Remember that Day when I ran a Marathon?

Last year I went out for a Saturday afternoon hungover lunch with a group of (mainly) friends and there was a mean girl there. I ordered the double cheeseburger. As soon as the waiter left she piped up,

“Oh I don’t know how you do that Michelle, I could never finish a double burger…”

Rather than buckle to her implication of my greed and make some apology for my gluttony, I said,

“You should try it sometime, order a double. Until you push your body and really get outside of your comfort zone, you’ll never really know what you’re capable of.”

Of course, everyone laughed at the idea of an extra burger patty being the ultimate achieveable goal for the mean girl, but it was true:

Until you push your body and really get outside of your comfort zone, you’ll never really know what you’re capable of.

Last Sunday, I ran a marathon.

It was the singularly most difficult, most exhausting, most challenging thing I have ever done. I remain in a state of shock, completely in awe of this body which God has given me, and which, despite feeding mainly with chocolate and wine, has achieved this incredible feat. I am humbled by the strength of my will power and drive, by my mental perseverance. That despite the jet-lag and the exhaustion and my muscles screaming at me to stop, I kept going and finished it.

Here it goes.

Last Sunday, I ran a marathon.

I arrived with my Mum about an hour before the start to pick up my electronic chip for my trainers and to use the loo. The queue for the toilets was unbelievably long and full of racing pros bragging pretentiously about ultra-marathons and the 100 club (which is apparently people who have run 100 marathons, dang – get a hobby!). I know that getting into all this running lark has definitely made me think about and talk about running a lot (this blog is perfect evidence of that) but I honestly hope that I am nothing like these people. They were obnoxious.

At the beginning I wasn’t too nervous. As we stood waiting for the start, I examined the people around me. To everyone’s surprise and my complete horror, I’ve put on a bit of weight recently. I, too, thought that all the running training just gave me a license to eat anything I wanted, but apparently it doesn’t quite work that way. So for the past few months I have battled with the intense post-run hunger and my body has become an efficient carbohydrate storer… or something. At the starting like I looked around and whispered to my mum that I was the fattest one there, she assured me that she would still be proud of me, even if I came last, and so, I vowed to complete it.

Then we were off. The route was really fun as there were lots of loops, so I also got to watch the race at the front as the leaders tore past us after just a couple of minutes. We started off at quite a fast pace, 6mins/km which is faster than I would have liked. I wanted to go slower, but I didn’t want to be last, so I kept up. The route was beautiful, my beautiful, beautiful Kent. Past Bleak House, where Charles Dickens wrote his famous novel and the spectacular Kingsgate castle. I was due to see my mum in Broadstairs at around 10km, but I was going much too fast and she missed me. It was different running in the UK. Not having the sun beating down on you or the intense heat was really welcomed, but breathing in colder air felt really strange, I had to keep blowing my nose.

By 15km, I was starting to feel it, so I was delighted to see my mum there to cheer me on, felt really amazing and I had the first of my gel sachets and plowed through. I chatted to a couple of other runners at this stage and made a few friends. They would say “don’t worry, we’re almost there” before looking quite alarmed when I told them that I was doing the full marathon.

Coming up to the half marathon point, I was tired, but okay. I was one of the last marathon runners to come through, and I was wearing a charity top so there was a big cheer. Also Mum was there again with a big smile and words of encouragement.

The next 10km were really hard. Knowing that there is just so far to go and you still have hours and hours of running left, could be crushing, but you have to rise about it, to own it. This part of the course went through Margate town and down on to the promenade, it then followed the promenade along past all of the beach huts down to Westgate. I thought this part would be lovely. I love rows and rows of bright beach huts and being by the sea, but in truth this part was really long and really lonely. The was malicious graffiti written in chalk all over the sea walls and little noise apart from the thudding of my trainers on the concrete. Yes, concrete, the most horrible running surface. This went on for about an hour. It was painful, I was tired, miserable and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do it. The sea air was blowing me back and I had already had to dig quite deep to get this far. I ran past the 18mile sign (29km) and plodded onwards.

