The Race - Part 3

There are certain images which are classed as iconic. You know, those pictures which immediately come to mind; summing up a place, a person, an event or an.........utterly barmy undertaking. For the London marathon many would think it would be the finish line down the Mall, just past Buckingham Palace; for me though it's the halfway point....and Tower Bridge!!! Whether it's the impressive structure, it's significant location along route, or even the poor unfortunate tv reporters whose job it is to simultaneously accost and interview breathless runners as they jog by......

"So!.....you're halfway!.....BRILLIANT!!.....how are you feeling??!"

"How the hell do you think I am feeling you great prune??!! I'm KNACKERED!!!!!"

......it is a spectacular sight to see the thon.....errr.....throng of thousands (now a thong of thousands would be interesting) streaming over it; but at the risk of sounding smug I can say that the runners-eye view is even much more better spectacularer.

It will come as a surprise to you to know that arrival at this awesome landmark came as something of a surprise to me! I mean, we could all see it in the distance on the approach; but with a mile to go you are suddenly plunged into dense city (density?) where all that can be seen is the road ahead, and buildings on either side. Time and yards tick on, and no bridge.

A slightly manic voice resonated in the back of my mind..."where the heck is it??" Even to the point of wondering whether one could have negotiated it without noticing; thereby indicating that I was clearly more tired and delirious than I currently thought! Surely it's kind of hard to miss; in that it's.....well.......A BLOODY BIG BRIDGE!!!!

I needn't have worried, a left turn and there it was, suddenly and shockingly revealed in all its utter, stunning and stonking (yes, I have run out of adjectives to such an extent that I am now using a word like 'stonking') glory. The murmur of supporters all at once became the cacophony of thousands, battering us all with their reverberating crossfire of cheers. There were the towers, there was the half-way point, and let's not forget the ridiculously powerful feeling of running down the middle of a road usually teeming with stationary traffic (I felt like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon....without the Kalashnikov)!  This iconic image of which I realised I was now a part. I LOVED IT!!!! AND mi lud, for those of you suspecting I am now looking at things through rose-tinted running shoes I would like to submit as evidence exhibit A ('photos of me running across Tower Bridge') just down and to the right a bit. The idiotically wide smile on my face says it all my friends. I still get goose bumps, misty eyes and that excitedly wobbly feeling in my tumbly wumblies just thinking about it. I was there, I did it!

For several miles after that I felt no pain; I just soaked up the warmth of the sun, the warmth provided by the constant stream of enthused spectators, the warmth of those oh so recent memories of Tower Bridge, and the warmth of knowing that from this moment I had turned the metaphorical corner, and was heading home. I was no longer counting the miles run, I was counting down the miles remaining!

My cup was most certainly half full.

That said, I knew that every degree Celsius of this warmth would be needed. I knew what was to come. All my research confirmed that crowds thinned out around Canary Wharf with it's impressive but unforgivingly stern architecture, and although the finish was getting ever nearer, that also meant that the mileometer was increasing; AND let's not forget the longest I had EVER run was nineteen miles. I was heading into the hardest part of the entire journey - all two years of it - full of uncharted territory.

I couldn't fail now could I??

The Race - Part 2

The Cutty Sark!!

I have visited the country’s capital on numerous occasions, yet it was through these twenty six miles  that I got the first glimpse of many of the biggest and best landmarks which ‘the smoke’ has to offer; - and from I think it’s safe to say a ‘unique perspective’! - this fine tea clipper being just one of them. Once again I had this immense feeling of privilege that I should be there, witnessing these things for my first time, doing what I was doing for the first time. Truly unforgettable!

It was all beginning to feel strangely straight forward; the mile posts were coming and going and I was simply enjoying the journey. Good old Age UK were there just beyond ‘The Sark’ (as we athletes….don’t call it….) to simultaneously give me a rousing welcome and send off; then again at mile eleven (I am seriously considering asking them to provide this sort of support on all my journeys…… HEYYYYYYY!!! AWOOGA AWOOGA; ADYBLADY IS LEAVING THE HOUSE TO GO TO WOOOOOOOOOORK!!!!!!). You are already aware how much hefty hard work the fund raising has been, but I can heartily recommend it for your first marathon (if you are mad enough) as it comes with a built-in extended family of people shouting your name!

Feeling good, and I guess what you could say ‘in the zone’; steady pace established. I started to think that I might actually be able to do this. Don’t worry though; I dismissed such cavalier thoughts from my mind immediately.

Mile eight was the next family cheerpoint, or should that be cheerpoints! Three for the price of one!! First there was brother Paul (yes, the giving a box of chocolates one) and Martha the leaping in front of athletes sister-in-law. This time however it was me who saw them. I must have been exceeding the expectations of my predicted speed (lumbering faster than originally thought!) as when I trotted past I saw them setting up the camera for an action photo…..oblivious to the fact that the action in question was approaching, passing, departing! Just time for a quick wave and a shout before it was eyes front and on with the race……

……at least for about 200 yards as on the same side screaming their lungs out were brother Dom (my brother, not holy orders) and his partner Christina (see, told ya!), who had that morning coached it down from Sheffield; bless them! They also hold the dubious honour of being present through all three of the fatmantofitman runs; which in itself deserves a medal. His early morning e-mail on marathon day reads ‘eh yup Adrian; we’re just getting on the coach to go and watch my mad younger brother run the London Marathon. What are you up to??’ Great to see him and give him a wave and a pump of the fist…..but now it was time to focus on running……

…….Oooooooooh no it wasn’t; as who should appear in the crowd, jumping about, but Alison (wee Ali; remember her, staunch supporter and commenter of the blog right from when it was nothing but a glint on his daddies keyboard?). My full-to-the-brim cup at that moment ranneth over. It’s probably with Alison that I talked most often about the challenge; she had told me that every London marathon day for so many years I had bored her senseless with claims that next year would be my year. I would be there amongst the runners. I wonder how she felt on the day when I finally delivered on that promise? Surprised no doubt; I know I was!!

I think it’s safe to say that I had a much more significant bounce in my step after those few hundred yards; a bounce that lasted long after mile posts nine, ten, eleven were trembling in my wake. It wasn’t just seeing my ‘fans’; it was the thought of them darting back on the tube for the next vantage point, coordinating their movements so that as much of the journey is covered by a familiar face….whether I saw them or not!

It was time to take stock......nearly half a marathon down and feeling.....well.....pretty good actually. Running within myself. Enjoying the awesome crowds, the scenery, the energy, the spectacle, but not overdoing it; knowing that all my energies need to be conserved for one purpose; to keep putting one foot I front of the other at pace. I suspected there would be a time in the not to distant future where something as simple as that would not be so........simple!

The Race - Part 1

1-6 miles.....
So how did I feel on crossing the start line? I'll be honest, I felt good, I felt calm, and I felt an enormous sense of wellbeing; one of those occasions when you know you are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I wasn't particularly 'agog'; just blissfully aware that all I had to do now was run. One foot on front of the other, both feet not touching the ground at the same time, and just....well.....keep doing that for a while.

That said, I confess to being a little nervous too. The quality and success of every previous training run could be accurately forecasted within its first half hour. If I was running well within myself, in control, thinking positively, or more importantly thinking very little at all; I knew I was in for a good one. However if I had eaten badly the night before/morning of, if I had not slept well, or if I just wasn't feeling 'right'; I was struggling from the outset. It was never going to be easy, but it was critical that there were no warning signs in those first few miles.

There weren't.

Okay, there was one; and boy did it make me laugh. It was quite literally, a sign. A whiteboard sign in actual fact, held by a spectator who bore no expression on his face, not so much as a smidgeon of smirk. He gazed blankly into the throng of athletes with the words written acting as the only outer indication of his thoughts.....

'You are all MAD'

SO funny on SO many levels. The expressionless, unmoving, face, the simply put yet direct message, and of course the fact that said message was quite accurate; we were all off our rockers, but so content to be so; all nutters together.

Somewhere around the 4 mile mark was where my first official family cheerpoint was meant to be located. Regardless of my positive and dare I say confident frame of mind, I was still straining my eyes towards the ravaging hoards of spectators for friends and family. Sure enough it didn't take long for eyes to focus on my sister-in-law who was jumping about pretty much in the direct path of the athletes so I didn't miss her (my brother was there, not jumping but cheering; I think that's a much better poem title than 'not waving, but drowning' don't you?). One of the downsides of running with headphones - my native American-Indian name - on, is that your nearest and dearest have to either scream themselves hoarse or virtually wrestle you to the ground in order to get your attention. Fortunately I noticed Martha before this final tactic was resorted to!

