Saturday.... is long run day.

16 miles today.

Did the same route as last week; just added an extra mile to the beginning. I plan it so that when I get to the turnaround point, at Ovingdean roundabout, I am well over halfway through (10.5 miles). Pyschologically, this just seems like a good idea. And it works. I kind of trick my mind into thinking I have to do the same distance again, and it's always such a JOY to get to Grand Avenue and realise that I can turn off and head home.

I was really not looking forward to today, but it was OK. I won't say it was brilliant, but there were times when I actually enjoyed it, and that doesn't happen very often. First of all, it was probably the most beautiful day of the year so far. Clear skies, and almost warm. Short-sleeved t-shirt for the first time since last October. And the sea looked so incredibly blue today; lots of different blues. There was also a lovely light breeze, nothing too heavy, even up on the cliffs where it's normally always windy. Just perfect conditions really.



I followed advice and took it very, very slowly today. Even slower than normal. I'd have been going backwards if I'd gone any slower. But I think this strategy works, as my heart rate never went above 170, even at the end, and I didn't feel at any point as though I was going to run out of energy. I did feel quite dehydrated though, which must have been the heat, and I'd finished all my water quite a long way before the end. Not sure what I'll do when I have to run 18 and 20 miles in a few weeks time.

The last four miles were tough. I tried to increase my pace a little, as I did last week, but I had a severe pain in my lower back. My back is so dodgy at the best of times, and I know this is the one injury I can't afford to get again because then it really will be all over, so I just carried on the same. By the final mile my legs felt like they were filled with wet sand. It took all my mental strength just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I don't feel too bad tonight. I'm really sore and uncomfortable and walking like a freak again but I'm used to that now. I hope if I just continue to stretch and ice and do some light cross-training over the next couple of days then I'll be OK to do four miles on Tuesday, which is what I have on my schedule.

The London Marathon is tomorrow. I try and imagine how I'd feel if I was doing it. In 7 weeks time, fingers crossed, that will be me lining up on the starting line. The mere thought of it makes me break out in a cold sweat.

Four miles last night. Am really concerned that I'm not doing enough training at the moment. Was supposed to have run a total of 17 miles across this week, before my 16 miler tomorrow, but have only run 7. Am torn between trying to battle through the midweek training in order to build a proper mileage base, and trying to prevent myself from getting so sore or injured that I can't attempt or complete my long, slow run at the weekend.

At the moment, I'm figuring that the weekend long runs are the most important aspect of the training and I should try and complete them as far as I can. If this means letting the midweek training fall by the wayside a bit, then unfortunately, that's just the way it is. I really wish I could do both.



Just spent £10 on some merino wool technical running socks. I'm hoping they'll prevent the blister problem I seem to be having with the new shoes. This marathon is costing me a small fortune. So far I've spent £39 on the entry fee, £90 on flights, £130 on accommodation, £80 on new shoes, £26 on a water belt, £30 on physiotherapy. That's over £400! And I still have to buy some proper clothes at some point. (My £6 Primark trousers and $3 Old Navy t-shirts are starting to lose their appeal).

Starting to feel the familiar dread at the prospect of tomorrow's 16 miles. My legs feel like dead weights, my calves are really, really tight and I have a painful, localised burning sensation on the side of each knee. Great!

Managed to run three miles tonight. Still feel really sore, and for the first mile my shins and calves felt like rigid sticks. Sometimes, when running such short distances in relative pain, I start to wonder how on earth I'm ever going to attempt the real thing. But I often find that if I just grit my teeth and bear it for the first couple of miles, the uncomfortable-ness tends to fade, or at least I seem to get used to it enough to keep on going.

Got home and strapped various ice packs to joints and watched The Apprentice.

I feel really miserable today. I'm really trying not to give in to it, but everything hurts so bad and I can barely move. Today is even worse than yesterday.

