Admittedly, I would have stank and been unable to talk, but would have been quicker. Not sure other shoppers would have appreciated it, but I could have struck up a few conversations to try to get more sponsorship!

The good, the bad, and the ugly...

Good news is the eight miler last night went pretty well. Managed it non stop, and even had some juice left for the last couple of miles to get the pace moving up! Weird...

Bad news, I ache like mad (no surprise there then!) despite stretching for what seemed like an eternity.

Ugly - the red sore blister on the arch of my right foot! It's a beaut, but pretty painful.

I'm doing all the things you do to try to get blisters sorted, but I'm not sure the other half's idea of a trip to Bluewater is the best idea.

Still, we do these things for the people in our lives and it gets me out of the house so I shall try to "enjoy" myself!

Got the pleasant five-miler tomorrow, before the somewhat daunting prospect of 18 miles on Sunday. Add to this, the chances of "heavy snow" (according to the BBC Weather site yesterday) and Sunday should be one of the lease pleasant days of my life! So thats something to look forward to!

Messages of support, mockery and general banter are, as always, welcomed!

Oh bugger...

It turns out that four days out of the country drinking copiously does have some impact on running performance.

Who'd have thought it?!

Last night's six-miler was more arduous than I expected. My time was well down and I struggled a bit when normally it's pretty straightforward.

Also had another run-in with the odd rowing club people, but thankfully I was already on my way back and didn't have to put up with it for long.

I am starting to get a bit worried though.

Less than a month to go, and I'm struggling for six miles! Need to do another 20.2 after that!

Also, I have undeniable evidence that the claims that my six quid a pair socks'

"unique mixture of fibres helps to keep the foot cool, dry and blister free."

is a lie. Got another sodding blister last night. Think I'm gonna have to do some serious work on my feet to get them in a decent condition for getting round this thing.

I'm hoping my performance dip is just down to a bit of weight gain from the weekends activities slowing me down (I too was shocked that a diet comprising solely of beer, meat and bread can do that!). That should soon disappear if I keep going out and will hopefully get me back on track!

Might do another light one tonight - two or three miles - just to try to get back into it a bit, and try to get my head back in the right place for finishing this puppy.

Roll on April 14th...

Barcelona!!! It was the first time that we met...

Off on a stag do this weekend, so prob gonna miss my sat run, though will try to do my Sun one when I get back (state of head dependent!).

I'm contemplating taking my running gear anyway, as I have a habit of waking up hours before others, so might be able to clock a few extra miles. The jury is still out on that one though...

Been plodding along nicely, though still got occasional niggles in my leg which I'm keeping an eye on.

Sent a message to member of my facebook group to remind them where their wallets are:

Friends, romans, random internet people...

Tomorrow marks the one month countdown to my 26.2 mile hellish experience, and, quite frankly, I'm a little disappointed in you...

Some of you have been good enough to dig into your wallets/purses/bum bags/orifices to make a generous donation at www.justgiving.com/philrun

slondon. For this, you have my thanks, and the promise of eternals salvation for your otherwise tainted soul.

The rest of you, however, shall be cast headfirst into a pit of horrible things like the contents of the multiple blisters I have suffered, or piles of toenails, prematurely ripped from their podiatric home.

You can save yourself by visiting www.justgiving.com/philrunslondon and absolving yourself of these, and all past, present and future sins, by donating whatever you can afford.

Obviously, if you donate more than other people, that makes you a better person than them, so feel free to try to outbid others!

So, visit www.justgiving.com/philrunslondon, donate loads, and be a better person than everyone else you know!

Peace and love,

Phil

Reckon they got the idea where to donate?

Got another £30 from that so far - it all helps!

Publicity

As part of my "month to go donation drive" (or at least thats what I call it in my head), I agreed, against all my natural instincts, to do a piece in the local paper.

Now the journo is a lovely chap - he's running the marathon himself - but a bit of warning on the pic would have been appreciated!

You'd expect me in my running gear, or with some kind of athletic prop, but no, only 2 hours notice when I was at work, so there'll just be a pic of some bloke with ahis coat on looking a complete tit!

The things I do for charity...

Another attack

There's something odd going on this winter...

Laura's had her third attack of the winter, and the nebuliser didn't touch it so it was off to A&E to get her properly sorted.