I can't tell you how exciting it was to think about the friends and family dotted around the course - many of them managing to dot themselves in more than one place en route - weird but exciting, and a little crazy. Knowing they would be there felt curiously like those simple plans you make to meet anyone.....'fancy meeting for a coffee?'.......'fancy hooking up for a bite to eat?'.. ......'hey; I'm in the area, let's catch up at the pub'......'great! it will be good to see you, see you at mile 4.5 of the London marathon; in case you've forgotten what I look like, I'll be the guy wearing tight cycle shorts and carrying a water bottle'. You've heard tell of the wonderful support lavished on us runners by the thousands of spectators, and it is absolutely true; nevertheless it is especially lovely to have people who know you, looking out for you as an individual, and cheering you as an individual.

AGE UK were already making themselves heard too; with cheering stations at mile numbers 3 and 5. They were quite simply a bunch of lunatics screaming and shouting whenever they saw someone wearing one of their charity shirts. That importantly made all the difference, as they were MY lunatics! I confess to being quite conservative on going past them. Played it real cool, gave them a polite wave, a wink, a thumbs up, and then continued on my journey. I absolutely did NOT career past them, screaming 'COME OOOOOOOON!!!!!' whilst pumping the fist of one hand and waving with the other like a man possessed.....honest.........

Did get a nice exclusion zone around where I was running for a while after that though.

One quarter down, and I was doing it; I was actually doing it!!! Not only that, I was fast approaching one of the landmarks I had seen marathon athletes pass year after year on TV; hoping but never expecting that one day.........

The Long Awaited..........pt 3

About ten yards behind the giant, slightly sinister looking pink doll, right next to a guy in drag with a wig that could only be described as Marge Simpsonesque, and within stampeding distance of a bunch of rhinos. Only the London Marathon could provide such ethnic and surreal diversity!

I confess that at that particular moment (as one of the soon-to-be-released photographs will testify) I was not at my most fashionable. For those not in the know, by this stage you have divested yourself of your belongings to such an extent that all you are wearing is the gear you are running in, with whatever else you have on thrown away en-route to the starting line. As a result one wears things you don't mind losing. So for a change I had a bona-fide, concrete, solid as a rock (the thrill is stiiiill ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-hot) excuse for being a fashion disaster.

With twenty minutes to go, on went the headphones and I was lost in the elitest of inspirational tunes (aaaaaa-gaaaaaaa-do-do-do, push pineapple….kidding... .kidding..), closed my eyes and did that visualisation thing of finishing the race (sadly I think I was a bit too realistic and ended up visualising the hail and subsequent boarding of a cab around Tower Bridge), checked my watch every half hour to find that only two minutes had elapsed, and otherwise tried to quiet the noisy mind. After all, there wasn’t much to get worked up about was there. 

I often wonder how the overall noise of a crowd is created; that unintelligible murmur which comes from the total sum of so many individual voices. It sounds nothing at all like speech, but to me sounds like electricity (oh he's going somewhere with this......I hope). A current running through all the runners, powering us, energising us all; a thoroughly thrilling feeling. Then, minutes before the start of the race; there was a power cut.....silence.....thirty seconds silence to be precise, in memory of the tragedy at the Boston Marathon, and all those affected. It was quite simply extraordinary, no other word for it; thousands of people united in the task ahead, united in tribute.

 

Electricity re-connected, power surge; flowing, no, flooding through us all. Back at home and watching the tv coverage, Steve Cram said something which is very worthy of repeating....

 

'If you're looking to break the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to pick on'

 

.....I love that line, and as the starting pistol went and we commenced our 'pre-race shuffle' it was exactly how I felt, how we all felt. As if any further motivation were needed!!

Now, my experience of these runs is that it can be up to an hour between the official start, and my own start; imagine the surprise as within minutes the Greenwich Park gates came and went, followed by a fast approaching starting line. I had my customary handshake and 'good luck' with one of my neighbours (Scottish lass with jelly-babies in her rucksack!), a quick text to friends and family, and finally.....finally........

.....FINALLY......

I was on my way.

The Long Awaited...........pt 2

.......to be honest, I defied my own lowly expectations and slept pretty well. With all the preparations done (I find playing the entire day through in my head helps, and usually shows up anything I've forgotten to do!) the mind - and therefore the body - could relax.

The following morning - of all mornings - I could take no chances; and so was simultaneously woken at 6am by the ringing of the phone (hotel wake-up call), a beeping of the mobile phone, another beeping this time coming from my watch, AND a knock on the door from the chap with breakfast. You would be forgiven for thinking that I might have been a bit paranoid about oversleeping (PARANOID??...WHO ME?....how very dare you). I can laugh about it now, but more than once in the build up I had the nightmare of waking up, turning on the TV and watching the start of the race which I was meant to be running in! Cold sweats, cold, cold sweats.

I find it ironic (or possibly on reflection, moronic) that, hours before ‘the gun’, a positive person like me was still half expecting something to go wrong. Maybe trouble checking out of the hotel, a flat tyre on the car, problems with the train to Greenwich, getting horribly lost, forgetting to pack my running shirt in my official marathon bag and having to run topless, or forgetting to pack my running shorts in my official marathon bag and having to run……. …...errrrr……no…… But, it all went incredibly smoothly. Nice quiet parking, smooth train journey – fifteen minutes to the start – and as for getting lost…..not a chance. The throng starting throngaging at hotel check-out. The trickle of people became a stream, then a flood. All I had to do was quite literally go with the flow.

Did I get teary-eyed at this – or any – moment? Nope! Wandering around the ‘red start’ of Greenwich Park there was only one emotion available to sample……JOY!! Right from the departure-lounge feel where family bid farewell at the entrance to the athletes-only zone, past the hyowj queue of lorries picking up your luggage which by magic would be waiting for you at the finish, and into the gathered hoards of stretchers (people stretching, the other stretchers better served for the finish), banana-eaters, energy-drink drinkers, photo-takers and meditators. It was just FANTASTIC to see, and a well-earned privilege to be a part of.     

I found myself walking around a lot, until I realised what I was about to do and decided to sit down and relax; at least relax as much as a man can before taking on five hours of willing insanity. It was indescribable – and for me, that is saying something – to just be still and let it all wash over you; sometimes focused on myself, my body, my journey, and then to look around to see you are one of many; many bodies, many journeys. For so long, training week after week, run after run, experiencing the true loneliness of the long distance runner, finally to be united with thousands.  

The call came to take up our starting positions.

Every one of us, performers backstage, ready for our live, one-off, sell-out show. Rehearsals were over; we were warmed up and waiting for curtain-up, with arguably the biggest audience of all time waiting for us on the other side.

There was only one thing left to do……

…..run the London Marathon

The Long Awaited...........pt 1

Come on, be honest; you were thinking I'd forgotten you weren't you? How could you think that you - who have journeyed with me on this two year odyssey - would not be allowed to be there at the finish?! You know the result, but here is the full and true account of the build-up to and aftermath of what proved to be the most extraordinary of days; not to mention the bit in between. I suspect that this will span over more than one post; hey, if it's good enough for Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows......parts 1 and 2, it's good enough for fatmantofitman!

I think anyone who knows me (and if you have read me, you know me) also knows that I am usually good at predicting my emotions. It is not in an effort to kerb them; it just ensures that when the powerful ones do hit I am as prepared for them as I can be. However, as I stood there waiting for that peculiar forward-shuffle of people in front (an indication that people are being trampled underfoot by keen runners wanting to get nearer the start line, but more than likely just a sign that the starting gun had kicked us off) I confess that I what I thought I would feel, I didn't actually feel. It was still a good, just different....

Expected......
10% determined
10% focused
80% excited

I thought I would be jumping about like a mad thing, thrilled to be there, thrilled to be almost at the end of the journey, drinking it all in.

Instead.......
50% focused
50% sheer, utter, unfettered RELIEF!!

Think about it for a minute, all that could have gone wrong over the last two years; then think of the panicky feeling that sets in when the big day approaches and you know that should something go wrong there won't be enough time to put it right. The panic just grows. You play it all through in your head to make sure you have planned everything (sponsorship, registration, gear, kit, blogposts, accommodation for the whole weekend, charging all the gadgets, logistics, to name but a few; oh, and don't forget to get some rest!!), and yet you still have that sense of 'left the gas on', you've forgotten something but you just can't remember what you've forgotten (cos if you can then it wouldn't be.....). Is it any wonder that when I was finally stood 'there', and the only thought in my mind was 'run'; a humongous weight was lifted off my shoulders.