That’s when I heard him.

C’mon Auntie Shell!

I looked around me but I couldn’t see him, I thought I spotted him on the top of the cliff and I waved up, but it turned out to just be an abandoned kite.

C’mon Auntie Shell!!

And then I spotted them, a good mile away, their cheers being carried by the wind. My mum, my sister Carmen and my cutie nephew, Freddie. I kept my pace, and resisted the temptation to speed up, lest my legs should give way beneath me. As I got closer, I could see Freddie was dancing with anticipation and excitement and when I waved back he suddenly came tearing towards me, presumably expecting some great embrace. Thankfully, Carmen, his mum, told him I couldn’t pick him up and so he was happy to run along side me for a bit and share his sweeties with me. It was the most amazing and best moment ever.

I left them and had a sharp incline to turn off the beach. A little while later at a water station, I suddenly saw my Dad with his video camera pointing in my face. I smiled a waved for him and confirmed that I was at 34km, the furthest I’d ever run before. From here there was 8km to go. 8km is a happy length for me as in Tunis it’s our short run. I know I can get up and go and run 8km on an empty stomach without too much hassle. I kept telling myself this, even though my body wouldn’t let me forget that I had just run 34km.

The next 5km were rough, slow and boring, they took me back along the beach again, and by now I was just counting down the time for it to be over. I was also remembering, remembering the training runs that had brought me here. My first 5kms, which I had practiced on the treadmills in the work gym, my first run outside with Lucy, one of my running friends, and adjusting to traffic and people while trying to chat. Then the training that we did for the la Marsa half-marathon and the race itself and how ill I was and then getting my GPS watch and running constantly in Sousse, in Hammamet, running so much that one day I fell over, badly. Then memories of the second half-marathon and the wild dust and running in America with people in fancy dress and running in Portland in the rain. And trying to squeeze in running when I had to travel for work, in hotel gyms and on foreign streets, getting lost in Singapore in the terrible humidity and watching the men walking to the market with their monkeys on leads from the hotel treadmill in India. All of that brought me here.

I turned a corner and saw my dad, Carmen, Freddie, my brother Aaron, my sister Kathleen and her fiancé Sam. It was just the boost I needed, knowing I would do it now, even if I crawled on my hands and knees. Those last 3km made me want to cry out with every step, such was the pain in my muscles and joints. Though the middle of Margate, and in some places Carmen and Freddie drove along side me honking their horns and shouting words of encouragement.

But I pushed through, ever forward, until that finishline was in sight. All of my family were there, my mum who had been there all day long and my Auntie and Uncle, the parents of my late cousin who I ran in memory of. Coming over the last hill was so amazing and fantastic that I thought I might cry. I tore over to the finish line in a final sprint that came from God-knows-where.

As I went under the arch, and 5 hours, 21 minutes and 45 seconds after I had started, I reached up my arms and the commentator said “This is (my name), wow, she looks so fresh, it looks like she could go again”

No, tah.

Well, it's certainly not a sprint...

Marathon training is long. And I don't even mean long like 26.2 miles. I mean 'long' like British slang for tiresome, tedious, is it really worth it? long. But, of course it is, and I am very glad that I haven't given up up to now... even though I am quite sure that the worst is yet to come.

My long run is getting longer (now we are talking distance... do try to keep up!). This weekend, I tore through 23.5km. I run so slowly, sometimes I think it's a bit of a liberal interpretation to even be saying 'run'. But for now, I suppose I just need to work on building up the distance.

Here's my watch, isn't she lovely? I got her for my birthday and she does all sorts of things that you couldn't imagine and I am yet to discover.

