So What Now??

Some time before the marathon, I remember seeing documentaries on gold medal winning Olympians – generally British ones after 2012 – talking about the immediate and long term aftermath of a success that had been the objective of their entire careers; the quest to be the best in the world. Most of the stories tended to be ones of depression, of huge anti-climax; going back to the Olympic village to sit in their room and stare at the wall. What followed was a loss of direction in the subsequent years; trying to fathom out what there is left to strive for, now that their goal has been reached. What do they do next?

Okay, I don’t put myself in the same league as a Hoy (there matey!....sorry; set that joke up for myself, just could not resist), an Ovett or a Coe. Nevertheless I wondered; if I was lucky enough to see it all through, would my reaction be the same? After all the effort, the quite literal blood, sweat and tears, the running, the blisters, the doubt, the blogging; would it all be made worthwhile or would I – like those Olympic chumps before me – be left empty. If I managed to do it would I now have a clue why on earth I did it? It was a worry.

And now, getting on for a year later……the answer??

Don’t be so blummin’ daft…………IT’S BRILLIANT!!!!  

We have one life, and in that life we have to find meaning, we have to find worth, we have to find purpose, we have to find happiness. How that meaning, worth, purpose and happiness manifests itself is different for us all; and no one person can judge another by these unique definitions. That said; I can highly HIGHLY recommend doing something. Something challenging, something 'out there', something you are just not sure you will be able to do. If you fail, you tried; but if you succeed you, like many before can say 'I was there; I DID THAT!!'. You take it with you, and nothing nor nobody can take it away. 

I'm honestly not sure if it has changed my life - I'll never know what I would be doing or where I would be doing it had I not taken on the challenge (kinda like that feeling of taking another route if you're stuck in a traffic jam!) - but I feel the better for it. I am fitter, I am slimmer, I am sharper; and what's more; when life is difficult - as we all know it can be, often - the memories of the last two years are a limitless reservoir of positivity I can dip into whenever I please, telling me to push on and push through.

Hang on, just going to take a dip now..............oooooooh YES!!

So.......what now?? Does it all end here? Do I leave all you gentle readers with a gaping hole in your lives without being able to read the latest exploits of the man who is now more fit than fat? Well; yes and no.....

Yes this blog will soon be drawing to a close - just one more post and it will then stand as a monument to endeavour and possibility. As for the future, I have plans. As you know, there is a relatively new job in front of me; in a new location. Exciting though this is; time and energy will be required in order to make a go of it. Early indications are extremely positive, extremely extremely; but this is all the more reason to keep that momentum going. 

What else? Well, I'm sick of renting, so am saving like crazy to buy a place of my own. This won't be easy in the current economic climate but hey; I laugh in the face of 'not easy' before tweaking it's nose and giving it a slap. I also have a slightly crazy idea of getting this blog published. I know I know; so many bloggers have hoped the same and come a cropper, but I think what I have done is a good story worthy of the telling; and it's a fun read. What the hell do I know eh? But what I am sure of is that if I don't try I will always wonder, and that is not unacceptable. Who knows? If I do get into proper bookey-type print, it could make a contribution towards the new digs fund!

On an even more personal note, I haven't yet resigned myself to the single life. It's not something which I am afraid of, but as beings on this earth we are designed to be in a pair (animals went in two-by-two hurrah and all that). Okay, I'm not walking around the streets of Stevenage with a sandwich board saying 'PLEEEEEEEEASE LOVE MEEEEEE!!!'; but I still believe in romance, and I would love to date again, fall in love again, and this time stay fallen. Here's hoping!    
   
There are other things. Learning how to play guitar, joining a badminton club, taking up salsa classes again, doing a bit of amateur dramatics; but the big question is, whether I accomplish any or all of these things, is there room in my life for another challenge?

......pause for dramatic effect........

Of course there is! And God help me it could be even more challengeyer than the London Marathon. For those of you not in the know; an Olympic distance triathlon comprises of a 1500m open water swim, a 40km bike ride, and a 10km run. Now this is a tough ask for the average person; but for me I have a bad feeling I have set my sights too high.

I know what you're thinking; 'he can run a marathon, what's so difficult about a bit of a swim, bike ride and a wee jog?!' Well it's like this; I can swim, although possibly in need of some practice. I think it's safe to say that I can run, but riding a bike is a problem; the problem being that I.....can't. Never learned.

