March 27th

AS the Marathon fast approaches I have found myself in a reflective mood.

Gone is the mad panic of:  “What do I do if I need the loo? Can Carluccio’s in Hampstead supply enough pasta? And how can I hide my steaming red desperate face from the watching world?”

It is, so those clever phrase-writing people tell me, the calm before the storm. And rather than losing it, I find myself retrospective about the Marathon experience.

When it’s over the achy legs will end, my carbon footprint from stockpiling water bottles will be diminished and my hair will return to normality and not the sweaty tangled mess it’s become. My interests will cease to be swallowing flies, picking blisters and getting drunk after a sniff of alcohol.

But what will I do? Training for this endeavour has become, rather sadly you probably concur, my life. I’ve been on a six-month job and jogging programme.

What will I do with my time? Maybe I’ll start going to the Town Hall more often - I’ll be found wandering aimlessly around the General Purposes Committee begging for more items for the agenda. Maybe I’ll start investing my time in Hampstead’s cake shops – training to acquire a stone in weight for every mile I’ve run.

So far my answer remains amiss and as those same phrase-writers would probably scribe: que sera, sera.

However, mostly when I’m naval or Marathon gazing I think of all the nice things along the way.

I know Ben and I have had amazing support – not just like normal runners do from family and friends – but from readers who have met us once or twice and decided that we’re worth the bother. We’ve had local physios coming to the aid of our failing limbs and the excellent sports store Runners Need fitted trainers to our stinky feet.

With just three weeks to go the final push is down to our battered legs – but thankfully there has been lots of helping hands along the way.