I'm still running without music, and lately I've been running without company too as my running buddies have been injured or on missions (yup, they actually call it that in my job, it never gets old). It's not too boring though, Tunisia keeps me busy, early in the morning there are stray dogs to avoid, then as people start to wake up there's lots of honking and, what shall we call it?, verbal encouragement. The cars that take their time to loop the next roundabout and drive past you again to make sure you heard their helpful jeers - they are the ones that really spur you on. But sometimes (rarely) I'm impressed. Yesterday, a big car of girls drove past me and one shouted out:

Prends un taxi, Madame!!

Thanks Tunisia, I like. She got a little smile.

Also keeping me busy is the ill-maintained pavement and the narrow pedestrian walkways. I took a little tumble this week, not too bad, but it really taught me the importance of running with a phone and money, just in case. I cut all the palms of my hands, which has been very troublesome, as it's been a week of professional success, and I keep eagerly high-fiving people before remembering the hard way about the damage to my hands. This is also hindering my handstand practice.

I also cut my elbow and arm quite badly, and it's amusingly disgusting. The other day the blood/puss combo saturated the plaster on my arm and even seeped through my coat lining making a visible blood stain on the outside of my beige coat. Incredible. The silver lining to this cloud, of course, is that in a weeks time I'll have some fantastic scab-picking to get on with. The anticipation killing me, but I think we all know that if you go at a scab too early, you only regret it.

And that, boys and girls, is me done for the night. xx

Episode II: Attack of the Half Marathon

Oh Wow. Oh wow it is done. Part of me is still in disbelief, at 10km, wondering if I will ever make it. What a headgame. Blimey. Okay - let me get a bit more coherent, and start at the beginning. Are you sitting comfortably?

The Day Before...
The suspense and exciting began when we went to pick up our race numbers. Everyone else was late, and I was early, as usual, so I spent some time examining the race route and strategising. The event was being organised by the Youth Sports Centre in La Marsa, and as a waited, a big group of boys came out from registering and we talked a bit about target times, and laughed when we realised that my amazement at their predicted times was because they were actually doing the 5km Fun Run and not the half-marathon.
A nice French man, who was collecting a running number for his daughter also came over. When I told him that I was hoping to finish in 2:30, he laughed and said I would be under two hours. It was then that I put a bit more effort into translating the poster and came to realise that the half marathon was targetted at more "professional runners"... crikey...

My race number was 283, and instead of being given a big pre-race goodie bag full of promotional treats, energy gels, dried pasta, magazines, energy bars, we got 4 safety-pins and a map - nice. Infact this was one of the most charming things about the day - the total no-frills approach to running. And the theme would continue, as you shall see.

So that afternoon I spent some time painting my nails with go-fast tiger stripes, before heading to Penny's for the Pasta Party extravaganza. I ate meatball and pasta until it hurt, and then, feeling confident and sipping water constantly to maintain extreme hydration, I headed home to bed.

Superfast Tiger stripes - who knew I could be so girlie?

All of that hydration and the nerves had me up in the night with frequent bathroom stops, but as a measure of my extreme determination, warrior-like prowess and ninja-style readiness, I can report that on one trip in those early morning hours, I encountered a big-fat cockroach and rather than scream and panic, I stamped on him - crushing his golden brown shell, and went about my business. I run long distance buddy, you really wanna cross me?

Yes, Mum, I was wearing slippers.

Race Morning
I woke up excitedly - adrenaline was kicking in already. I'd made some oats overnight in the fridge, whoffed them down, got my running gear on and went to meet the other girlies. The race organisers had recommended that we arrive 2 hours before the race, we rolled up half an hour before, but that was still plenty of time to get a slight headache from the marching band and catch the end of the hour-long Zumba class that was going on for competitors and their families up on the La Marsa Corniche (serious Tunisia, you out-do yourself daily!).

Pre-race nerves and excitement...

9am loomed, suddenly we were counting down (in Arabic) and I could not believe it when we set off on time! It was a bit weird to be alongside so many other people. I had decided with my homegirls to stick together until 10km, then we would all see how we were doing.