After much research, I can confirm that I have a real problem with modes of transportation which, when you let go of them, fall over. Two wheels are just wrong. Unfortunately official triathlons doe not accept tricycles (ironic), so if I am going to do one I have to learn to ride. Following on from that, I have to learn to ride with confidence, then I have to learn to ride with confidence in amongst a bunch of other bikes, then I have to learn to ride with confidence in amongst a bunch of other bikes for 40km, after swimming 1500m....followed by running 10km!!!

This one may well be beyond me. I have weight to lose - again! - and a long way to go; but as always I am going to enjoy the journey and......well......I might just amaze myself.......again!

So watch this space. Well, not this particular space as that's where this writing is, and not much is going to happen once you've read it. What I mean is look out for blog number two, because what's the point of a challenge if I can't waffle on about it eh?!!

Beyond The Chequered Flag.....

The organisation of the London Marathon 2013 was something quite special (it's almost like they've done it before). From the finish line you are instantly channelled down a reception line comprising of.....

• A person on their knees in front of you, worshipping at your very feet; oh, and removing your timing chip.
• Another person - not without its ceremony! - adorning you with an official finishers medal.
• The official finishers photo (all of us looking at our most sweaty and bedraggled; now that will stand resplendent on the mantelpiece of......no one).
• The official finishers pack of goodies, which I already knew contained at least an apple as half my fellow sweatoons were already chomping into theirs 
• Bag pick up. Yes, those pesky lorries which took our belongings away were by some miracle (the miracle of....errr....driving...) waiting for us at the end. By the time I got there they had already spotted my race number and were holding out my bag....such service!!

Yes, I can't deny it; the operation is incredibly slick; and it was only a matter of fifteen minutes before I was peeling off the masking tape (not one hint of joggers nipple, although numerous scorching cases of red-raw tape stickage!), donning my tracksuit, and stood, eating my apple, trying hard and not entirely succeeding at coming to terms with what I had just achieved. Behind me were the bedraggled but exhilarated bodies who just realised that after 26 miles of running they still had to do a bit of walking; with may I say not all of them looking capable of managing it!

I joined this peculiar, shuffling throng of people - if you imagine the scene of a zombie attack in 'The Walking Dead' your imagination won't be too far off! - the next task being trying to find The Royal Society building as it was here that Age UK were stationed with their welcome wagon, as well as where all my scattered supporters were going to converge. Sadly I had lost all memory of where it was, so opted for striking up a conversation with a father and daughter (looking remarkably fresh; did they take a taxi?!) wearing the identical charity vest to mine. The purposeful way they were walking filled me with directional confidence; and even if I got lost, I would not be alone!

As it turned out, I needn't have worried; only a few minutes had passed before a woman's tannoyed voice (who to be honest didn't need the tannoy) boomed out...

'AGE UK......THIS WAY!!!'

And from thence my good people we were led to paradise (okay, it probably wasn't but it felt like it). Our bags were taken from us (don't worry, they were given back afterwards), we were led up a flight of steps and - with envious eyes looking on - vanished into the oh-so-posh surroundings of the Royal Society. I don't think Sir Isaac Newton envisaged its hallowed halls being put to this sort of use!

'Hellooooo theeeere!!!! Congratulations!! How are you feeling?? You've done brilliantly. Here's your finishers pack (another one!); would you like a drink? Don't worry; we'll take your bags and keep them safe here. Could I take your name?'

'Errrrrr, Adrian Blaydon'

'Adrian.....Adrian.......aaaaaah there you are! Now then, the photographer is over there; do you want to do that first, go and grab a beer, or do you want to head downstairs for your massage?'

(What a choice; photo commemorating the greatest achievement of my life to date, guilt free alcohol, or smoothing out my aches and pains. Life really is a bitch sometimes ain't it?)

'I'll grab the photos first and then head down for a massage if that's okay. Oh, I hope you don't mind but I've got some supporters coming along. Could you let them know where I am?'

'Of course, don't you worry; we'll look after them. Actually, there are some people waiting for you already!'

And there, out on the balcony were Alison and Kevin; big smiles, big hugs (and that's just me and Kevin!) and a bit of chatting on the mobile phone with other supporters on their way before I politely excused myself for the fame of a photograph and the comfort of a pair of massaging hands.

