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.