It doesn't always work out for some people; one athlete with a 'gold ticket' (not Willy Wonka, it's the official notification of a place on the marathon) got her times wrong for registration; turned up a half hour after it shut and that was that. What a horrible thought.

You may ask when it was that I was the most nervous? Not only can I recall it, I can also tell you that it was exactly eighteen seconds duration. It was the time it took between me stating to the hotel concierge that I had a room booked with them that night (Saturday), and said concierge tapping away on her computer to eventually ask me whether I would like a  morning call. No amount of checking and double-checking the booking could rid me of the panic-induced thought of no reservation = no available rooms = where the hell do I sleep?!! = as all my plans for Sunday morning being based on leaving from that hotel, HOW DO I GET TO THE START OF THE RACE FROM WHEREVER I WAKE UP???!!!

Nevertheless, booked in I was; and as the door closed behind me in the sanctity of my hotel room I knew I was almost there. Although Murphy's 'if anything can go wrong it will' law may still hold true, with every minute, every potential trip-up negotiated; there was less and less that could go wrong.

I wish I could say that I managed to relax for the rest of the evening, but in truth there was much to do. Filling out the form which divests the marathon organisers from any responsibility if the worst happens (cheery old job that!), attaching the official race number to the official AGE UK shirt, attaching your timing chip, a bit of blogging, chatting with friends and family coming along to support and finding out where they will be en route (some of them said that would be cheering for me at the 20+ mile post.....that's optimism for you!), sorting out what I will be leaving in the car when I pop on the train, sorting out what I will be leaving in my official marathon bag when I pop (??!) on the marathon (leaving just me, a drink, and a couple of bananas....which is actually the film sequel to 'The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover'! ), and finally sorting out what to wear (to two-layer, or not to two-layer, that was the question, and not to be turned out to be the correct answer!).

Eventually though, outfit laid out, blog blogged, dinner (club sandwich, chips, choccy cake) scoffed, breakfast ordered, bags packed, gadgets charged, confident, focused, but very excited; tucked up in bed, and on the night before one of the potentially greatest achievements of my entire life by far all I had to do was get a good night's sleep..........

Yeah right.....that's gonna happen.......

AND....................................?

Mission accomplished.......

GET IN THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

......more later.

This is it.......

After the doubt
After the struggle
After the internal battles
To face the truth
To eat well
To eat less
To face freezing blizzard conditions
To press on when I could so easy have wilted

This is it

After the people wishing you luck
Fully expecting you to succeed
After the people wishing you luck
Fully expecting you to fail
Proving them wrong
Proving myself wrong
Proving it can be done
Proving, anything, can be done

This is it

After the blood
After the sweat
After the tears
After the talk
After the blogging!
After the noise
After the preparation
After six hundred and seventy-one days........

This

Is

It

1 day to go.....Words.....The Man In The Arena

Can this really be it?

It is at this moment unbelievable that after almost two years, it has come to this point; the evening before the morning after, when I will accomplish precisely what I set out to do. How many plans of much less ambition than this fall by the wayside due to lack of resolve, lack of conviction, or just plain bad luck; and yet here I sit in my - rather plush may I say - hotel room, contemplating the race of my life and possibly my greatest achievement to date.

So the big question is, how do I feel? Pretty good to be honest. It's been a weird few days. When tomorrow was in the distant distance, it was a case of as good as out of sight, was out of mind; then came the realisation over the last couple of weeks that this was really happening (mini panic, with a double scoop of 'yikes!'). Now however, so close to 'the gun' I just feel calm, focused, and ready to do the job.

I have no expectations of time, or of whether I am going to be able to run all the way. Of course I have hopes, but with no reference point all I can do is simply go with what my mind and body are telling me. Let's face it; both of these have got to be trusted if they have seen me this far.

The oh so twee phrase is 'everyone who crosses that start line is already a winner'. Twee, but true. I will cross that start line, thanks to the generosity of so many I will raise well over £1000 for a fantastic charity, I like to think I have even inspired a few people along the way. I have already succeeded, and there is immense comfort in that. As a wise man once said....the rest is just gravy.

I confess that my original intention was to end this blog on the day of the marathon, getting a friend to update their account of the run as a spectator; but I've changed my mind. It's only fair that come what may, I sign off properly next week. I owe it to any of you around the world who have been kind enough to share the journey to see it draw to a close in the right way.

So wish me luck; and I leave you with the final entry under 'words', the final subject of the month. By Theodore Roosevelt, these for me are quite possibly the most inspirational words I have ever heard. They have seen me through some of the darkest days of this challenge, and spurred me on whenever I have been in need. It is only fair that they are reserved for one of the final blogposts; they have become part of my sould, and I have pleasure in sharing them with you in the hope that they give you the same hope that they gave me.......

It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly;
who errs,
who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms,            
the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause;
who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst,
if he fails,
at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

2 days to go.........Wot no weigh in???

Sorry, no weigh in today.....I did think about packing my scales with me to my brothers, but then I realised that I am not a total obsessive....much. Anyway, surely for a reliable comparison of results you need the same scales on - pretty much - the same place on the same floor. Not prepared to risk and unnaturally high read-out this close to the marathon; I need positivity around me at the moment, and lots of it.

So for the first time in getting on for a century of weeks, I do not know what my weight is!! (and no, I'm not cheating because I have been eating like a pig and have put a stone on.....I don't think). It's a mystery to me (the game commences; for the usual fee, plus expenses..), but I will convince myself - and my knees - that I have lost a stone and a half, making the marathon seem like I am walking on the moon (giant steps are what I'll take, I hope myyyy legs don't break)..

I think I need a lie down..............I'm talking even more blarney than I usually do!

Calm again today; still at the one day at a time stage currently. Here's hoping I can keep it all under control until about 100 yards away from the finish line!!

Two days to go??????

OH

MY

GOD!!!!!

3 days to go..........Words.......Muhammad Ali

Needs no introduction.......

.....so why am I introducing it......??


I hated every minute of training, but I said, 'Don't quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.'

.....it's almost like he's had some experience of this........

4 days to go.......Registration

Okay; now it's very real.

In order to become officially official for the marathon, it is necessary to bowl yourself down to the Excel Arena in London's docklands in order to register. It is there you pick up your official race number, your timing chip and your 'official red bag'.

Here's me expecting to just roll up, sign a form and then leave; how wrong was I??

Should have realised that if there is something being held at somewhere with the word ARENA in it, that there is going to be a bit more going on than a few registration stalls. There was every make of running shoe, running garments and running accessories known to man; and I am sure a few that before today man knew nothing about (this man anyway) being flogged. There was a stall for every charity with an interest in the marathon (including the brilliantly named 'The Panda Made Me Do It'; charity raising money for the benefit of the natural world). Then there were the stalls advertising runs where you try and escape from zombies, and marathons in such exotic places as Norway ('the land of the midnight sun'), Iceland, and.....aaaaah bless them.... .....Milton Keynes!

The whole place was absolutely buzzing.

The most poignant of the sights in the arena was a great big wall, and numerous box-benches, on which people are able to write messages of goodwill, good luck, remembrance; whatever is most on the writers mind, or in the writers heart. When I arrived there were people of all ages with a marker pen; quite an image, not easily forgotten (who would want to?!). One could not help but walk along and read them, and they certainly brought a tear to the eye; particularly those messages of people lost and very much missed, not least of which was the message to the people of Boston, echoed I am sure by all who are running.

As for me; I could not resist having my two cents worth. I found my bit of wall off to one side and quite simply wrote.....

'Fatman, is now fitman' 

5 days to go........A Sombre Day

Today is such a sad day; since it's first running in 1981 (this year being number 33) there are few large scale events which in my opinion have been riper for terrorist attacks of some description. It is surely impossible to completely control and regulate twenty six miles plus of road, lined with hundreds of thousands of spectators. It would be so easy to plan and execute an attack, and yet thus far London has been mercifully spared. However, today is a horrible reminder of what could happen.

Devastatingly - a matter of days before the London event - the Boston Marathon has been attacked, with loss of life and heavy injury to both crowd and athlete. I have spoken before about the positivity of a day like this, with people either there to run - often for charity -  or to support those who are running. I am yet to experience the full marathon atmosphere but I suspect it will put Manchester and Newcastle considerably in the shade by comparison. To target an event like this is utterly despicable, cowardly and so very upsetting. My heart goes out to everyone affected; in particular the friends and families of those who lost their lives.

I suppose that the natural reaction to this could understandably be one of fear (as if more were needed) but oddly enough, nothing could be further from the truth. The resolve of the organisers and participants of the London Marathon has only been strengthened; as has mine. I am running; no question.