Actually, as it turned out; there were TWO pairs of massaging hands!! Looking around I noticed that I was getting the special treatment; the typical ratio being 1:1. Whether it was due to the fact that when I was asked 'what particular parts of your body are hurting' and I said 'everywhere!' I really don't know; but after they had pummelled me for twenty minutes I could have hugged them both....in fact.....looking back I think I might have (sorry if by some slim chance you are reading this....and thank you for your blessed healing hands!). Incidentally it was there; whilst waiting for my massage number to come up, for the first time in well over five hours, that I sat down! Never was something so simple so incredibly welcome.

Heading back out onto the balcony, there was a considerable increase in 'buzz'; with more finishers and more relatives arriving (most of the former opting for a beer rather than a massage.... and who can blame them?!). My own personal buzz, was more of a roar! They were all there: Paul (Brother), Martha (Paul's partner), Dom (brother), Christina (Dom's partner), Clare (sister), Greg (brother), Patricia (sister-in-law), Alejandro (nephew) and Ana (niece). As I discovered later, each athlete emerging into the sun would receive a concentrated cheer from one of the tables, followed by applause from everyone else; but I like to think that my cheer was loudest!

I hope if anything, you've established that I am a positive person; I flatter myself extremely positive. So much of life is a challenge to maintain that positivity; but that whole day, every second of it, every step, was flooded with goodness, culminating in supping a nice cold beer - or four - amongst family and close friends. Even if most of them were not my family or my close friends; they were somebody's! The sort of warmth I felt from sitting there in that atmosphere was not down to the sun. Photos were snapped, stories told (about the nutter with the whiteboard, the guy in the big doll outfit, the journeys my adoring fans made in order to see me....at times just as exciting!), beers drunk, laughs laughed and hugs hugged before the inevitable disbandment of what will hitherto be called 'The Fellowship of the Run'.

As we went our separate ways (me heading back to the car; if only I could remember where I'd bloody well parked it) sure it was a bit sad; but the journey back to my brothers place was a chance to contemplate. I'd actually done it. I'd actually done it. I'D ACTUALLY DONE IT!!!! It is strange to experience a fact which is simultaneously so easy, and so impossible to believe. Texts of congratulation sent from university Gavin, work Mark and the homeward bound members of The Fellowship kept confirming it, my own memory confirmed it, and yet I could still not believe the sheer magnitude of the achievement. I looked down, and there lay irrefutable evidence; the medal still round my neck. Oh yes! 

A shower, a quick chance to inspect the damage - a lot of sunburn, and a few abrasions but other than that, surprisingly unscathed - and slipping into something less athletic; we were off to Café Rouge for the biggest no guilt, binge, pig out, three course, gimme gimme-gimme, yum-yum, scoff-scoff meal I have ever had. After which it was time to play a live TV game of 'Where's Wally'; and when I say 'Wally' I mean me, and the 'scene'? The recorded footage of the marathon start line! As it turned out, it was an impossible game; there were just too many bobbing heads to pick up my slightly balding pate among them; and I wasn't wearing a red and white striped bobble hat. Still; I saw some of the more extravagantly dressed runners that I passed - and regrettably passed me - along the way. Nice memories, and more evidence that I was actually there.

All too soon it was bedtime; the end of a day which felt like a week, and the impending thud of reality.

Monday morning 7:30am I was back in the office.....!

The Race - Final Miles

In those many years of couch potatoism, sat on a Sunday morning watching the marathon on tv; I always imagined those last three or four miles being the worst. The most agonising, the most desperate. So close to the goal while at the same time trying to convince the body to keep moving. Energy at an all time low, exhausted like never before. But there, in the tv looking out; I found the experience quite different. Sure I was knackered, everything was hurting and I had long ceased to count the miles (being now reduced to just making it to the next lamp post); but I felt so so SOOOOOOOO good. Yes, you heard me; I felt good! Was I mad?? Well, of course yes; anyone who runs a marathon is clinically insane, but in this particular case there was some method within it.

It went like this. With so little distance remaining there was no way ON THE PLANET I was going to stop now. I had come so far - not just 23 miles, far longer in both distance and time - so whatever was to befall me now (tripping over...leg falling off...extinction life event meteor) was utterly irrelevant. I was going to finish the race.

