One week on (nearly)

This week has been mainly characterized by post-marathon euphoria (Monday to Wednesday), exhaustion (Thursday and Friday) and confusion (today). Confusion as I no longer have the marathon taking up a huge amount of space in my head. Technically speaking, I should be missing all the running. However, in the last month I didn't really do that much. The clocks going forward scuppered my morning gym visits and running home from work once or twice became my training regime. Which leads me to the unexpected desire to do it all again. Only quicker. Not this weekend, obviously. But I think next year, I could easily be tempted to sign up for something farther afield. Berlin or Paris, perhaps. In the meantime, I'm thinking I need to strike while the iron's hot. Right now, 13 miles feels like a relatively short distance. I've been pondering signing up for a half-marathon to take advantage of this slightly addled state of mind. I'm even wondering if maybe, just maybe, this might be the one where I come in 'under 2 hours'. Imagine that?! Right, where did I chuck my trainers?

A long time running

Many years ago, I decided to join Bideford running club.

I turned up for the first time and they asked about my experience. For various reasons, I wanted to go out with the fast group, so I led them to believe I was a much better (and more frequent) runner than I actually was.

Error.

I quickly lost the group and ended up walking back to the clubhouse by myself. That was the end of my time with Bideford Blues.

As I was doing that lonely walk of shame, I could not, in a million years, have ever imagined finishing a whole marathon.

Which is pretty much how I felt yesterday at mile 23.

It wasn't just the pain, but the psychological fog. My energy levels were fine - I'd taken on board everything: water, Powerade, Shokbloks (energy cubes. Tasty). But as I ran around the Power Station (miles 20-22) I didn't think it would ever end.

It wasn't so much hitting a wall as entering stasis. Some of my friends were tracking my progress on a special Brighton Marathon app and it occurred to me they would think I was going backwards.

This slump continued forever (about two and a half miles) until I discovered the cliche was true.

I had just collapsed into a walk when I came across some supporters I knew: my marathon-running friend, his girlfriend and their mates. I think I may have shouted 'oh no': I couldn't believe I'd been running all this time and they were located at the very spot where I fell into a walk. The humiliation!?

It turned out, however, to be the best place they could have stood. Their cheers and good wishes lifted the fog and, suddenly, the whole thing was fun again. Just like that. Which meant, when I saw my family at mile 25, I was able to canter past (relatively) energetically and joking. Ho ho. Little did they know I'd spent miles 21 to 24 with tears running down my face.

I thought the Brighton marathon was fantastic. Running by the sea never gets boring, the hills (that sit between miles one and 10) were fine and the crowd was amazing. Yes, there is a wall and I'm sure in my nightmares I will revisit that Power Station many times, but the whole experience was no worse for it.

And in answer to the most popular question of the day, yes, I would definitely do it again. Not for a while though.

(Stats: 26.2 miles: Me: 4 hours 47 minutes 44 seconds; 10.58 minute mile. Brother: 3 hours 47 minutes 58 seconds; 8.42 minute/mile. He was lucky. This time.)

(Pics: Preston Park pre-race - most of the people you can see are queueing for the loos. The medal.)

Looking forward to it

I have now transcended fear and entered a state of zen-like acceptance. Let's hope this lasts till Sunday.

One track mind

Topping up my Oyster. Six days to go. Ordering a coffee. Six days to go. Waxing my legs. Ouch! Six days to... you get the idea. I cannot wait to wake up next Monday and think about something other than running (or walking) the marathon. I must make sure I enjoy it because I'm never ever ever doing this again.

The Goldilocks Principle

With only 12 days to the marathon, I'm under strict instructions not to overdo it.

I'm also under strict instructions not to under do it.

My speedy marathon running friend has warned that people sometimes lose their fitness from tapering too seriously. With this in mind, I'm going to carry on pretty much as normal: a couple of short trips to the gym and a couple of hilly runs home from work.

Tonight's hilly run home from work was all the better for a torrential downpour. It meant that jogging through Soho was less of an obstacle course as all right-thinking people were staying safely under cover. As were all bored teenage boys with a proclivity for bottom fondling. Which meant, unlike two weeks ago, I was able to make it through Regent's Park with my nethers unmolested.

The rain was also useful in highlighting the problems with wearing short shorts that get sodden; problems such as chafing and riding up. Thankfully, Primrose Hill was virtually empty so I was free to forage at will. I've added a new pair of mid-length leggings to my shopping list for I fear any similar rooting around at Brighton could well result in disqualification and/or arrest.

(Stats: 6 miles; around an hour; around 10 minutes a mile.)

(Pic: Very much enjoying my Osprey Raptor at the moment. The trick is not to overfill it.)

First to finish

Yesterday I swapped the Hampstead Heath parkrun for the National Lottery Olympic Park Run: five miles around the freshly minted Olympic Park at Stratford with the last 300 metres in the stadium.

The Velodrome is finished, and now, so is the main athletics venue. However, there's still a bit to do and the first four miles were a little like running around a building site. At one point I even got a big pile of sand blown in my face. But all that was forgotten as soon as I left the athletes' tunnel and saw the track. Then it became the most exciting thing I've done in my life.

As I ran in, I could hear Steve Backley over the tannoy telling us runners to wave and immediately started waving like a furious flag. But no, this was inhibiting my plan to sprint to the finish line so I ditched the waving and, instead, ran as fast as I could.

I passed lots of people on my way to the end so I knew I was a bit quicker than usual, but was still astonished to cross the line and see 37 minutes on the clock. Had I really run five miles that fast?

No. I was looking at the wrong clock.

Putting aside that emotional roller coaster, it really was an amazing chance to live out my Olympic dreams. Granted, in my dreams I tend to finish first, not 3215th, but then, you can't have everything.

(Stats: 5 miles; 45.58; 9.11 minute/mile - would have been faster but I was saving my energy for the last lap. Honest.)

(Pics: Stadium mid-race; 'First' across the line medal; Either Wenlock or Mandeville, not sure which.)