Running on what dwindling dregs of energy I had remaining, I made it to the next water and energy station between miles twenty and twenty-one. By now I was close to hitting the wall. I took on two bottles of water at this station, because I felt like I desperately needed it. This station was also giving out small packs of gummy sweets, so I took a pack for energy and as a distraction. I also took two bottles of water; I drank one straight away and held onto the other one to drink between now and the next water station. The fact I felt I needed to take on extra water in between stations was an indication of my condition at this point.

From that water station on Fosters Avenue, it was a short distance to the next turn left onto Stillorgan Road. Stillorgan Road is a major artery into the city, with two lanes in either direction, so once again I was unnerved by the roar of passing traffic. The marathon only followed that for a short while before it followed the slip road onto a flyover. I ate some of my gummy sweets at this point to try and distract me again, but it wasn’t really working. I did feel strange again running up a road where usually I’d be run over in a second.

On the bridge crossing over Stillorgan Road, there was a St John Ambulance station offering Vaseline, but I was already greased up enough. The marathon followed the slip road back down onto Stillorgan Road but I didn’t feel quite as disconcerted running on a main road this time, possibly because I was so tired and possibly because the traffic was coming towards me, rather than from behind me.

The next milestone was a water station on Nutley Road. I needed water and a toilet break, but I really didn’t want to stop, because I knew it would be extremely difficult to get started again. At this point I noticed the first rumblings in my stomach and bowels. All was not well down there, but I wouldn’t really find out about that until after the race.

Like I thought, I was in such pain, that I didn’t start running again immediately after leaving the toilet. I took a short walking start, turning the corner onto Merrion Road, then, to the shouts of encouragement from bystanders, I pushed myself into starting running again. I wasn’t tempted to take a longer walking break because I knew if I did, it would slow me down overall so much I would probably not be able to make my target time.

Whilst I was running the marathon, I didn’t take much notice of what road I was on, I just followed the markers which indicated the direction of the route. I believed that concentrating on running the marathon and monitoring my own condition was more important than precisely knowing the route. However, the disadvantage of this approach was that I was unaware of just how close I was to the city centre and thus the finish line. Had I known that, It would have been a fantastic boost. What it did mean however was that the marathon was working it’s way back north towards the city centre and the finish.

Merrion Road seemed unending. It was partly due to the fact I was so tired and in so much pain and also, like Crumlin Road earlier on, it was just a long, boring stretch of road to run along. I continually asked myself, “We must be getting close to the city centre by now”, but still the surroundings told me we were still in the suburbs and (I presumed) nowhere near the centre.  I didn’t really realise that the marathon was closer to the centre than I thought until it turned onto Shelbourne Road. The road was lined with fewer trees, there were more shops on each side of the road and it was clear we were leaving the leafy suburbs behind.

Running along Shelbourne Road, I felt a small boost from knowing that we were definitely getting closer to the city centre. The closer the marathon came to the centre, the busier the streets became and the more the atmosphere changed to that of a bustling city centre.At about mile twenty-four, Shelbourne Road led onto Grand Canal Street, which led the marathon into the city centre, at last.

At the last water station, I grabbed a last bottle of water, but I think my body had had just about enough water as it could take, so I kept the bottle to sip along the last mile. A mile later, at the twenty-five mile marker, I passed Hollies Street, which I had run down some five hours earlier. I was so lost in concentration that I didn’t even notice that I was retracing steps from that morning.

I did have enough presence of mind, however, to look out for my support team. We had arranged to rendez-vous around the twenty-five mile marker on Fenian Street, so I was trying to keep a look out whilst not looking too far ahead. In the latter stages of the marathon when it was painful, I ran looking straight down at the road, because looking ahead I would feel overwhelmed by the remaining distance and get an unbearable urge to stop and start walking.

Running up Fenian Place, I caught sight of them lined up across the wide road. They all fiddled with their cameras and cheered me on. This was a massive boost as I was really feeling a bit low at this point. Catching up with them also meant that I was tangibly close to the finish line. Whilst they had a five-minute walk down Merrion Street to the finish, I still had a gruelling mile and 385 yards to run before I would allow myself to stop.

The marathon turned right onto Westland Street then left onto Pearse Street, which now seemed vaguely familiar from this morning. When the route curved around the grounds of Trinity College, I began to feel the worst effects of my last-mile push. I developed a throbbing headache which made my temples pound. I really just wanted to stop and collapse, just to give my feet and muscles a break from the constant pain.