Now, to realise this before the race was actually over was quite a revelation; to feel a supreme confidence of success before the success was achieved. And what did this mean for me on those remaining miles? what was I doing? what was I feeling? Well that's quite simple.....

.....I was celebrating!!

Okay, I had no energy to punch the air, hell I had no energy to even so much as raise my hands above my shoulders; and yes it hurt....a lot. But don't let that fool you, I was loving every step. The crowds were intensifying, feeding off the atmosphere and contributing to it thousands of times over, making themselves well and truly heard. I honestly could not quite believe what I was seeing and hearing near journeys end. The crescendo building to its incredible - and what I now was sure of, inevitable - climax.

Then comes mile 23-24, and 'The Tunnel Of Yes'. Yes, yes, there was a tunnel of yes; ooooooh yes!! When you explain it as 'just a tunnel where they were handing out bottles of Lucozade with inspirational messages on balloons lining the route' it really doesn't seem like much; but I tell you, it was exactly what we all needed. Helpers yelling us on, spectators booming out their support, and runners exchanging meaningful glances with their fellow exhaustees; every one of us united in two simple words......

......almost.....

......there.....

Then comes the tunnel itself (video below), and the roar of the crowds dies away, leaving only the sound of running shoe on tarmac, and very, very heavy breathing. Weird in the extreme, not to mention the perfect time to break into a sneaky walk, or stop under the pretence of stretching your calves - no one will ever know - but when you start reading those balloons; telling us......

HAVE YOU GOT MORE IN YOU?!!

BE PROUD

ENJOY THE MOMENT

PAIN IS TEMPORARY

KEEP GOING

DIG DEEP

NEVER GIVE UP

GLORY AWAITS

YOU ARE SO CLOSE

......and fatigue?......PEH!!.....what fatigue!!? I was going all the way baby! I will admit to a few tears on reading those messages, but what happened next utterly finished me off. Just as quickly as the crowd noise died away entering the tunnels, we were battered by it coming out; and what a noise. It made what went before seem like a vow of silence. It felt like coming home.

Unfortunately it only felt like it, I still had to run! Regaining focus was impossible; to be honest I didn't want to. Moments like these are rare and fleeting, and may never happen again (and even if I have another crack at the London Marathon, I will never again have a first time), so I drank it in; enjoyed it. Even allowing myself the odd wave and fist-pump.

Mile twenty-five and people around me started getting out their phones; talking to friends and family at the finish, finding out where they would be standing. I thought about doing the same, but was very sceptical of my chances of unzipping arm pouch, getting phone out, dialling number, talking, putting phone back in arm pouch and zipping said arm pouch without a severe case of droppage and multi running shoe-tramplage (see, I'm a runner now, I know all the technical terms!).

Is this really happening? Am I really here and doing this? Have I almost done this or am I going to wake up tomorrow morning nineteen and a half stone again with all of this just a fantasy?

Nope, it was very much real. Twenty-five miles and 385 yards gone - one mile to go - and the distance markers are now counting down the distance remaining, 200 yards at a time. Passing one, I could already see the next one in the distance, beckoning me on; pulling me towards it. 400 yards to go, and the tarmac goes from black to the familiar red; coincided with the first view of Buckingham Palace in all its glory. The final turn down The Mall, and the finish in sight.

Now there are many possible emotions available to a person at the end of a two year long challenge. The person themselves may not necessarily be aware of their own reaction; maybe slightly tearful, maybe sobbing uncontrollably like you've just watched an episode of DIY SOS, maybe cheering, maybe that angry yell of emotional release.....nope......

......I laughed!!

With joy, with amusement, with positivity, with achievement, with relief, with overwhelment (and yes it is a word), with the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Yes, I laughed myself down the mall.....

and......

.....over....

.....the....

....line.

The Race - Part 4

Focus, breathe, pace, breathe, don't think of the miles, don't count the miles, breathe, pace, focus, don't think of the distance, use the crowd, breathe, lose yourself in the music, don't count the miles, don't think of the distance, breathe, focus, calm, calm, calm, don't count the miles....

Such was the post-halfway mantra. The surge of adrenalin which came from crossing London Bridge wore off at about mile sixteen on the realisation that twenty-six miles minus sixteen miles was still.....a really long way. I tried so hard not to think, because thinking meant thinking about how long there was to go. I tried so hard not to look, because looking meant seeing the mile posts not coming and going fast enough. I tried so hard not to feel, because feeling meant feeling...well. .....pain! Instead I enjoyed the crowd, enjoyed my music, enjoyed the increasingly boisterous AGE UK cheerpoints, and of course my own personal cheering sections dotted en route.