The first 5km were a bit tough, I was so nervous, usually I'm a total chatterbox, but the nerves had my mind all over the place. I kept doing little body checks: 

How are my legs? - yep, my legs are okay
How is my tummy? - tummy fine down here, keep going.
Toes? toes? how are you guys? - yep, we're alright, feeling good. 
Okay, let's just keep going then.

The first 5k came in a bit slow, none of us have fancy running watches (yet) so we were just relying on watches and timers on iPods and alike, but it was a bit dis-heartening.

From 5-10km the route was easy, we had praticed it many times before, the problem was it was just dull. It was alongside a highway, which was nice because the millions of marshals had stopped all the traffic and lots of families came out and waved to us. At 10km we had a pit-stop. The pit-stops were brilliant, none of the Western energy drinks or sports gels, here we had segments of blood oranges, sugar cubes and raisins.

From 10km we decided to break off a bit, to run at our own paces. I'm running without music. This is because the full Marathon that I want to do in September bans the use of headphones and so I need to practice without them. I don't really mind, but it takes the distraction away a bit and means that you are pretty much in-it the whole way through. 10-15km felt good. I had lots of little mantras that I had been working on. Tunisia has a very special cheesecake shop called Barista which is unlike anything you would ever find in my United Kingdom, and is more on a par with the mighty US with shelves and shelves of different flavoured cheesecakes to help Tunisia along in her majestic quest for a type II diabetes epidemic. We had already been to the cheesecake shop and stocked up - slices and slices of banana & walnut, raspberry, malteasers and salted caramel flavoured cheesecake lay waiting in my friend Lucy's fridge for our triumphant return. So for the hills, my mantra of choice was:

"I am fit and I am strong,
Eating cheesecake later on"

It worked extremely well.

15km was my "happy place". It was marked by a refreshment stand and Le Cap restaurant where I had had my birthday eve dinner, I knew then that there were just 6km to go and that was about 35mins more running and so I told myself, "I can do anything for 35 minutes... 35 minutes is nothing". The 15th km began with a gigantic hill, that as a highway engineer, I do believe must have required a number of departures. Every time I stand at the bottom of it expletives explode for my chest in sheer terror. I don't know where they even come from. I'm sure I don't usually use words like that...

Hill done, I had intended to think of my family and especially my Mum from kilometers 15-20. They were hard, but drawing on my biggest inspirations made it all so much easier. Long distance running is such a headgame your body is screaming at you: 

"what are you doing?!! err.. can we stop please?" 
And my head would say, "what is it? what do you want? you want water?" 
"Nah, I don't need water, feeling pretty hydrated"
"well what then? you need fuel? I can give you a jelly baby?" 
"Nah, I'm okay, my tummy kinda hurts, I just wanna stop really" 
"sorry team, we can't stop, we're almost there... keep going, I will give you anything" 
"I want a gold Berber chain necklace" 
"and you shall have one." 
"...and matching earrings"
"don't push it now."

At 18km with just 3 to go, I grabbed a cup of water at one of the stops (it was so hot by now) and was delighted to find a big hung of orange inside the cup, lovingly placed by the race marshal. Grateful for the extra sugars, I shoved it in my mouth before checking for pips and choked my way to the 20km mark. 

The last km was all through the suburb in which I live. Running past the pharmacy, the external clock was displaying 11:03am and I panicked that my typically British humility at telling everyone "don't even bother showing up until 11:30 - you'll be waiting round for ages", might mean that there was no-one there to cheer us in. Of course my friends knew that I had completely underestimated myself and were there screaming, cheering and complaining about the sun as I rounded the corner to the Corniche and the finish line.

Time was checked in, and I was bundled from person to person, someone put a medal on my neck, I got a t-shirt and a bag of dates, and some water. And it was over, 2:13 minutes by my stopwatch. Wow.

The experience taught me so much. Here are my key outcomes:

1. Running is hard. That was hard. The full marathon is going to be hard. But I am harder.
2. Don't carry so much stuff - there is loads of support at the stations so you don't need so much fuel.
3. Have post-run refreshments ready. We really messed up here - our post run nutrition was all over the place in all the excitement.
4. Support is amazing - I saw lots of families out cheering for their runners and it made me so so excited for my full marathon in September when I'm hoping some friends and family will come along. What a boost!
5. Pride is intoxicating.