All fine now, but it's still horrible to see her like that, and I always find myself saying a silent prayer that it's not going to get worse. Incredibly hypocritical of me, I know, but in scary times you try anything.

Another timely reminder why I'm doing this, and a kick up the arse for me to get more donations!

That was horrible...

This morning was possibly the worst run of my life.

Not that I've done much running prior to this little jape, but still, it was not pleasant and I'm struggling to see how anyone can even pretend to do this for pleasure!

This morning was a 14 mile lesson in how not to do it.

I'd forgotten to charge my phone, so couldn't listen to any bangin' tunes or DJ sets, or dirty dancefloors...

Also, turns out you need more than 500ml of energy drink thingy to keep you going that long.

And as for the state of my stomach, you really don't want to know!

Anyway, I've learned some things, forgotten some things, and generally had a bit of a crap one.

Now I'm off to Wales tomorrow where I need to do a 6 and 8 miler. Can't imagine it being too hilly in the Berwyn Mountains!

Catch up

Sorry I've been lame updating this last week or so - work's gone mad!

Main news is I've at last, after much more effort than you'd have thought necessary, been able to find a high street sports shop that sells high viz tops.

After several weeks of struggling with the lack of footpaths on local roads, and nearly being run over by all manner of vehicles (including a mobility buggy - I kid you not!), I decided I would become one of those people who run in ridiculous fluorescent gear.

Having taken this brave first step, my next issue was buying one.

Fortunately, I've never been someone with friends who frequent high street sports shops, so I was quite confident no-one would see me going into my local high street sports retailer.

The only problem was, when I visited JD Sports, they don't actually sell much sporting stuff. A lot of clothes, but none I'd wear, and not a lot suitable for running.

After searching all the sports shops in Kingston, Hounslow, Uxbridge and other random places, it was with heavy heart that I trudged into JJB's in Staines.

Yet to my utter, misplaced, delight , they had an array of ridiculous hi viz bits at a bargain price!

Bought myself one of the gillet things as I'm not very good at running with stuff with sleeves on - my Flora London Marathon training jacket gets right on my tits despite weighing about the same as a packet of crisps.

Obviously I look like a deranged idiot wearing it, but by implication, that means people can see me which is an improvement. And my chances of death by dumbass driver have dropped markedly.

So, muchos kudos to JJB - the only high street sports retailer who thinks it might be good for runners not to be mown down by traffic!

What am I doing...?

So, it turns out 11 miles is quite a long way.

Made it round, and for about 5 mins after finishing, I felt ok.

I now feel like someone has reached down my throat and torn out my soul.

I'm completely drained - it's taken my about a week to write these few lines!Trying to take on some food to get the energy levels up, but it's not worked yet.

This is mostly annoying because as I was going round, yes it was hard, but at no point did I think I wasn't going to make it, that I might explode, or the killer herons would get me.

Off now to try to find some sugar to eat to see if it picks me up... haven't got energy to say any more....

can you get sat nav for legs?

Was only down for a 4 miler this morning, but ended up doing a 5 as I forgot what I was doing, and I'm in a strange place in my training where adding an extra half mile to the outward part doesn't seem daunting.

Writing that last bit terrified me - am I actually getting "not awful" at this?

I guess I need to - the marathon aint gonna run itself after all.

But just thinking back a few weeks, the thought of potentially adding an extra mile because I couldn't remember my distance marker would have made me curl up in a ball at the side of the road and hope to be eaten by a strange new breed of killer heron.

Today it was like "well, if you're wrong, it's only an extra mile". Where's the killer heron gone?! Probably gorging on orhans somewhere, as they is there way.

On the flip side, if I can't remember how far 4 miles is, how the hell am I gonna remember 11 tomorrow!

It's on my training plan, but it's one of the distances that doesn't have a link to a map for you to see where I am.

That's mainly because I can't actually think where I'm going to run for 11 miles.

It has been good having pre-planned routes - just have a squizz at the sheet, get my gear on and I'm off.

Now I need to think of somewhere that's 11 miles - not a nice 3, 4, or 5 - and as a result, I'm procrastinating like mad.

Accidentally doing an extra mile is fine (what's happened to me?!), but running more than twice what I inadvertently did today, and almost 3 times what I should have done (oh god, why did I do that bit or mental arithmetic!) is like being punched in the guts by a small child - it can hurt, but you can't really do anything about it (you can't really punch a toddler!).

So, I'm off to play on with maps to work out what I'm doing...


