It's now less than three weeks until the big day. The end is in sight. No more running in 3 weeks time.
Mind you, haven't done ANY running in the past week either which is making me incredibly anxious. AAAGH! I can feel all that hard-earned fitness slipping away every single day that passes as each of my leg muscle cells breathes a sigh of relief and says to it's mate "Thank goodness that's over. She's come to her senses. Looking forward to making friends with Mr and Mrs Fat that have moved in next-door". My inner couch potato is emerging. The lazy lard-bottomed sloth that normally rules my attitude to exercise is making a bid for freedom in an attempt to reign once more.
This is because the left ankle of doom and misery is still playing up and misbehaving. In certain positions I get sharp, shooting pains that pierce through the joint and make me gasp. And then it'll be fine again. Weird. I've been to a specialist running shop, had my shoes inspected (all fine) and bought an ankle support so I guess I need to drag myself out on a test run tomorrow to see how it goes. I've also rung a sports injury specialist to make an appointment to see if he can wave his magic wand of marathon miracles, make it all better and suddenly I'll be able to run normally on it again. Here's hoping.
On a serious note, I should have done my last super-long run of 18-19 miles this weekend and I'm not sure a pretend race against my toddler on the prom this afternoon counts. She won. I'm in two minds as whether to risk forgetting this last long run or to put it off until next weekend which will be only two weeks before the big day. What if I make it worse? What if it takes me two weeks to recover the ankle again? What will it mean for the day if the furthest I've ever run is 10 miles less than the distance expected? What if? What if?! Panic, panic!!
Received an exciting but scary bit of post this week: all my pre-"race" (it's no race- it's a mission to complete without dying or less seriously, a leg dropping off!) information arrived. This included my running number.
I am 35646! I think there's about 37000 that enter. The event organisers must have heard about me and issued me with my approximate finishing place. Although, that would mean I'd finish ahead of a whopping 1354 people which, frankly, is ambitious even if you take out the man in the suit of armour, the man that runs with a fridge or whatever it is on his back and the crazy oversized fancy dressed nutters. People at work have been asking what time I'm aiming for. My response = "same calendar day". Nothing wrong with that I say. Although it would be nice to be finished before they re-open the roads again and the supporters have all gone home.
Also had some post from the BHF with lots of cheery news about arrangements for the day including a post-marathon celebration party with food and a free massage 10 mins from the finish line. Oh hello. Free massage. Yes please. 10 minute walk from the finish line? Too far. Someone will have to carry me there. Perhaps you lot who are coming on the day can draw straws for who's job that will be. Mind you, St John's ambulance have plenty of stretchers. Maybe I can pre-book one?
Last week I asked for memories of Verz. I've decided to feature Lindsay's this week. She grew up knowing Verz. Here's what she has to say about Mark:
"I totally blame him for my complete obsession with Friends and Phase 10! No matter how many times I've seen an episode before, I still have to watch it and now it make me remember all the times we crowed into his lounge to watch the new series"
This is true. Whenever a new Friends boxset was released on DVD we all (literally 12 or more of us) used to cram into Mark's little front room and watch the whole lot in a single sitting, often well past midnight much to the dismay of my mother ("You're always at Versey's house. You treat this place like a hotel. Blah blah blah").
"Playing Phase 10, long into the night. That lounge was the place of many happy times- pizza, chinese, movies, coca cola, play-station golf, match of the day. Whatever we did or were eating, it was always such a happy time with friends"
Verz was the worst and best of hosts. The worst in that he had nothing in to drink (unless you liked full-fat Coca cola- always the real thing) and the best in that his house was so full of friendship and happiness.
"Going to Wimbledon was a great memory and so funny when we went to buy him strawberries and ice cream and returned with strawberries and melted mess"
I'd forgotten about this. Linds, Verz and I (think we ditched Matt as he was working!) decided to go to Wimbledon on a whim. We stayed over and got up in the middle of the night to go and queue for tickets. We got seats on centre court and had the best day. Verz wasn't only Matt's friend. He was mine too. And I miss him.
Lindz finished with this. Spot on.
"But the thing I love about him most and will always be grateful for, is his caring and generous personality. He was always there for me and would always have the right thing to say. nothing was ever too much and he just always, always made me smile"
Despite it all, I'm so glad I'm doing this marathon for his memory. He deserves it.
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