So afterwards we had some gorgeous massages and then had an extremely rich supper of Cumberland sausages and mash, and the gorgeous and well deserved cheesecake, and everyone felt proud and happy and wonderful.

Marching through March

Hey Kids,

I'm back! and I'm so much better! I was really sick for a while there, and I was so miserable as I had been bragging so much about my perfect health all through winter and attributing it to my super healthy diet, but in the end, that nasty African bug caught up with me. 

So sadly I don't have many nice "life in Tunisia" stories for you today as things have been pretty quiet - but just you wait, have got some nice stuff planned this weekend that you're going to LOVE.

Otherwise I have been plodding away with my little 30before30 goals.

10. Run a Marathon
The half marathon training has taken up everything. Seriously. I feel like I have become one of those crazy people who are completely obsessed with exercise. I have plenty of friends who have had babies lately and they often remark that they are in completely in awe of their bodies - that they were able to grow a human in their tummies, that the human body is amazing. This is how I feel. And this isn't even as magical and miraculous as procreation - but I still can't believe that I am still doing this, and that even though I keep feeding it M&Ms and dolly mixtures, my body keeps going.

I am almost 6 weeks through the 8 week training schedule. I did some sums today, and so far I have run 168.7km (sorry it's a crazy number it's to do with km/mile conversions) of the 265.6kms that are in my training plan (that includes the Halfy herself). So I am 64% of the way through - which makes me feel nice.

Now I don't usually take a whole load of selfies, but I took this picture for my sister who bought me new top for the gym. This is how disgusting 13kms looks:

26. Read the Big Russian Novels
I am tearing through Anna Karenina. I wish I hadn't spent so long worrying about which translation to read and had just cracked on with it years ago. It's brilliant. There are about 800 pages and I'm on 550. It's solidifying my St. Petersburg Dreams.

27. Read the Whole Bible
So I've finished the new Testament now - it was a hoot, especially Revelations which I had definitely never read before. It was a bit out there - think I would have remembered that.
Now back in the Jewish Law. It's heavy, but I've got a little reading plan and am just marching through.
On the religious note, I gave up alcohol for lent. It's even harder than when I gave up eating mammals. It's really tough. I have a bottle of Californian wine in the fridge ready for Easter Sunday. Social occasions are a nightmare - I even had a work function with ever-flowing champagne. This is so unbelievably rare, you cannot imagine.

Other nice things:

• My friend had a baby - and I knit her a hat, but she is tiny and the hat is huge. She's working on growing so that it fits. My friend filmed the birth - he is a nutter.

• A new Kate Nash album came out and it's keeping my ears very busy. I can't wait until it's warm enough to lie on the beach and listen to it.
• A new restaurant opened near to my house and they have a special license to serve pork. I had a Parma Ham salad there last night and it was so delicious that I bit my tongue. Hard.
• Tomorrow is payday! 

Big Kisses xxxx

The Eight Week Challenge.

Oh crikey!

It's a bit under eight weeks until my birthday. I had planned to go to Egypt but I already have too many nice trips planned this year, and Egypt is a little bit too crazy at the moment. So she will wait... instead we have some other targets to hit.

1. Diplôme d'études en langue française (DELF) Exam B1

This is being held the week of my birthday. Having been originally wanting to sit this in January, I was disappointed when it was held before I arrived back in Tunis. So, this time I cannot miss it. This needs to happen. My teacher thinks I will pass, but every day is full of french victories and defeats and it's the defeats that I tend to remember. Today's victory: getting a replacement LED bulb for a light in my bathroom from a hardware store. Today's defeat: disjointed conversation with taxi-driver about beards and Islam.

I have a book of exercises, I have some determination and I have eight weeks.

