Team Sod Cancer met up last night to discuss training, strategy, how soon is too soon to start carb-loading and so on. (I have started already. Every chip counts.) And we got drunk, obviously. Fine for the other two who’d smugged their way through a training run before arriving at the bar. Not so for me. I hadn’t been able to train so Saturday was NOT a day off for me.
As I huddled indoors this afternoon, clinging to a cheese sandwich i saw the light beginning to fade and knew I couldn’t skip the run, if not for my fitness, then for my pride. So with exactly half an hour of daylight remaining, a bottle and a bit of wine still sloshing around my skull and nothing but my grim determination for company, I grabbed my own collar and dragged myself to the front door. Half an hour later I pranced back up the stairs, glowing and smugging to my empty flat. (My husband and baby were out so I could EASILY have faked it and just chucked some damp running gear on the floor.)
I don’t recognise myself as I say this, but running totally cleared my hangover. Fancy. And for the first time in one short week of training, I actually felt like I could’ve kept going for a bit longer. Double fancy! I’m Julia Raeside and I’d like to talk to you about Jeeeeeeesus.
This is it. Week one of a 24-week slog that will culminate in me – a great big girl – running the London Marathon. So help me. No really. Help me.
Team Sod Cancer (that’s me, Alex Heminsley and Jon Taylor) are now officially in training to do the great big long race around London’s streets that takes place on April 17th next year. Thousands, millions have done it before us. But were any of them as unfit as we three? I doubt it.