I can, can I?

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. Repeat every ten seconds. Determination, come onnnnnnnnnn. I can do this. 

Last post before the big day. Throughout training I have read so many tips and heard so much advice. I know what isotonic drinks are for - to replace lost salts, I know to cover my entire body in an inch of Vaseline - so much so, that I reckon I could probably body slide my way to the finish if needs be. What I didn't read about was the emotional side. I've been like a walking time bomb this week. 

I like to think that I'm not a crier, I can sit through the 'notebook' and not a tear will glisten from my tear ducts! But this week it's all changed. I've been welling up all over the place! 

The stupid marathon people have put adverts up all over London, the last thing I need to see on the tube ride home is some 'inspiring' poem about how every blister counts, it just results in my eyes filling up with tears and body starting to shake. Luckily I've been pretty strong and managed to make it all the way to Saturday without any tears actually escaping from my eyes. 


On Thursday I went to the expo, the expo is located in London dockyards, to get there you have to get the Docklands light railway (DLR) which has no driver, so you can sit at the front of the train and pretend you are the driver, it's pretty damn exciting!

Any way, I got to the expo, sorted my number in no time and then had to walk through the exhibition to get out. It was terrifing! I felt like a little girl on her first day of school who's mum had just left, except I was surrounded by a million people kitted out in lycra. It was a futuristic world where everyone is super fit and wear spray on clothes to show off their toned bodies. I was a visiting alien and did not fit in at all! Despite a year of running, I have come to accept that lycra will never be my friend. All I wanted to do was sit on the floor and cry. I got the hell out of there as quick as I could, avoiding eye contact with the sporting gods as much as possible. I sat on the train home a miserable, shaking bubble of fear. 


I managed to hold the tears of fear at bay. However, because I had glandular fever in my late teens (that's mono to those of you in the US), my immune system is completely shot, for the first few months of running, my glands would burst out of my neck after every run. Just before the half marathon I picked up an infection, which I haven't been able to shift for 6 weeks now, finally trying to get to the doctor proved fruitless this week but I eventually found a clinic you could just walk in to. So, getting up early on a Saturday, I trekked across London to this walk in clinic, only for them to tell me it was full and I would have to make an appointment. For 3 weeks time! My eye lashes could no longer contain the tears and the dam burst, all over the waiting room. I was a snivelling, dripping mess. It was a lovely sight, the poor nurses didn't know what to do. All I could manage was to put my hands over my face and blubber an apology for my tears. On the bright side, they moved things around and made me an appointment for Monday. 

You know that feeling where you're waiting to do or hear about something that you don't want to do, the one that comes out of nowhere, which starts in the pit of your stomach and rises up, before catching like a lump in your throat? The one you get when you're about to do an exam, or get the results from that exam, or hear back from a job interview, or wait in the salon to get your legs waxed. Well that's what's been roller-coasting through my mind all week - the feeling, not the leg waxing that is. 


Speaking of leg waxing, I did get my legs waxed this week, I wouldn't want to be mistaken for running in a gorilla costume and I hear cyclist get their legs waxed before a big race to help them go faster - every little helps, right! 

Once I've eaten the worlds biggest bowl of pasta tonight and laid out my kit for tomorrow, there will be nothing left to do but try not to panic. I'm more terrified of tomorrow than I've ever been, even more than that time at university when I was convinced the alien from the film 'Signs' you know, the crappy Mel Gibson one, were sneaking around out side my room in the middle of the night, I'd have peaked out my doors spy hole to check if I hadn't been so frightened to leave the protection of my bed!

Let's just recap on the 3 marathon goals:
1. Get round
2. Don't poo my self
3. Don't die


Good, well I think we're all sorted then. Mum tells me it's not good form to try and climb on to the back of one of the wheel chair competitors - apparently that's frowned upon. 


Thank you to the extra sponsorship that has come in this week, I've updated the mile dedications on the last blog. If any one else from around the world would like to sponsor I would really appreciate it, it's for a great charity and I still have to raise a further £500. Here is the link: Yippeee you are sponsoring me!


I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. :)