Yep, you've heard it before and you are about to hear it again; the crowd was extraordinary; a limitless source of energy; but it was those people just there for me who gave that extra boost. If it wasn't milking the charity supporters as they yelled out my name by megaphone (and by jingo I milked it until the the udders fell off),it was Paul, Martha, Dom and Christina roaring me on to the finish. Quite superb.

These particular moments, dotted along the course are the ones are not only impossible to forget, they are etched in detail on the memory. They are a strange narrowing of a large world which is already pretty strange (oh yes, he's going off on one again.....strap yourselves in; it's gonna be a bumpy ride!). There you are, one of thousands, being cheered on by hundreds of thousands - utterly brilliant - then suddenly you spot a familiar face in the crowd and your world concentrates itself into that small zone; the bit of atmosphere which separates the two of you. You are no longer being encouraged by strangers, you find yourself rooted for by someone who is sharing more than just this one experience with you. The thousands vanish, and for the brief moment that you come near them, come level with them and then leave them behind; you are the only people cheering, and the only person running. It's real magic.

There were three particularly surprising surprises during the second half. The first was at mile eighteen (and no cheeky, the surprise was not that......I made it to mile eighteen!.....I don't know, you just can't get the readers these days.....). The road narrowed severely at this point, bunching the athletes (love saying that word; athletes....athletes...ATHLETES!!) as well as bringing the spectators in closer. I was very much in the zone, focused; only to see a high-five hand thrust in front of me by Mark Bennett - colleague and technical director at my new company - and then by his wife Amy. They were there supporting Amy's sister, and stuck around to wait for me. As it turned out they didn't have to wait for long! Fives were highed; but by the time I realised whose hands I was slapping I was doing that weird, back-of-the-hand wave as I left them behind. It's great to have family and close friends supporting me, but the unexpected support is arguably even more special. It instantly brought the finish line that little bit closer.

Now you may have noticed that for some time Wee Ali has not been mentioned; enter stage right surprise number two. Okay, the presence of her in the crowd though wonderful, could hardly be called a surprise; but it was the manner of her appearance at mile nineteen that struck me as somewhat spooky! By the time I had reached this point, all knowledge of which friends and family would be cheering where was completely lost on me (to be honest, that happened at mile three, but don't tell anyone will you??!); it was therefore their dubious and nigh-on impossible task of visually combing (how do you do that, surely you would get a prong in the eye?) the runners for me, followed by SCREAMING my name to attract my attention. Unless of course you are Wee Ali; in which case you just stand by one of the barricades and wait for me to come right past!

The chances that I would at that time be on that side of the road - right by the barriers - were pretty slim, but add to that the chances that my wandering, distraction-seeking eyes would meet hers makes the lottery look like a roll of the dice! It was lovely. Fortunately, spotting someone early coupled with marathon pace allows for quite a bit of hand-slapping and cheering (I also dimly recall saying 'well hello there!'; how profound!). I'm not saying that we had time for a mocha and a natter, but it was enough to send me on my way with a skip (metaphorical, I've just run nineteen miles......you want SKIPPING??!). Never was there a loin more girded.

The final, most unexpected and possibly most meaningful encounter came not long after. Approaching the 20 mile marker, and thinking that my final supporter must surely be behind me, with everyone making for the finish line (there's confidence for you; and yes, I am aware that that is ahead of me!), my courage thrown to the sticking place and the final push.......

'Reg.....!!!'

(did I hear someone just yell 'Reg'??? Naaah, must have imagined it)

'REEEEEEEG.......!!'

(no, I distinctly did here someone yelling 'Reg'! I'll just pull my earphones off so I can hear properly)

'REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!'

and there they were; the most unexpected of the unexpected.....a group of my old university pals!!

(Yes, I know what's got your head scratching......Reg?? It's a long story....actually, no; it's quite a short story. A nickname which was given to me at secondary school which I mistakenly leaked to university. It caught on to such an extent that people thought my name really WAS Reg! All I can say is Daniel Nolan of St. Ambrose College, Hale Barns; thank you very much, and you'll get yours!)