There is no more or less chance of 'trouble' on Sunday than there was forty-eight hours ago. In actual fact the increased security which will be implemented in the light of events in Boston have if anything reduced the risk of further terrorist action. That alone would be enough reason to press on with the run, but there is now a higher purpose. A statement. By running, we are showing our support for the people of Boston (I believe that Virgin have something planned for that, a minutes silence perhaps? I do know that when we register we will each be given a black ribbon, which I will wear with pride). We are also telling those people responsible for the attack, that even though they think they have succeeded; in actual fact all they have managed to do is make us more determined that they fail.

My first reaction to the news at Boston is I am ashamed to say along the lines of 'of all the years to choose to run the London Marathon, it has to be the year that this happens'. Now I realise that in a strange way I am fortunate, as I have the opportunity to play a key role in London's answer to terrorism; an answer of defiance, an answer of support.

Bring..........it............ON!

6 days to go......Words......I am made of sport

I’m made of belief......not barriers

I’m made of sweat......not swagger

I’m made of many......not one                                           

I’m made of the next point......not the last  

I’m made of blazing trails......not following paths

I’m made of every hurdle I’ve cleared......not just the ones on the track  

I am made of all the days you don’t see......not just the one you do                                          
I am made of everything to come......not just what has been                                                     
I am made of sport

7 days to go.........Wot no run???

Eerie an kinda nice that I can just get out of bed, go downstairs and relax for the first Sunday in about two months! Tapering, so no big running today; just relaxing, not to mention a bit of delivering sponsorship leaflets around Edenfield.

On that subject for a second, note to anyone intending to deliver paper leaflets through letter boxes; and please benefit from my recent experience, I urge you!! Do not, under any account, push your fingers in so far that they poke through to the other side of the door. Most of the time, nothing will happen; but just when you start to get all blasé and all cautiousness is forgotten, a lovely little cuddly dog will attempt to take a dirty great bite out of your finger. The little b......rascal.......

I resisted the temptation to bang on the door and give the owner a good mouthful (I guess as it is across the threshold barrier of their property, so fido is perfectly within his rights to have a crack at me), and opted instead for colourful language, hopping up and down and waving my hand in the air like I had a piece of sellotape stuck to it (further note to self; not something which is of any benefit whatsoever).

In actual fact, it is less than seven days to go, as a week from now I will be sleeping at my brothers house, for once NOT cuddling my teddy bear; opting instead for a nice shiny medal!!

Every day it gets closer, as does reality. Still; there is a week of work to go yet, and I have to go and pack for two weeks away from home (back to work after marathon weekend); plenty of other things to focus my mind on, which has got to be a good thing as if I am constantly in marathon mode it is going to drive me crazy!

Too late.......

8 days to go......Words.....The Road

I think Nike must be absolutely gutted (not often you see a blog post beginning with a line like that eh?). One of the greatest sporting adverts I think I have ever seen, advertising Nike; and Nike never used it! Why? because it was in a film called 'What Women Want'.

The brief and basic plot sees Mel Gibson working for an advertising agency pitching a campaign to the women's division of Nike. His ability to hear women's thoughts (what? and it's NOT a horror movie??!! crap, there goes my chance of a date out of this blog) give him a competitive advantage, and result in the simple image of a woman running on the road while Mel's voice narrates......(note, I have fiddled with the script a ickle bit......only a ickle bit, I promise)

You don't stand in front of a mirror before a run, and wonder what the road will think
of your outfit.
You don't have to listen to its jokes and pretend they're funny, in order to run on it.
It would not be easier to run if you dressed smarter.
The road doesn't notice if you're not wearing aftershave.
It does not care how old you are.

You do not feel uncomfortable, because you make more money than the road.

And you can call on the road whenever you feel like it; whether it's been a day, or even a couple of hours since your last date.
The only thing the road cares about, is that you pay it a visit once in a while.

The road.

No games.

Just sports.

I think it's not only a fantastic advert, it also has a ring of truth surrounding it. The road for me started as an enemy that you dread meeting, even though I knew I had to; then I got to know it, until that imperceptible moment arrived when it became my friend; something I began depending on.

Now, firmly embedded in the tapering phase, I find myself missing the company of that friend; restless. So many things kick in when I run; calm, peace, determination, courage, meditation, thought, contemplation, achievement, and no human being has ever managed to do that (not yet anyway!). Whatever happens in eight days time, I know that I have made friends for life. It may be the end of the marathon, but it will not be the end of the running.

Nike knows it, Helen Hunt knows it, even Mel Gibson knows it; I am obviously in good company.

9 days to go........Weigh in (91)

Back o' the net!!!

I must have been a VERY good boy this week, as 15 stone 8 pounds has now become 15 stone 3.4 pounds. Yes, that is five, five, FIVE pounds off. Get in there.

Probably the perfect week to be honest; the big run, two little 'uns, and eating really well. Simple when you (I) put it that way eh? What's with all the fuss about losing weight then? It's such a doddle.......

Just goes to show how difficult it can be sometimes to carry out the blooming obvious. Everyone knows what they need to do to lose weight, and it is so annoying that the doing is do difficult. BUT, that is not this week; this week, weight is down and life is good. Five pounds less to lug round London is going to help no end.

With the tapering phase of the training well under way, I would imagine this will be the lightest I will be for a few weeks; no big runs to sweat off the pounds. At worst I would imagine I will be around 15 stone 5 come the oh so big day, and I can live with that; plus my thighs are ever-increasing to the size of twin tree trunks so they must be getting used to bearing the strain! My knees are also thanking me no end.

Single figures on the countdown now; another point when thing become that little bit more real. Trying not to 'go there' at the moment, as if I go there I may never get out again. There's a whole nine days to go yet; loadsa time.......

10 days to go.......Words.......In case of fire......

An old acquaintance of mine was a big poetry lover; not me, I thought it was all a load of namby-pamby claptrap. A bit of time in this friends company however and I was converted. I soon learned that poetry was like any other art; there is some you like, and some you just don't get. Whether you are someone who likes things to rhyme, or whether you like the rhythm of certain prose, there is usually something for everyone if you are prepared to look.

There is something about the voice of Roger Mcgough that I have always liked. He has that light, scouse lilt which fits perfectly with his work. It is almost impossible to reconcile Roger the poet - beautiful prose, cleverly writted - with Roger the member of pop group 'The Scaffold' - weeeeeeeeeeee'll drink a drink a drink to Lily the pink the pink the pink, the saviour oooooooof, the human ra-a-aaaaace.

Whilst the lyrics to Lily The Pink are unique in their uniqueness, these are not the words to which I am referring. I wouldn't exactly call them inspiring; they are clever - a kind of thinking mans 'hole in my bucket'! - but I also find them quite relaxing to hear. Even better when our Rog reads them himself........

In case of FIRE, break glass

In case of GLASS, fill with water

In case of WATER, wear heavy boots

In case of HEAVY BOOTS, assume foetal position

In case of FOETAL POSITION, loosen clothing

In case of CLOTHING avoid nudist beach

In case of NUDIST BEACH, keep sand out of eyes

In case of EYES, close curtains

In case of CURTAINS, switch on light

In case of LIGHT, embrace truth

In case of TRUTH, spread word

In case of WORD, keep mum

In case of MUM, open arms

In case of ARMS, lay down gun

In case of GUN, fire

In case of FIRE..........

11 days to go.........Oily night.....

Absolutely jiggered tonight; so most certainly time for an early one!

Tucked up in bed with Tedito Eduardo, a bit of telly then a good nights sleep. That's the plan anyway.

It's a real shame as I had a really good blogpost tonight, telling you all about the time I ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ..............

12 days to go.......Words.....Hawaiian Rules

How many junk e-mails do we get with various lessons for life, mottoes (mottos?), messages of hope; on the promise that if we send it on to fifty one people (no more, no less) then something earth-shatteringly incredible will happen every single day for the rest of your life? It does make me laugh when I receive on, and look at the distribution list to discover I am one of....let me see, now.....what a coincidence!!.....fifty one e-mail addresses. I suppose people think that it's all rubbish, but they don't want to take any chances! Anyway that's not the point (there's a point, now that WOULD be a first!....get to it then Blaydon....); not once in those numerous e-mails that come bounding into my inbox (and may I say for the record rarely bounce back out again, unless it is genuinely good) did I see the list of 'Hawaiian Rules'.

Now I have no idea whether these are indeed the law in the aloha state, or indeed whether the list was indeed put together by a Hawaiian and not a 55 year old accountant from Bangor (it could happen!); but when I received them from a friend of mine who shall remain Wee-Ali nameless they have adorned my fridge door ever since. I love them!