2. La Marsa Half-Marathon

Even though I didn't want to do a half Marathon before the Big Daddy in September (as I wanted to be able to tell myself, during the run, that afterwards I would never have to run again) I think this is a must. 

A half marathon will allow me to practice race conditions, routine and most importantly, running nutrition. It's on 24th March. I have eight weeks.

I ran 10km this morning, hungover, for the first time this year. It really hurt. I have a blister on my toe. I think I'm gonna need a charity or something... I'm gonna need some external motivation.

So there it is. Two massive goals. And the big reward is that a week after the exam and the race, my Mummy and Daddy are coming to Tunisia, with a suitcase of Easter Eggs, all for me.

Oh, this looks so sad with no pictures, here are some unrelated ones, from the shopping centre near my house, that I took today.

Yep, still got the Christmas Decorations up... tsk tsk!

Princess Dinners

The world over, the close of the Gregorian calendar brings an array of end-of-year parties, annual lunches and farewell dinners, and things are no different here in Tunis. In addition, I have recently moved teams at work and so I have had the added excitement of a leaving-lunch in my honour, which I had yesterday, and which will be the main content of today's story. But, before that, I must tell you about a few other restaurants which I've been lucky enough to visit in the last week:

1. Dar el Jeld

I had heard about this restaurant almost on arrival to Tunis and ever since then I have been hoping to pay a visit. Set in a renovated traditional Tunisian Villa right in the heart of the Tunis Medina, this restaurant boasts the highest quality Tunisian food (and the highest prices to match).

With a former classmate in town, my friend Jung set about getting a table with military-endurance and saint-like patience, and it certainly paid off. The restaurant is full to capacity every night and those tables are like gold dust.

With an enthusiastic music team and candles reflecting off of the floor to ceiling tiles, this place had ambience by the bucket load. Our waiter proudly gave us a tour of the house before dinner, which was a bit weird, as people were eating in the other rooms, but you couldn't blame him for wanting to show the place off. It was truly beautiful.

 Banging Decor

I had Couscous et Poisson (Sea Bass) which was completely divine, and was served with roasted apple (but controversial - perhaps Heston Blumenthal had paid them a visit?). Really beautiful food.

 Couscous et Poisson

For dessert, I had Crème Tunisienne, which was delicious.

2. Le Cap

Our Young Professional Christmas dinner was at Le Cap this year. Le Cap is a group of Restaurants and Bars in Gammarth which serve French/Lebanese/Libyan Fusion food. I had an incredible steak, but everything is superb there, even the little olive croissants that they serve with the starters.

I had been having wild chocolate cravings all day so I sated myself with a big fat Moelleux au Chocolat for puds... incroyable!

 The fruit was nothing to do with me

3. Circolo Italiano

My new team's Christmas lunch was held at the Italian Club, which is a strange little building close to the zoo, where, once you step inside, you are in Italy. The waiters only speak Italian, they serve real pork (be still my heart) and the TVs are somehow all showing Italian football. The food was exquisite, as always. I had Ravioli, as always. And they had darling Christmas Tree in the foyer, covered in gingerbread men and dried oranges.

Which brings me to yesterday's Princess Dinner:

4. Restaurant El Walima

So yesterday for lunch, my former team surprised me with lunch at Restaurant El Walima. Amazing. Let's take a break from all this food, for a history lesson:

When Tunisia was part of the Ottoman Empire in 1705, a royal family was installed, who ruled under the title of "Bey". The title was hereditary and was passed along the male line through the generations, even after Tunisia became a protectorate of France.

 

At the independence of Tunisia on 20th March (my birthday!) 1956, the Bey at that time, Muhammad VIII al-Amin, became King of Tunisia. A year later, the Prime Minister, Habib Bourguiba, declared Tunisia a Republic and the Bey dynasty came to an end. His daughter, the princess, opened a restaurant in downtown Tunis and now wears a traditional royal gown to serve diners a delicious Tunisian feast, Monday to Saturday

.

