And so it begins
Where else would the journey to the Virgin London Marathon start but the waiting room of the X-Ray department at the local hospital?
OK, so technically the journey to the marathon started when the magazine popped through the letterbox with the words “CONGRATULATIONS” across the front. I think my first reaction to seeing that is the same as most peoples’; “Oh bugger”.
Applying for a ballot position in the marathon always seems like such a good idea, with great thoughts of raising money for charity while joining nearly 40,000 others as you stride valiantly up the Mall to collect your medal. Applying for your position makes you feel like you’ve already done the hard work, all that’s left is the running bit. And besides, there’s only about a 1 in 6 chance of getting a place.
It’s only when someone calls your bluff and says “Go on then, run it” that you look at your hand and realise you’re actually nowhere near ready to take on a marathon. The most running you’ve done recently was as they called last orders at the bar. The most significant challenge you’ve undertaken is a Nando’s ‘how much can you cram in’ challenge.
And then you start to think… actually my ankle never really recovered when I twisted it last summer… and I might need my ankle to work properly to run 26.2 miles.
So here I am, in the x-ray department of my local hospital, hoping they don’t tell me I need to put my feet up for 6 months.