In the space of these ten, sun-drenched commandments; my thoughts are provoked, my soul is comforted, and I am smiling. Wherever they came from, there are certainly lessons to be learned here; and what good is a lesson if it isn't shared.......

•  Never judge a day by the weather
• The best things in life aren't things
• Tell the truth; there's less to remember
• Speak softly, and wear a loud shirt
• Goals are deceptive - the unaimed arrow never misses
• He who dies with the most toys, still dies
• Age is relative; when you're over the hill, you pick up speed
• There are two ways to be rich; make more, or want less
• Beauty is internal - looks mean nothing
• No rain-no rainbows

One can't help feeling that our lives, and the world would be so much better if we could all adhere to these simple instructions.......

13 days to go....Subject of the month......Words

Words are powerful things aren't they? They communicate, they inspire, they teach, they wound, they stir the emotions, they can make us fall in love, they can make us fall out of love. They can explore the deepest reaches of our imagination. I am typing these words now, and you are reading what I am saying. That is so cool. How great words really are!!

So for the last subject of the month, as we near the end of the entire journey and the sad end of our blog relationship, I think you deserve to know the words which mean the most to me. We have spent so much time together that it is time you got to know me that bit better; better than most people who I see on a regular basis and claim to know me in fact!

They may be contained in a sentence, they may be a whole passage; but I hope you see why they have become part of me, and I hope that you feel something of what I feel when you read them!!

14 days to go........The Last One

Now today was an extremely weird experience. With two weeks to go, today was the last of the big home runs. It's almost impossible to believe that from here on in I'll not be running anything over five miles before the you know what, you know where.

The technical term is 'taper'; where you drastically reduce the amount of training mileage, conserving energy and letting your body recover from all the little aches, pains and blisters that have amassed through weeks and weeks of intensive training and tarmac pounding (is this me talking? I think it is......intensive training??......let me check......yep, it is still me talking......). Strictly speaking I should have started it a couple of weeks ago, but I opted for adding a few miles onto the training; it's made me more confident of making the trip.

Speaking of confidence; nineteen miles!! That's a real nineteen; not an 'oops, I took a wrong turn somewhere and it wasn't really nineteen' nineteen. Coupling this with the fact that much of today's run was up and down the hills of Lancashire - giving me great hope that for a flatter surface like.....oooh....just to pick a place out at random.....LONDON - this will stand me in good stead. It's also encouraging that I wasn't trying to attract the attention of any passing ambulances to follow me in case of collapse. I mean, I'm not saying I would want - directly following the run - to have a standing still contest with the world champion; but I could nevertheless still stand, still walk - after a fashion - and still talk; even if it was to say 'I need a lie down'!

Essentially, that's it; next stop marathon. A few ickle runs of five miles the odd evening over the next fortnight, but other than that it's the final push for sponsorship, and trying to get as much rest as possible; good nights sleeps, good eating with nothing out of the ordinary passing my lips. If I can tick all of these boxes I will be a finely honed running machine; not to mention being the fittest I have ever been in my life. Actually, scratch that; I am already the fittest I have ever been in my life. It's taken me nigh on forty years, but a nice feeling once I got there.

Not bad for a nineteen plus stone lump with delusions of grandeur eh?

I'm still in the denial 'oh that run thing is a loooong way off yet; so long it is not really real' stage at the moment, and I suspect with a busy work life, and a busy life in general I will be able to maintain this sense of blissful ignorance for some time (here's hoping anyway!). I am not too sure what will happen when reality finally does hit. I was about to say 'crashing down' but that makes it sound far too negative; and whatever happens it will be all good. The options are....

• surge of excitement and a nervous, excited, collywobble type feeling in my tummy
• crying
• taking it in my stride and nothing changes
• spontaneous combustion so that all remains is a pair of feet stuck inside two Asics running shoes
• all of the above

 I'll take door number one please Cilla.....!

15 days to go......Philosophies......Keeping it real

You will be relieved to know that this is the last of my philosophies. Delving into my mind is interesting, even cathartic for me, but you must be crying out for an escape from this madness to make a break for the real world.

So let's see, we've covered decisions, choice, love, life and even looked death square in the face. Whether you've learned something for you, who knows; but you should certainly have learned a few somethings about me. That said, there is still one thing; one important something that brings all my philosophies together; that runs through them all. Keeping it real. This is not an easy one to explain (I confess I almost gave up writing on more than one occasion, opting to just leave my philosophies as they are), but here goes.

How often do we have unrealistic expectations from life, setting ourselves up for a massive fall when we totally, utterly and prematurely commit our entire soul to something which when it doesn't happen, totally and utterly devastates us? How often do we avoid the truth, the obvious reality that is staring us in the face because we are too scared to stare back? How often do we have total ignorance of ourselves, our very own character; and it comes as such a shock to us when something we assume will be simply 'water of a ducks back' ends up hurting us to the core.

I am not saying that ambition, hope, or even fantasy is a bad thing; far from it (have I told you about my publishing-a-best-selling-book-from-this-blog-it-being-picked-up-by-Hollywood-and-Jim-Carrey-plays-me-in-his semi-serious-Truman-Show-role dream?...no?.....I probably won't bother then....); we need to set our sights high and reach for the stars. All I am saying is don't be ignorant, especially when our hopes and dreams are centred around an unlikely reality.....

Love - I commit to love wholly and completely; I accept that this is something I must do to experience true love, and yet I am aware of myself, and prepared to take the risk. I also know myself well enough to know how I will cope should something go wrong, so I can be reasonably accurate about just how big of a risk I am actually taking

Decisions - I am not so blinded by hope and desire that I dismiss the possibility of my decisions being wrong; and again, I know myself well enough to know I can cope if the worst happens

Life - To be lived with eyes wide open; I may on occasion hide things from other people, but I will never hide it from myself

Death - I don't obsess about it, but I don't purposefully avoid it. Like I said, hide myself from nothing.

If you think I am making this sound easy, talking about it is not a problem; living it, is. Maybe it is something to be continually striven for and occasionally but not always achieved. Getting carried away is exciting, tempting, even intoxicating! I guess all we can hope for is a reality check to bring us down to earth before leaving orbit where the fall could be really damaging.

Does that make any sense? (hope not; wouldn't want to change things at this stage of the blog - har-dee-harr). Well, at least I know what it is I am saying, even if no one else does!!

16 days to go.......Weigh in (90)

Hmmmmm, I think I can take this one on the chin; not quite a full pound on, but enough to push me to 15 stone 8 (one on....our survey said.....); darn it.

I may have had the big run last Sunday in the pro column, but bolstering the cons  was the big family Easter meal later one the same day. I'm not sure if it has become tradition elsewhere, but as at Christmas it's turkey and all the trimmings for the Blaydon clan; and one trimming in particular is my nemesis, the Moriarty to my Holmes, the Joker to my Batman, the Hyde to my seek....errrr.....Jekyll. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the bane of my life....bread sauce.

Give me a spoon and a bowl of this made from any recipe variation, and I can comfortably make a meal of it - even if the meal in question is breakfast (it looks a bit like porridge, does that count? - but the Paul Blaydon bread sauce concoction is my own personal nomination to the Nobel prize for cookery....or possibly pure evil I haven't decided yet. I am not sure what the attraction is, but I suspect that it's because bread sauce is gloopy, and has the flavour of........let me see.......

Now by some bizarre, fortunate quirk of fate, even though bread is bad for you, bread sauce is actually SO healthy. Not only that, it is widely agreed that said sauce forms the basis of a perfect marathon preparation.....you're not buying that are you? (you're shaking your head now aren't you?) this time it wasn't even worth the effort was it? (yep, still shaking your head). I'll admit; it is my weakness, and considering how much of it I ate, it's something of a miracle that I only put one pound on. The danger bells started to ring when I found myself  - quite by accident you understand - tucking into a bread sauce sandwich (yes, I know; bread between two slices of.....bread!....but it just tastes so NICE!!); and yes, there was a bowl (full at the beginning, empty at the end) and spoon involved at one point.

Then there was Paul's Victoria sponge. I don't know what he did with the cream, but it tasted so nice that give me another bowl and give me the chance to clean my spoon of bread sauce and I won't be held responsible for my actions!

