Sleep and medals

Here's the question - what's better for marathon preparation? A good long run or a good night's sleep? On Friday night, something amazing happened to me. Something I'd almost given up on. You see other people on the streets - not models or film stars, just ordinary people commuting or buying bread or queuing in the post office - and you know that they are regularly experiencing something I've only dreamed about since June 2005. Or at least, that I would have dreamed about if I ever got the chance. One of those wonderful Things That Happen to Other People finally and gorgeously happened to me. On Friday night, I went to bed and went to sleep and (this is the incredible bit) stayed asleep until I woke up. No crying baby. No toddler wanting company at two in the morning. No children ready for breakfast at sunrise. No school run or lift to the station or crack-of-dawn deliveries. Just a comfortable bed in a quiet location with no children or commitments within a radius of some hundred miles. Nice place, Eindhoven.

I've promised myself that, if I survive April 17th, I'll never run again. But with an entire night of uninterrupted sleep behind me, I began to wonder whether I'd be able to look beyond survival in another marathon. If you could make a commitment to meet a friend and run together, knowing that your children would, as a rule, be at school - or join a running club - or be able to commit to a particular time and prepare for that time instead of having to grab opportunities as they arose - maybe, just maybe, the process would be more (whispers) fun. If going for a run didn't mean missing time playing with the children, or watching a film with James, or writing a chapter or meeting a friend or even keeping up with the bills and household administration - if one could do those things AND go for a run, maybe it would be less lonely. Less of an effort to actually get out there.

I've stopped beating myself up about my time. Between six and six and a half hours is how it is. Maybe one day, in the distant future, when the children are all at school and James' Wegeners (please God) is in the past, I'll be able to try again. But for now, I've done the long runs. I've put in the time and the distance. I've raised money.

When Amersham A Cappella, the wonderful ladies' barbershop chorus in which I sing baritone, was competing at the UK Convention of the Ladies' Association of Barbershop Singers (no, I didn't make that up, it really exists), a coach came to work with us. And she told us to sing our competition package as though we had already won the gold.

We got on stage, and we sang our competition package as though we had already won the gold. And, my friends, we won that gold. Hence we were in Eindhoven at the weekend as the guests of the Dutch Association of Barbershop Singers. Hence I got my full night's sleep, the effects of which have not fully worn off yet. Hence all the optimism flourishing in this post.

So, here and now, I make my declaration. I will finish this marathon and live to tell the tale.