++++update++++

Just worked out my 11 miler.

How I won't get lost, I have no idea!

Shameless plea for donations

As yesterday was the last day of Jan, it meant it was that wonderful time when I, and crucially, my fellow workers get our meagre earnings dumped into our still-recovering-from-xmas bank accounts.

Now, despite volumes of evidence to the contrary, I'm not daft. Apart from a note announcing I was running (more to explain why I would be late for things due to aching limbs) I've not tried very hard to solicit donations from friends and colleagues during the last few fiscally challenging weeks.

So, in a moment of utter shamelessness I sent the following to people I work with:

Firstly, please please please don't hit "reply all"!

Secondly, let me take you on an imaginary journey. It's January. The nights are dark, the weather is horrible,and there is a general gloom and pessimistic air that follows the festive season (not to mention budget setting etc). Now imagine you were me. Running 4/5 times a week on the dark nights, in horrible weather. Dodging traffic, chased by bears/wolves etc. Not a nice image is it?

Why should you imagine this?

Because I agreed to run the London Marathon on 13 April.

I hate running.

I cant remember a day when I didn't ache.

Some of you have been following my progress on my website and blog (which is updated more frequently) and have already donated - a big thanks to you for that, I really do appreciate it. There have been times when could quite easily have given up, but the fact people have put their hands in their pockets to spare some of their hard earned money has kept me at it.

Now, the guilt trip:

I'm, running for Asthma UK which is a cause close to my heart. My better half has asthma, and January is always a time of year when it's worse for her (had to get her on the nebuliser twice in the last few weeks). It's not the sexiest cause, but every six hours, someone in the UK dies from asthma. Most people just think a few puffs on the inhaler and it's fine, but it doesn't work like that.

Anyway, I'm trying to raise as much as I can to help the cause, so I'm shamelessly sending this email to you in the knowledge that it's pay day.

In return you get to read my regular blog postings about how little I am enjoying myself, with the satisfaction of knowing that you are a direct cause of my suffering. Similarly, when you see me walking gingerly around the place as my legs feel like they are about to fall off, you'll know that it's down to you.

Donating is easy, there are links to my Justgiving page on both website and blog. Be warned though, despite what I thought, it does take the money out now, not when I've confirmed I've done it (another reason I can't give up - I'll end up having top repay people from my own pocket or something, and I'm from Yorkshire, so thats not my fave idea!!).

I've also got a sponsor form up here if you are of a similar Luddite persuasion to me and "don't trust machines".

That's it. Messages of support, advice or gentle mockery are welcomed.

Phil

That note generated an extra £100! Not bad for a few minutes "work".

Still got a long way to go though, so if you haven't donated visit my donations page or email me for other options.

Aches and pains

After last night's success, comes the inevitable, pain.

I've tried and tried to get my warm down and stretching right so I don't spend the next day looking like I'm walking on hot coals.

Apparently, it's caused by the soleus muscle, which runs between the two heads of the big calf muscle, taking a beating - because it acts first when you use your calf muscles.

I have no idea what that means, but it uses terminology like "soleus" and "two heads" that sounds like it could have been said by a doctor, so who am I to question it?!

It's basically caused by overuse. So to help, people recommend icing the area immediately after running.

Now I'm still a relative newbie to this running thing, but I'm confident enough to assume they don't mean I need to start decorating my leg like a wedding cake.

Much as I don't have icing sugar to hand at home, I don't have ice either - it's January!

I might have the occasional choc ice or Cornetto in the freezer, but the thought of putting them on my leg after a run seems both wasteful, and somewhat seedy.

Since prevention is better than cure, and I have an unnatural suspicion of all medication so don't do painkillers, I need to get the stretching right.

Apparently I need to do wall pushups religiously. These involve standing about three feet from a wall, feet at shoulder width and flat on the ground, with your hands on the wall with your arms straight for support. You then lean your hips forward and bend your knees slightly to stretch your calves.

Sounds good yes?

Two problems.

I warm down outside my house, which is on a fairly busy main road. I would look a right tit doing these.

Also, I live in a bungalow made mainly of windows, and don't actually have an exterior wall to lean on at the front!

So, if you happen to be in the Chertsey area, expect to see a pale northerner being laughed at by passing pedestrians/traffic as he falls through the glass on the front of his house.

But at least the multiple lacerations should detract from the calf pain.