Counting down

Not this Sunday, not the Sunday after that, but the Sunday after that. Twenty sleeps (or, if last night is anything to go by, twenty lack-of-sleeps). On 17th April, I have to run more miles than I have nights left to sleep in preparation.

And I have discovered that, in 2003, Mike Watson took six days to finish the London marathon. He had been in a coma for six months and had six brain operations following a boxing match with Chris Eubank so for him to do it at all was spectacular. My performance, along with every other person who's ever run the marathon, will fall somewhere in between Paula Radcliffe and Mike Watson. They're both heroes. Therefore the rest of us must be too. Even if it is going to take me six and a half hours to finish.

I've also discovered that the Guy's and St Thomas' Charity (under whose umbrella the Wegener's Trust is run) is laying on a congratulatory party for its runners at a pub near the finish. Hurrah! I never imagined, in a million years, that I would walk into a party with a sporting medal round my neck, to be feted as an achiever.

The trouble is that the race starts at ten. I'm a six-plus hours runner. And the party finishes at 4.30.

The Last Long Run

Until I started training for this marathon, I thought a taper was a thin candle used by Victorian parlourmaids in pintucked cotton nightgowns taking themselves up the garret stairs to bed. I quite liked that. However, since I discovered that a taper is a planned reduction in the length and intensity of training runs in the weeks before a marathon, it has become one of my favourite words in the English language. Only 'rest' and 'day' (in that order) come ahead.

'Long' and 'run' (in that order) are really quite far behind. 'Long run' is down there with 'While You Were Out' or 'ADT alarm systems' or 'I'm sure I mentioned it to you.' From Long Run's position in the league tables, it can just about see 'Nits are about again' in the distance ahead. Long Run hopes that, if it works really hard, it might just catch up with the need to replace the hoover or the fact that the school's given dads a chance to go in with one week's notice, during the time that James is in Saudi Arabia. Long Run aspires to the position of Internet Connection Cannot Be Established or Password Not Recognised. It's got a long way to go.

But now, thanks to Taper, Sunday's Long Run was my last before the marathon. Not my last run, I hasten to add. But I don't have to run 21 miles again until Sunday 17th April. The fact that, on Sunday 17th April, I'll have to go another 5.2, really isn't important right now. Neither is the fact that those twenty one miles took me five hours and two minutes. I'm tapering now. I knew there'd be good moments if I stuck with it for long enough.

Reality bites

Today I really really tried to do everything right. I had breakfast. I'd arranged to meet a friend so I couldn't get out of it. James was lined up to meet me with his bicycle and some water. I was all set to try the proprietary sports drink I've avoided like the plague thus far, to see if it helped with the light-headedness thing. And I kept going - I did 21 miles, and didn't start to walk until 18 miles.

But here's the thing - in terms of time, all this made little or no difference. The 18 miles I mostly walked a fortnight ago took me 4 hours and 8 minutes. The 18 miles I ran today took me 4 hours and 4 minutes. No matter what I do, I seem to be looking at a finish time approaching 6 hours. Six hours! I know I didn't go into this as an aspiring athlete, but I did think that by putting in the hours and doing the runs, I might be able to aim for five hours. Or something. A time that doesn't sound as though I walked the whole way. All this time, I've been saying, I just want to finish, I just want to finish. And that's still true, of course. But with just five weeks to go, I've realised that this is it. I'm not going to get any faster.

So my next challenge - and one I hadn't expected to face - is not to mind and to focus on what's important. I'm not a runner - it's never been a hobby - this was all very new to me and I've had to work on my own. What's important is the Wegener's Trust, raising funds and awareness. What's important is James and the children. What's important is all the support I've had so far (and please don't stop!) None of these things will change if I run in five, six, seven hours. I've just got to not mind.

A letter to the jelly babies

Dear Jelly Babies,

I would like to thank you, sincerely, for the support and help you have given me so far in my marathon training. Your dedication to the cause has been impressive, and you have put up with treatment which, in any other context, would be referred to the International Court of Jelly Baby Rights. Hidden in dark corners of the cupboard, thrust into pockets, brutally dismembered in the cause - you have the right to be angry (although, in my defence, the dark cupboards were about protecting you from the children).

But yesterday, after about two hours of slow lolloping and a blood sugar plummet, I realised that I don't actually like you very much. We only got together because someone else said we should - it was never a true relationship. You're great - full of glucose and quick-release sugars. You're even fortified with Vitamin C! You look sweet, in all your little candy colours, and you fit so nicely into a pocket. You don't even ask to be unwrapped. You're perfect - except you're just not what I need. It's not you, it's me.

There's no one else, I promise. But I have to be honest with you - I am seeing other sweets. The Galaxy Counters were a disaster - tasted good but left both a tremendous thirst and potentially embarrassing stains in their wake. And the hard shell on a Minstrel just gets in the way of the chocolate. Maybe I should try a Wine Gum? But what would a Wine Gum have that you don't have? These are difficult and confusing times and I'm truly sorry that I've involved you - I can only say that my motives have been good. I did not set out to hurt you (except, obviously, by biting off your limbs at points of particular need).

It's not enough for everyone else to say we're right together - you with your fantastic energy stores, me with my demanding training schedule. No one else is going to run this marathon for me, and I have to find my own way of doing things. Maybe we will find each other again. But for now, it's a trip to the Pic 'n' Mix for me.

Good luck, Jelly Babies. And thank you.

Antonia xxx

The kindness of strangers

I've learned a great deal this weekend. One was to be open when people ask questions. We had a lovely lunch in the local Italian restaurant on Saturday and, as we were leaving, a grandfatherly gentleman praised the drawing that O (5) had been working on. He asked me what we were celebrating. And instead of saying, oh, just life, I took a deep breath and said, 'I got a last minute place on the Silverstone half-marathon tomorrow.'

'What on earth are you doing that for?' he asked. And instead of telling the truth, which is that I haven't got the foggiest idea, especially as my training runs are getting slower and slower and I am getting less and less convinced that I can actually do this, I said, 'I'm hoping to complete the London Marathon in April.'

He asked whether it was just for me or whether I was raising money for something. And I explained, and not only did he give me a fiver then and there, he told his friend all about it and he gave me a fiver too. So thank you, random elegant grandfatherly gentlemen, for your interest at least as much as for the money. And the same goes for my new blog follower - five now no less! - who alone justifies the existence of the Internet in terms of the boost her interest has given me.

I've also learned that I cannot run eleven minute miles for very long. Silverstone was my first ever real race. I thought I'd be able to keep up with the slowest pacing group, but no. At only six miles the beast of light-headedness descended and no amount of jelly babies could shift it. At nine miles, James waved at me and I went over to tell him I wasn't having a good time. 'I know,' he said, and pushed me back in to the race.

And, at ten miles, I learned I need to eat lunch. I'd thought the race started at ten; when I checked the details last night I found it started at twelve, and I never really absorbed that change. I ate breakfast, we set off at half past nine, got stuck in the approach traffic and then got so involved in working out where to go and what to do that somehow it was twelve and I was lined up to start and I hadn't even thought about food.

I limped home in 2 hours and 52 minutes. Not my finest hour. I was beaten by two men carrying a surfboard between them, a gladiator and Sonic the hedgehog. And an octogenarian. I did come in ahead of a giraffe and Katie Price though (hope she made it, we'd been running alongside on and off for almost the entire race but she left the track with a bad knee at 12 miles). And I did limp home, I've got a medal hanging on the bathroom mirror to prove it.