You may wonder why I am not a little more panic-stricken about putting weight on. Don't get me wrong, I'm annoyed; but three pounds off last week followed by one on this is still a healthy net gain (meaning a loss.......you know what I mean), so I am staying upbeat. Not only this, I still feel good, and running seventeen and a half miles (sorry, took a wrong turn on the route and it shortened it a bit; still good though) is not something to be sniffed at. Finally, I need to stay relaxed. As marathon day can be safely described as 'imminent'; tension is going to get me stressed mentally and injured physically. I need a certain amount of trust that if I keep doing what I need to do in training, that the weight will take care of itself.

Just don't throw it back in my face if I knack it all up next Friday will you?!!!!

17 days to go.......zzzzzzzzzzz

I'm already asleep......ZZZZZZZZ...snooooorrre.....see?!

In fact I might actually be blog dream post dreaming blog posting.

Oh heck, how far back does this dream go? Am I going to wake up in the morning back at nineteen and a half stone again?? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Anyway; the usual long journey home and already in bed, so before it starts to become a bit Moviesformen post 11pm I'm signing off to enjoy leccy blanket and some shuteye.

Big weigh in tomorrow!

18 days to go...........Roll Call

Extraordinary. Do you realise that when this little bit of waffle started - as well as being well in excess of nineteen stone - my expectations for the volume of readers were limited to the odd visit from Wee-Ali and perhaps a mis-direction for people with a thing for flatulence. It really was beyond my wildest imaginings that I would be pushing on towards four thousand hits. Yes, I know that Lady Radio Ga Ga probably gets those figures in about a nanosecond, but although I have been called Ga Ga on a regular basis, there the similarity ends.

In the space of two years, I have been visited by people from the UK (hello!), the US (howdy?!), Russia (zdravstvuj!), Germany (guten tag), Australia (g'day), Ukraine (pryvit), Canada (hello/bonjour), France (bonjour), India (namaskar) and Hong Kong (ni hao!) to name only the top ten. It's so cool!!!!! It started me thinking (sorry, couldn't help myself, I know what happened last time; the poor old milkman is still looking at me funny) that asides from the few friends and family who have made themselves known to me, I have no clue as to the identity of...well.......you! So as we reach journeys end, this is your chance to make yourselves known to me. Let's see who is out there, who is following. I don't need any personal details or anything that you may feel uncomfortable with, but it would be lovely to know who you are and where you hail from. We aren't going to get many more chances for our intimate little chats, and isn't it about time you did a little typing?

19 days to go.............Philosophies.........:Love

Greater minds than my own have attempted - and failed - to define what we mean by the word 'love'; and more specifically what it means to be 'in love' (I mean; I love Star Wars, but I have no desire to take Han Solo out for a candle-lit dinner and talk sweet nothings.....although Princes Leia on the other hand........). I fear that my own 'go' will be no more successful, but maybe it bears a read. I can't think of a better subject to close this subject of the month with the great, Howard Jones mystery of 'What Is Love?'

In all honesty, there is never going to be one exclusive meaning of what it is to be in love. It is different for everyone. Similarities there may be, but uniqueness will exist for every one of us. To some, love is passion, to others love may be security (be it emotional or material); but to many - including me - love is something much more complex;  a complete package, a balance of things physical, practical, emotional and spiritual.

I remember a line from Sleepless In Seattle when Meg (I'll have what she's having) Ryan is having a chat with her girlie friends about men and love:

'We don't want to be in love; we want to be in love in a movie'

Now you know how much I enjoy films, so it will come as no surprise to you that I too have a rather romantic (overly-romantic??) view of love. It may even be a view which would not look out of place in one of Meg's own movies, nevertheless I object to the inference that the sort of love which occurs at the cinema, ONLY occurs in the movies. I beg to differ (oh pleeeeeeease mister; pleeeeeeeease let me differ; pwetty pwease with a cherry on top??!).

Okay; maybe I don't expect to meet the same woman at various stages of my life, finally realising that we are meant to be together forever at a new year's eve party over a decade after we first met; nor do I lurk at the top of the Empire State Building (much) hoping to find the lady of my dreams (or maybe even a teddy bear rucksack). Far-fetched they might be, but the love featured in the relationships of all these movies share in their uncertainty, fear, danger, challenge, trust; and where love is concerned I can identify with these feelings away from the cinema, in the real world. The best stories - fictional or no - are the ones where love overcomes all these doubts (conquers all).

So let's stop beating about the bush; the million-dollar question....what does love mean to me? Well, there are probably a million words which could apply, but if I was to sum it up in just one it would be......

"vulnerability"

I know it's strange to pick what is a not entirely optimistic word for something so wonderful, so let me explain.

My life is a series of 'heads' (oh yes, he is going somewhere with this; he really is). There is work-head, there is friends-head (differing according to the friend in question), there is family-head, there is even blog-head! In one aspect all of them are me - in each case certain aspects of my character are accentuated, and other aspects subdued - and yet from another point of view, none of them are me, there is always that part of me that no one sees; the part of me that I protect, the part that if exposed, can hurt, can be desperately disappointed, or can be just desperate!

It is this part which I strongly believe adds the word 'in' to love. When that special person comes along who you wholly reveal yourself to (don't be rude), and they to you. It is a scary (nice-scary), out-of-control (nice-out-of-control) feeling of vulnerability and yet you know, you feel, that you aren't in danger; quite the opposite in fact. I think it's that total juxtaposition (heaven help me; yesterday it was 'moreover' now it's 'juxtaposing'; I am such a juxtaposer.....) of risk and safety which feels so good; so exciting.

I'm single at the moment (ladies, form an orderly queue), and happy to be so. It doesn't mean I don't want to be in a relationship, I really do; but I refuse to settle. The person I genuinely fall in love with has to be someone I always think of with a sense of relief that there exists in the world someone with whom I can be entirely open, entirely free, entirely me; a me reserved only for them, and a them reserved only for me.

But who wants to listen to me on the subject, I wouldn't say no to love like this either.......

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken   

or indeed this........

"I don't know, how I feel about you; there is no one way. I feel so many things, and all at once. Happy.....kinda scared too.
Excited
Calm
Lost....but......found.
I feel safe in a way I have never known, but in danger too
This thing between us; whatever it is
It's stronger than me
Being with you, is stronger than me alone
That's new to me"

That would do nicely thanks.....!

20 days to go.........Have you forgotten something.........???

Well my friends, it is with a heavy heart - but hopefully not with too heavy anywhere else - that I must tell you the £1750 sponsorship target set for AGE UK looks to be quite a few quid too far. The final figures may not be in yet, and hopefully there will be a bit of a last minute donation surge (along the lines of Children in Need where the figures get a boost just after pub throwing-out time thanks to the inebriated donors who get a nasty shock when their bank statements arrive at the end of the month), but unless they are of tsunamical proportions I'm coming up short.

The whole experience of requesting donations has been a real eye-opener, not to mention an eye-tearer (as in boo-hoo, not rip-rip) but this final run has been particularly 'interesting'; occasionally positive, often negative.

There are the shops in and around Edenfield who without questioning donated their prizes for the local finishing-time sweepstakes, and yet despite delivering the best part of 1000 leaflets around the village it looks like all too few people are going to be buying a ticket. (Note to self; when posting paper leaflets through a front door, do not, I repeat DO NOT poke your finger too far through the letter box where it is exposed and vulnerable to a lurking dog......fatmantobitman dot ouch).

People of my acquaintance who to be honest I expected better from have looked me straight in the eye and declared that they 'don't give to charity' (is it  a real reason ir purely a justification for being tight?.....I suspect...... Shame they couldn't even show their support for me), and yet known friends of friends, known relatives of friends, anonymous friends of friends, and even Kath and Richard from no. 59 have been unexpected, heart-warming contributors.

Expectations are risky things; particularly when one is overly optimistic about the outcome. I confess that I have been a bit seduced by false impressions of the majority if the human race. It is a shame, yes; disappointing, yes; but I am nevertheless buoyed by the good people who are out there (you know who you are; and if you're not sure give me a shout and I'll put you right.......either way!). 

Whatever the final figure, it is what it is. I have done my best. Granted if I had my time again there are a few things I've learned by this effort. The good news is that it is going to be more than what is currently in the bank (some definite donations still to come), moreover (did I just use a word like 'moreover'??? things must be serious) I am extremely content that - considering my relative inexperience - I have done my best by AGE UK. (Put it this way; there are more than a few people who use a charity in order to secure a race place, but with no intention whatsoever of raising any money. Abhorrent).

Once more, it is a huge thank you to those people who have donated so far - it does mean so very much. For those of you who have not yet donated and your bit has never been so chomped to do just that, get your arse over to www.virginmoneygiving.com/adyblady; if you donate, then something wonderful will happen to you within twenty-four hours........if you don't, then something bad will happen within the same time.