There were the people in their thousands you expected to be there, there were the charity supporters who you expected to be there, there were the personal supporters who you knew or hoped would be there, but these guys making the effort to support me was a concept which not once ventured to venture into my mind. Such a massive surprise. I don't mind telling you that the unexpectedness made it quite emotional; and one thing you don't need when every bit of oxygen and fluid is required for leg-pumping, is to get all sniffly and teary-eyed!

After that though, at mile twenty; I really was on my own. The final six miles. The glory. The end of the odyssey. All waiting for me down the Mall. I couldn't possibly fail now could I?........

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.

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.....!

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!!!!!!

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…….

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???

Smuggerson Speaking.....(32 days)

I really should know better than to shoot my mouth off about how easy it is to run five miles the night before......running five miles...... It is the perfect opportunity for the little imp of destiny (second cousin to the Easter Bunny) to say 'nya ha haaaaa, I'll show him' and give me cramp, trip me up, rain on me, or all of the above.

Must have been his day off though, as it went extraordinarily well. It is such a contrast from when I first did that run (commonly called hotel-work-hotel; don't know why I am telling you as you will never work it out it's such an ingenious, uncrackable code). I would be exhausted by the time I reached the office and turned for home/hotel (ooops, that's given the game away), making the return feel desperately long. Now the half way point comes as a surprise and......voice hushes to a whisper.....I am actually a bit sad when I get to the finish as I was actually enjoying (ah-say ah-say ah-say enjoying!) it so much!!

This really isn't me; and if in actual fact it IS me, then who am I and what have I done with the REAL Adrian Blaydon??! I fully expect a ransom note in the post shortly; don't think I'll pay it though, really not keen on having him back.

So it is time to peel off the figure hugging, second skin, wearing this to keep warm and fully aware that compression tops and bottoms are more Yucci that Gucci, gear (I may be fitter but I still look a bit of a plonkity plonka in the woolly hat; NO amount of the new me is going to make that outfit work) and jump......don't want to take any risks.....step gently into the shower.

That paragraph jumped about a bit; if you understand it could you explain it to me, the grammar checker has gone berserk on it.

Anyway, more of my Phil Schofields of life tomorrow!

Life Affirming

It's 38 days to go, and the drive for sponsorship is slowly starting to hot up; you really get a feel for how big a number 1750 is when it's the number of pounds you have pledged to raise for charity.

It's like.....nearly two grand man!!

Whether I hit the target is anyone's guess, but one thing is for sure; if I don't reach it, it won't be for lack of trying; I'm going all out to raise as much as I can.

Various ideas have been brainstormed on the best way of pulling in the cash. Friends and family are coming through in fine style not only with their donations, but also by getting sponsorship of their own. They're doing brilliantly. There are also the few, frustrating, 'anonymous' donations. These people very kindly leave good luck messages on the sponsorship website, with one very important part missing!! Who are they I wonder?? Personally I think it's Mo Farah, finally admitting who the REAL athlete is (it's okay Mo; keep training, keep aspiring to my level.....)

It's not going to stop there though. I will be passing the proverbial hat around at work; then there is the 'other idea' I have, and even for me it is an ambitious one....it's time for the Adrian Blaydon finishing time sweepstakes!!

The plan is to roam the streets of Edenfield and Bury, posting leaflets to enter a draw at £2 a throw, all based on how long it takes me to finish. It's a slight change to the Great North, when all I was doing was posting leaflets asking for money; this time people can win something as well as doing so much good for charity. But the question was; what would they win??

It's not much of a secret that I have become a bit of a cynic when it comes to people. Whilst not tarring the entire population of the world with the same brush  - there are some good 'uns out there! - descriptives like 'selfish' and 'self-absorbed' do tend to come up a lot when describing the people of the world. So it was with much trepidation and little hope that over the last few weeks via phone and bare-faced-cheek-walk-in-and-ask, I executed my plan of petitioning the business in and around my village of Edenfield to donate the sweepstake prizes.

I could not have been more mistaken, as every single one showed they believed in the charity, in the challenge, in me, by offering something........just listen to these.....