When I walk, I look like I'm walking on stilts. My quads are absolutely killing me. At Hove station this morning, I nearly missed my train because it took me so long to walk down the stairs. (Clutching on to the railing; putting both feet gingerly on each step like an old lady while impatient commuters tsked and tried to rush past me.)

I know it'll fade over the next few days but it just means that I'll be out of action tonight when I'm supposed to run three miles, putting everything out of sync for the rest of the week.

Right. Got to get out of this negative frame of mind. Will go to the gym tonight and try and do some cross-training instead. If I can't manage that then I'll just do some serious stretching. As long as I'm doing something, then it's a step in the right direction I suppose.

It's just sooo frustrating. I only have 7½ weeks to go and I feel that I'm way behind where I should be. But anyway. Enough.

After my physio treatment last week, my training got back on track this week, although the pain has been coming back in fits and starts. I've been trying to recreate what he did with my own fair hands but it doesn't feel quite the same. Nonetheless, I've managed to do all my runs this week which is a good sign. I think I'll try to be a bit more cautious in my extreme reactions to everything from now on though. I either seem to be completely and utterly desolate or ecstatically happy. I truly never anticipated what an emotional journey this was going to be. I knew it would mess up my body, but I thought I'd be better able to control my mind.

Woke up this morning knowing that I had to run 15 miles, and felt a nervous dread hanging over me. Still felt so tired, don't really know why. Ate a high-carb breakfast of yesterday's leftover pasta (yum...) a banana and a yoghurt, plus loads of water and lucozade sport.

Worked out a route which basically took me through the streets of Hove to Portslade seafront, which was four miles, and from there all the way along the seafront to Ovingdean and back.

Warmed up, stretched, put my gear on, made a new 78-track running playlist for my iPod and loaded up my new water belt with liquid fuel. Glanced in the mirror and I looked like a complete twat.

Found it really hard to muster any enthusiasm whatsoever and eventually left the flat at 1.15pm.

The first few miles were tough, as always. It takes me such a long time to get into a rhythm. After four miles, as usual, my right foot started to go numb. I can normally deal with this; it usually goes away again by mile six or seven. But now my left foot was starting to follow suit and I was having to really concentrate on my form just to stay upright. With every footstrike, I felt like I could feel every individual bone in my feet, and it felt like they might snap at any given moment. I decided to stop and walk for a couple of minutes to get some feeling back, which worked.

Ran along the seafront, which is getting increasingly crowded now as the days get warmer, and had to dodge in and out of the daytrippers dawdling along with their chips and ice-creams. I always feel like screaming GET OUT OF MY WAY! but I'd probably get beaten up and am certainly not fast enough to avoid being chased by a bunch of Brighton teens.

For the first time, ventured further than the marina. Went up on to the cliffs that run all the way to Rottingdean and onto the grassy verge, thinking this would be a kinder surface to run on. But it was so uneven and slippery that I was convinced I would turn my ankle at any moment so went back to the paved path. By now I was up to about mile nine or ten I think, and starting to feel very wobbly and a bit sick.



Once I got to the Ovingdean roundabout, I turned and headed back, walking for the first couple of minutes.

When I got back to the Marina (around mile twelve or thirteen), Eminem's Lose Yourself was in my ears, which gave me a real boost - it's such an intense song, and funny how lyrics can take on a much more literal significance when you're almost at the point of collapse.

Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted - One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

The last stretch was agonizing - I had a sharp pain in my left hip and my knees were crunching like a bag of rusty spanners, but I somehow managed to increase my pace very slightly; for some reason it seemed to be less painful to run a little bit faster. My heart rate was up around 175, which is pretty high, but I know I can keep going at that level. 10 beats higher and I'd only have a limited amount of time left before going up in smoke. So I was confident of getting home in one piece.

The last mile was all gently uphill, but finally I was at the bottom of my road and could see my flat at the top. Head down, and ran to the top. Made it home in pretty much exactly three hours. Slow, slow, slow.... but who cares.