Okay; that last part is a load of rubbish, there is no difference to your chances of good or bad things whether you donate or not; but if you do you will become one of the reasons I am doing this, and one of the reasons why this positive experience IS so positive.

21 days to go.......Smashed it!!

Possibly the most surreal Easter Sunday of my entire life!! The hour going forward, which meant that the half seven start was actually a......yaaaawwn......half six start. Yes, at a time when I was traditionally on my third chocolate egg (the Easter breakfast of champions!) I was leaving the house, desperately trying to remember the 'new route'.

Despite last Sunday's tricky-run, I was in good spirits, first of all for having the gumption to get up and out, second with me being a three pound lighter me, and thirdly I was looking forward to a flatter run than the rolling, brutal hills of Edenfield!

It was all going so well until I realised something - a little late. You know how I was thirdly looking forward to a flatter run? Well I realised that in order to look forward to a flatter run, and RUN a flatter run; you have to PLAN FOR a flatter run. Note to self - and a cautionary tale to the rest of you - a run which takes you over, up to and around an area called 'Marple Ridge', is NOT a flatter run; in actual fact it is EVEN BLUMMIN' HILLIER, than Lancashire!!! Let that be a lesson to you; a lesson to not be a total idiot!

Hard though it might have been, it was of huge benefit that the steepest of the hills were through the middle of the route (and not towards the end), when I was still full-ish (very -ish) of running/staggering. Plus not being too sure when the hills were coming along meant my body stayed relaxed; need to keep it loose in future, keeps the muscles from over exerting (do I sound like I know what I'm talking about??).

Noone else was daft enough to be out at that time of the morning, but they started to emerge when turning for home. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I love the 'mini-community' which you join as a roadrunner. Thumbs up, waving, high-fiving, not to mention the respect of your fellow joggers. So cool!

I'd planned on seventeen miles, but factored in an option for an extra mile if I felt like having a crack at it. Hitting eighteen miles - with hills - might well afford me the opportunity of this being by last long run before 'tapering down' (technical term for 'put your feet up and give the road a chance to recover, as well as your legs'). I'd like to be all dramatic and say that at seventeen miles I was on my last legs yet screwed my courage to the sticking place and soldiered on; but to be honest I felt pretty okay so there was no reason to literally go the extra mile. Eighteen miles!!!! Yes, you heard me.....eighteen miiiiiiles! That's like, running a mile....eighteen times. Lots of pumping the air, lots of yelling; and the best thing is that being at Mum's meant there was a hot bath already run and waiting for me (thanks sis!).

After that it has been a slightly less successful day; no chocolate (despite being bought four chocolate eggs.....saving those for post-marathon, when they may well vanish in a frenzy of cream eggs, Lindt bunnies and Twirls....oooh it's gonna be ugly), but did succumb to a couple of slices of my brother's Victoria sponge, not to mention a lovely, biiiiiig turkey dinner. I sense damage limitation in the air this week....... Can't afford to reverse all the good work I've done; time to batten down the hatches!!!

As for whether I am long-running next week; time will tell!!  

3 weeks.........3WEEKS!!!!!!

22 days to go.........Philosopsies.......Death

I did warn you that we would be delving deeper!

This was a subject which I almost avoided, as isn't that what most of us do? Avoid talking about it? Avoid even thinking about it? For something which affects and eventually comes to us all it is the definitive elephant (elephant's graveyard?) in the room. I guess the thinking behind the head-in-the-sand technique is the knowledge that no matter how much we talk about it; death - when it will happen, how it will happen, what it will feel like, and the ultimate question of what life if any exists beyond - is an undiscoverable unknown; with even the experiences of people who have been clinically can be explained away as physical and not spiritual reactions. Facing up to the fear death with no end to uncertainty, is no fun; so why talk about it eh? Anyway; for what it's worth, here is my take on the ultimate journey.

For starters, let's have no illusion on the matter; dying scares the crap out of me. For some people it's the build-up, for others it's the actual act (?!) of dying, and being aware of it; for me it is simply the thought of not being alive any more. I love being alive, being conscious, thinking, exploring, moving, existing in and being part of this world. Life is a huge gift which I have never and will never take lightly, and not being part of the world, not even being aware of....well.....anything....is a thought which at best is a bit scary, and at worst is truly terrifying.

I sound like a true atheist don't I? (when you die, you die, and that's your chips mate!); but in actual fact I'm a Roman Catholic (hardly the way I should be talking, I know, life ever-lasting and all that!). So many religions, sects, spiritual beliefs are out there; each with their own versions of life after death (ascending souls, reincarnation, heaven), and I truly hope that such a life exists. I will even go as far as to say that there are so many interesting, believable -  and not to mention spooky - stories out there which could be called 'evidence' that death is not the end; to make me hope that consciousness, awareness, life, goes on.

My mind and spirit is open with regards to this subject which if not tainted with apprehension would be incredibly fascinating to contemplate. I am realistic about all the things that might happen, as I am about the fact that there is only one way we will ever truly know. One thing I can say, is that talking about it (see the above) is a really cleansing experience. The unknown it may be, but death is one of the few things which unites every living being on the earth (I think that's pretty cool) - whether you a celebrity, the president of the United States, or even a Business Development Manager from Stevenage - and when it comes to our particular human living being I am totally convinced that we are similarly united in our fear of it, our attitude towards it. Shouldn't be anything stopping us talking about then should there?!

Death is inevitable; one of the few things which we can do nothing about, yet we still have a choice in front of us. We can choose now, to live well, and die well; the definitions of which I would imagine will be different for us all. I hope I live up to my own expectations, and more importantly when my time comes, I hope I am ready, and have as they say 'left it all on the field'.

 "Hold nothing back, put it all on the line. Don’t end the game feeling like you could have given more. Don’t leave feeling like you played it safe when you had the opportunity for something greater."

 Not a bad motto to live - or indeed die! - by.

23 days to go.........Weigh in (89)

Well that is something of a HUGE relief may I say. If I hadn't lost weight this time then it would really have been a case of having no clue what I am doing wrong. I've been so near to a saint this week that even Mother Teresa would be pointing her bony finger at me and calling me a goody two-shoes.

So, my head, my heart, and my knees are delighted to divulge a weight loss of three pounds (slightly less, but roundy downy from 15 stone 7.4) to bring me in to 15 stone 7. It's felt really good this week, and more importantly it hasn't felt like too much of a struggle. Considering the disaster of last Sunday's failed attempt at 17 miles, it's good to have something positive to dwell on, and give me optimism for the next long run in a couple of days. To turn things around from falling 1.5 miles short one week to success the next, I needed to get fitter, and I needed to get lighter. Two mini-runs behind me this week have ticked the former, and the result today is great news and has diminished the nerves which have been jangling since the personal humiliation of having to hobble home, in between having to take a rest. (I've seen people in similar situations, and they always have my sympathy, but it is scant consolation; believe me, I know!)

This is now the template I need to adopt for the few weeks ahead; if I can do that then maybe 26 miles might not be quite so much of a marathon marathon!

The weekend is going to be quite a test. Family doings at Mums; where there will no doubt be a significant amount of indulgence flashing before my eyes in the form of chocolate, chocolate and, more chocolate. I don't want another weekend of putting weight on, but with the best efforts this week it might still prove too difficult. Part of me wants another weight loss, but the realistic part of me will quite happily settle for breaking even and setting myself up for a concerted push over the last couple of weeks.

Good grief, does that REALLY say 23 days??????

24 days to go.....Location Location Location

Pop quiz hotshot……what do the following have in common……?

·         My bedroom

·         My front room

·         The office where I worked (Arkoni)

·         The office where I work (Propak)

·         My hotel room in Stevenage

 This far this has been an exhaustive list of the places where I have written my blog……until now…..as there is one more to add to the list……..

·         Norton Canes service station on the M6 toll

 It’s the big, pre-Easter holiday rush, and with both matrix signs and traffic reports warning of nasty things further north I have decided to spend some quality time with my laptop and a Costa Coffee Red Berry cooler (one of my five a day…….so let me see….so far today, that makes – carry the one, add the remainder – one!).

It’s quite a pleasant experience actually. I’m well over half way home, there are lots of people to watch, and I have the most wonderful thing of all……..time! I know that if I made it all the way home I would just flick on the sofa and flop on the telly; but being here, I can read, I can relax, and I can write! I now realise why J K Rowling herself chose to begin writing those whatsisface books (trying to sound like he doesn’t really know much about them, and didn’t actually queue outside Waterstones at midnight……….for the last three in the series) in a café.