2 x £10 vouchers from the local bakery
£20 voucher from the butchers
A 'cut and colour' (whatever that is) from the hairdressers
Meal for two in the chip-shop restaurant
£20 worth of prizes (probably booze) from Tescos
A haircut and hot towel shave from the gents barbers
Meal for two down the Coach and Horses

Okay, it's hardly five numbers and the bonus ball, but for me the mere act of asking the question of them has given me such hope. I went into it battling with my preconceptions and worrying that they may be validated, and I now leave it with my eyes opened, my heart a little lighter, and a belief that there are more good people out there than I gave the world credit for.

What I love about it, is that as all the leaflets are being delivered to people in the local community; the prizes are just as local. All I have to do now is get those leaflets printed and delivered. I never did like paper-rounds, but after coming this far I can't stint on the circulation can I? Time to get out there and sing my song.

By the way, if you are wondering - if I was able to enter - what prize I would choose, it's simple; a nice hot towel shave, followed by popping to the bakers to order my own body weigh in sausage rolls!!

Keep them crossed that this works, and raises lots!!

Miraculous!!!

....46 days to go......

I feel like such a drama queen now. Hard though it is to believe considering the state I was in last night, I have actually just got in from a 4 mile run! Yes; that's four miles.

So how did that happen? Who cares?!! Happened it did and I am happy bunny because of it. Woke up this morning with a clear ear and a clear nose, and some nasty looking gunk under my now unswollen eye. By the time I was showered and shaved I was looking surprisingly fit and healthy; not only that, I was FEELING surprisingly fit and healthy.

It was so nice to get back out on the road again. Not only did it allay last nights concerns over lack of exercise - keeping my body used to the shuddering pain and joy (??!) of long distance running - it also gave me my fix. Yes, even harder to believe than the miraculous recovery is that I am now hooked on running. Mentally I am still as nervous as I ever was when I don 'the shoes' - and part of me still hates it - but physically the sensation is very different. My body seems to relax into the rhythm, and literally take each session in its stride. Contrast that with the physical reaction to NOT running for say, three days running, and that is cause enough to get out there.

Can you believe that when this challenge started I would struggle to run one lap of a running track; and now I talk about four miles like it's shelling peas?!! I'm not sure I can.....it's almost like I'm......like......athletic. But don't worry; I still don't look it.

Here's hoping that tomorrow's post does not regale you of my relapse into gammy eye, nose, ear.......pick a body part.......   

Baaaaaaaaaaa!

How very-weirdy-weird-spooky-strange does it feel to have a Sunday and NOT be going out for a run!! I am content that this is the right decision (resting the leg, and actually giving my body the chance for some respite) but my body is a bit jittery; it's like my brain has changed the routine and forgot to let the rest of my body know!    

Still; despite the lack of the scheduled fifteen-miler, it has nevertheless been a productive day. It was a quick trip into Manchester to visit 'Upandrunning'; a rather cool sports shop aimed primarily at joggers. The mission was to seek advice on what caused the blistering and calf injury, and further advice on how to avoid it happening again.

I am not afraid to admit that it was with more than a little sense of pride when I walked into the store feeling like I really 'belonged'. A proper runner in a running shop. Yes, I may even have swaggered a little; sorry, couldn't help myself!

Well, sorry - and sheepish - I certainly was when I told the tale of what I am trying to do, and that I am currently out of action with a banjaxed calf and blistered foot. He confirmed that the former was as a result of the latter, and then instantly asked how old my running shoes were........hmmmmm........and there the 'proper running' bubble burst. Don't pretend I haven't told you, it was a fourteen mile run on a brand, spanking, NEW pair.

He didn't look at me, just stared into the distance with a smug smile on his face that I would have loved to slap off if he hadn't been so right, and I hadn't been such a numtee! I'm sure I wasn't the first to make the mistake, and just as sure I won't be the last. For me however, the repercussions make it like running out of petrol; one of those things you only do once!

He was brilliant though; lots of good advice, and I left with some Compeed blister plasters (say that really fast five times) and three pairs of 'twin layer' socks (rather than sock rubbing on skin, inside sock runs on outside sock, simples!! they are padded in the right places too, which make them the first pair of socks I have ever owned that have an 'L' and an 'R' on them!

Here's hoping that they do the track and get me back on trick. On a positive note, I didn't realise that I had incorporated a resting Sunday scheduled for 10th March. By swapping the two weekends what originally felt like a major setback in training won't be so much as a blip. Unless I am mighty unlucky I should be ready to rock in a week!

Seven weeks, 49 days.......not going to give you the hours, it's scary enough already!!