Little display for the Dey Dynasty on the wall - no, that is not the princess!

So while I didn't take a picture of the princess, here is the traditional Tunisian fare that we were served:

Starters: Clockwise from top left, 1. Lablabi, a spicy (with harissa) tomato soup with chickpeas, 2. Mloukhia, a bay leaf stew with okra and beef, 3. Noicer Pasta, which is little squares of pasta made from semolina, cooked in cinnamon  4. Mechouia Salad, salad made with boiled egg, tuna, sweet peppers and oil. And this, naturally was served with hot French bread.

Inbetweenies: Brik - which you have seen before, so I won't show you here.

Entree: There was lots of choice, but I had the prawns, which came with some mixed shell fish, salads and some chippies

Dessert: A fruit salad, which I won't show you here, because everyone knows what a fruit salad looks like - this one had lots of pineapple in.

Tea: The tea course was a mint tea with pinenuts and a Pistachio Tunisian Creme.

Afterwards I went back to my office and promptly fell into a coma.

Other things that are happening:

• I paid off my credit card bill, so my finances are finally looking healthy and lovely for the first time since buying my house. Promptly afterwards I sent a friend a long email about how we should go to Toulouse in January... so it seems that I may not have learnt my lesson...
• I ran 10km this morning. Very exciting - it was probably all that Princess Fuel. In less than an hour too, 59:05mins. Not all good though, as I did forget to bring my bra in my change of clothes - so I'm going to have to wear my sweaty sports bra all day... mmm...
• Anna Karenina... not happening....yet.

How to Run a Marathon...

Ladies and Gentlemen, it seems I may have bitten off more than I can chew. I may not be a runner.

So, since I have started working on achieving my 30before30 goals, on my 27.5th birthday, I have been running 7km every single Wednesday, without fail. Even if I have been travelling, or unwell, or tired, or grumpy. The first one was awful. I thought I was going to die. But since then they have gradually got better, and a little quicker - not much, but a little. I have now started doing a 5km on Mondays too and I always do cardio on Fridays, either my kick-boxing class, or if I'm travelling, another 5km.

But progress is slow... and maybe I should tell you my big secret. I don't really like running.

I remember watching Eddie Izzard, the British comedian, on the Jonathan Ross Show a few years ago, when he was doing Ultra-marathons and back-to-back marathons for Sports Relief. Jonathan Ross said to hims something like,
"So, you really must like running then?"
And his response was,
"Not at all, I actually hate it, I really like the stopping"

I do get this though, I feel the same. The stopping is great - the sense of achievement, all those endorphins, the "champion" feeling, the after-exercise glow that stays with you for the rest of the day... This is what makes it so hard to just keep running- the temptation to stop.

When I was in Mozambique, I was working with a new member of staff who had just joined our team and we were having a good bonding session over breakfast. I told her that I was planning to run a marathon and she became all excited and exclaimed that she had run three! Surprised does not even cover it, as this lady was no lean whippet. Nor had I seen her at the gym at all during our stay at the hotel. I think that my face must have betrayed my disbelief because she went on to tell me all about how she had just undergone chemotherapy and had gained 30kg. It all got a bit awkward, and I really began to focus on my bread and bananas.

This aside, she gave me loads of great tips. She told me all about the techniques she used to avoid injury, including the Fartlek technique, which is where you do a bit of gentle jogging with some mad sprints in between. Sounded like a lot of fun. I'm definitely gonna try it. She also told me that the original length of a marathon was defined by a Greek legend of a messenger called Pheidippides who ran that distance, keeled over, and died. Great. I looked it up, and it seems he had been running the day before (Note to self - no running on day before Marathon).

So the Marathon that I want is in September, and it will take about 6 months of heavy training (6 days per week). Before starting that I should get up to at least 4 runs per week and at least 20km per week... oh man! No one ever said that it would be easy.

The other thing is where to run?  I need to get out on the road, but the nights are drawing in and the gym is so warm and they have nice soft towels...