 So far it’s been a good week; I think I have done well, but I had a visit from the NSPCCC last night (National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Custard Creams). Rather than face a jail sentence, I had to finish them off……

 …..you’re not buying that are you…..?

Okay, I have not been an absolute, bona fide, true blue – white? – saint; but by comparison to previous weeks I have done SO much better. If I can get out for a quickie run tomorrow night too, then that means eating better combined with a three-run week; I’ve not managed anything like that for quite a while. I confess I will be expecting a good weight loss tomorrow night; hope I’m not setting myself up for a fall.

 Out and about delivering sweepstakes invitations tomorrow; deep joy…….

25 days to go......Time flies by when you're.....

.....nope, not the driver of a train; the lesser known second verse of that Trumpton (Chigley? Camberwick Green?) jingle contains the line "time also flies by when you are commuting to Stevenage and back from the north-west of England, and your days are spent being a Business Development Manager".....I'm guessing that's why it IS lesser known.

Afraid that this is one of those tired-boy posts when I say H and G (film test anyone?); that's Hi and Goodbye for those not in the know for the cool, hip lingo people.

Already in bed, had my Subway sandwich (Quavers; no cookies) and I've got the sitting-up-in-bed pillows arranged beautifully! Time to make good use of them.

Nightie night!!

26 days to go......On The Up!!

Okay, confidence on the rise; and operation 'Butchers Pencil' is in full flow. Have been watching everything I've been eating, and not overdoing the portions.  Breakfast this morning was porridge and toast - de-cerealled - and I am proud to confirm that the custard creams which were waiting for me in the hotel room last night are still in an extraordinary state of untouchedness 24 hours later.

I know it's pathetic, but of all the challenges that 'butchers pencil' has set me; it's the hotel room biccy willpower of which I am most proud! By the time the next room occupant stays there, the poor soul is going to expect nice, fresh, crumble-crispy biscuit.......and they are going to get.....oh dear.......

It's still blummin' chilly out, but I am also delighted to inform you that there was no costume malfunction - gloves, compression top, ipod, woolly hat....the lot! - and as a result I managed to get a five miler in this evening! It was a little bit of a nerve-wracker, as even though vastly reduced in length by comparison it is still my first run since the tricky one last Sunday where, shall we say, 'things did not go exactly according to plan'.....puff...puff....blow....blow.....agony.....agony.....stop (that was an episode of Ivor The Engine which never made it onto the screen). It went excellently well though (excellently well? hardly the Queen's English.....how about 'spiffing'??); and quick too. Compared to the pace I did my very first iddy-biddy run it feels like I'm sprinting! On reflection I think that might have been another factor in Sundays problems. When you end up walking the last mile and a half of a seventeen mile route (with a few sitting-down-for-a-rests thrown in), and still come in at an average of only just over ten minute miles it is both an amazing achievement but a warning to control my pace.

Great isn't it? The not knowing why things went wrong is the worst feeling; but once you find the reasons why, realise the issues are fairly easily put-rightable, and you make plans to ensure that things are........put right; positivity floods in!

I say that now.....just wait till this Sunday's run....I'll be bricking it!!

Speaking of which; am I really going to be able to go out for a seventeen-miler on Easter Sunday?? At my Mums for a family do......that should be interesting; mind you, at least it will give me some different - and hopefully a bit flatter - scenery to look at before I really start to hate Bury (nothing wrong with Bury I hasten to add, but right now Bury = pain!!).

Night off from running tomorrow, but NOT a night off from Butchers Pencil; I do feel sorry for those custard creams...might bring them into work and see who wants to put them out of their stale misery.

Operation 'Butchers Pencil'......(27 days)

Sorry about last night; not one of my finest........ain't THAT the truth?!

Nevertheless, a good nights sleep and a busy day at work and things are already looking brighter. Time is a healer and all that eh? First of all, fifteen and a half miles can hardly be called a failure; yes, it may have fallen short of the intended seventeen miles, but it is still a long way and not as much of a leap backwards as it felt like yesterday morning.

Secondly; I am herein - by the power vested in me by......me (never vested a power before; feels kinda nice - officially launching 'Operation Butchers Pencil' (best I could think of off the top of my head.....and Overlord was taken, okay?!!). Whether I am currently capable of running twenty-six miles at a weight of fifteen stone and ten pounds, one thing is for sure; it will become a whole lot easier if I can bring that weight down. Think about it; a bag of sugar is approximately two pounds in weight. If I can lose eight pounds, that is four, FOUR bags of sugar that I won't have to lug around with me. FOUR BAGS OF SUGAR!! I find one heavy enough while lifting it into the boot of my car, but quadruple that is....well.......just.......really.....heavy. I can hardly imagine what effect losing that sort of weight would have on my running, but I am itching to find out.

So this week, and for the three weeks to follow, I am going all out to shed the ballast. No eating rubbish, smaller portions, plenty of exercise, and watching every morsel that passes my lips. The breakfast that was cereal, porridge and toast is now going to be just porridge and toast, and I am even going to - drum roll please - avoid the hotel room biscuits (and it's custard creams tonight, a considerable test of willpower......the positive though is that if I don't succumb I avoid them being replaced by the willpower-melting evil of.....the - Eastenders duff-duffs -.......Bourbons!!). Not setting myself any targets, but it would be lovely to get as close to fifteen stone as possible. If I can stick to the plan I've got every chance, even a couple of pounds off will make seventeen miles that much more achievable.

Hark at me, taking control during a difficult time; that's so unlike me............

......come on Blaydon; time to dig deep again.......and I have a really BIG spade.

27 days to go my friends......is it me or does it only feel like a week since it was triple that number???

Stealth Negativity........(28 days)

It's been almost two years since I began this blog; and in that time I think it's safe to say that I have written and acted in a positive manner throughout. Whatever negatives have come along have usually resulted in a positive answer (net gain), but today I have to confess to being pretty cheesed off, angry and upset. In sincerely hope this is not the 'tune' of the next four weeks, as that is exactly how long there is to go. That's four weeks, 28 days!!                                                                                                               

The last twenty-four hours have been far from something to write home about (unless the letter reads 'Dear Home, I've had a rubbish day'. It all kicked off last night with back to back phone calls from two people. Don't get me wrong, they are great, good people, and they say what they say because they care an worry about me;  but it was a classic case of not having a clue what effect their words have on me. First there was the 'I'm trying to show you all my support, but I'm really worried about you, I don't think you know what you're doing, I don't even think you are going to finish the run without stopping, and I really don't have enough of a poker voice for you not to notice' (there is more than one person like this - the type when talking about the training, or my 'chances' in the marathon the first thing that comes out of their mouth is entirely negative an critical in nature - but usually I'm ready for them, this one caught me off guard).

Call number two was strength-sapping, and the person on the other end of the phone - who really ought to know better - does not seem to realise how nervous I am at the thought of the oncoming weeks; and in particular falling short of the mark. It was just a weird phone call, and I hung up the phone feeling anything but energised; just tired. It doesn't take a genius (it can't really if I can think of it) to know that this is not a good way to feel the evening before a seventeen-mile run.

At the time I couldn't understand why, but this morning I just didn't feel 'right'. My mind wasn't in the right place; in actual, simple and honest fact I felt defeated before I made it out of the front door. It was a brutal morning, snow dotting the ground; strong, sub-zero winds, and a resolve which did not carry much resolution. It wasn't long before my mind started to drift to the conversations of the previous night, and if there was ever any doubt as to the physical effects of negative thought, let me put your mind at rest; I have proved it.

I felt terrible, physically and mentally. It was hope that kept me going as long as I did; that and the fact that the longer I ran for before stopping, the less distance I would have to walk the rest of the way in the freezing cold! On reflection it was a miracle that I made it almost sixteen miles, but everything was hurting (forgot to take my painkillers before leaving; think that might have made all the difference for the last mile and a bit), and although I might have been able to go the distance it was the fear of doing myself an injury that forced me to stop just over a mile before home.

It's not easy to write about a failed run; especially one that comes less than a calendar month from start date. I'm worried; worried that I might not be ready, and worried that the next long run might be just as much of a disaster as today. I know that it's not unusual (to be loved by anyone, da-nananana-naaaaa) to have these last minute problems, but right now I am anything but confident.

So what am I going to do now? Firstly, not panic; secondly, go for the seventeen miler next weekend; thirdly, make sure I get some weight off this week (upping the mileage after putting on weight is not going to help); and fourthly, I'm not going to answer the phone on a Saturday night!!

Sounds like a plan, and a plan means hope, and hope is positive........

.....now that's more like it!!