There was a slight gradient on Grafton Street, but I was so tired and in so much pain it took a disproportionate amount of effort to get to the top and turn left onto Nassau Street. I knew I was so close to the finish now, but this street was deceptively long. Not just that, but my stomach trouble from earlier returned with that headache. I felt like the water was drinking may have been adding to the problem, so I threw away the half-full bottle and just kept running. Just before the final turn onto Merrion Square West, I had some stomach cramps, which would usually have stopped me from running, but I decided that being so close to the finish, I would just try and ignore them and deal with them after the finish.

I turned the corner and headed for the finish. Right up until a few metres from the finish line, I was scanning the crowds for my support crew and trying to get myself in a good position for the finish-line photographs they would be taking.

A few metres from the finish line, I looked at the clock on the timing gantry and it was ticking close to my target, so I mustered an absolute, desperate, last-minute dash across the line. I would have been gutted to find out, after all that effort, that I missed my target by such a close margin, but I needn’t have worried. I crossed the line as the clock struck exactly 5h30m00s.

As soon as I crossed the line I stopped running and started walking. I noticed immediately how soon I cooled down and I noticed again how cold it was. The worst thing I could have done at this point would have been to stop or collapse from exhaustion, not least because it would have been an obstruction but mainly because my muscles would have locked up and I probably wouldn’t be able to move at all.

I moved through the finisher processing on Merrion Square South, posing for my finisher photograph and then picked up my finisher’s goodie bag. Then it was time to attend to my stomach trouble. I think I may have drunk too much water during the marathon, which is what I suspect gave me the headache and stomach cramps, unlike Edinburgh where I felt I drank too little.

A good fifteen minutes later I left the finisher’s processing area and rejoined my support crew. They took some more photographs, then we decided to walk back to the hotel. Walking back along Clare Street, watching the rest of the runners finish, we saw the pint of Guinness pass us by. As for the Toucan, he and the pint became separated and the Toucan finished in a respectable sub-four hour time. Later I read that the man in the Toucan outfit was none other than the heir to the Guinness brewery fortune and the pint was his friend. Which is nice.

A few days later the official chip times were released which stated that I had met my target by completing the marathon in a time of 5h27m47s. I’m very pleased with that. It is also exactly one hour and one second faster than my previous personal best, set in Edinburgh.

Without doubt, the Dublin Marathon was one of the best, most enjoyable things I’ve ever done. It is the best marathon I’ve ever run, in terms of time and strategy. More than that, however, was the atmosphere. Dublin is called the “Friendly marathon” and after running it, I can definitely see why. At every stage of the race, there was always someone prepared to shout some words of encouragement, even if it was just someone who was passing by.

I was so impressed by the marathon and I enjoyed it so much that I think I may do it again next year. Perhaps I might even try to break my PB again.

If you’re wondering about doing a marathon, just get out there and start training. The high for me didn’t come until a day or two afterwards, after my achievement sank in, but when it does, it’s an incredible feeling.

Another person further along had done the same thing but he was playing some rousing classical piece which I didn’t recognise.

Passing the water station at mile fifteen felt like a proud moment. even though I felt a bit tired, I still felt like I was powering through the miles and the more I compared my performance to Edinburgh, the better I felt.

Running down Kimmage Road West, the Toucan and the pint of Guinness caught up with me. The toucan appeared to be in fine shape, but the pint of Guinness was looking a little more worse for wear. Taking a sharp right-turn onto Fortfield Road, the toucan overtook me and charged off. “We’ve been overtaken by a toucan!”, another runner quipped. The pint of Guinness fell behind me again though and I didn’t see him again until I was walking back along the finish line.

The marathon reached it’s most southerly point at the bottom of Fortfield Road, then took another sharp turn onto Templeogue Road. This was another rather nice section of the race, running through plenty of greenery opposite Terenure College. I had been taking my energy gels regularly and so far all that training I had done was paying off in spades. However, the furthest I had ever run in my training was fifteen miles, which I passed on Fortfield Road. I was into unknown territory here.

Between miles sixteen and seventeen, I started to get a nervous, empty feeling. It was basically my stomach telling me that I was running out of energy. I felt like I was free-wheeling, running on empty, until the next water station. What I needed was to take on more energy, but I was still a fair way from the next water and energy station.

It wasn’t until I was half-way down Milltown Road on mile eighteen that I got to the energy and water station.I didn’t realise how tired I was until I slowed down to pick up some water. Since they were also giving out energy drinks here, I decided to take one of those too. I had my hands full trying to take my energy gel whilst also holding onto two bottles, but eventually ate and drank them all.

From here the hard slog began. From this point I felt like I was really flagging and my tiredness seemed to be washing over me like waves. It was relentless. I knew I couldn’t just run through this like earlier though because I didn’t feel like I had the extra energy to give. There was nothing left over, none to spare. I felt like I had just enough to get my round. The relative “easiness” (and I do mean relative, because marathon running can never be described as easy) of the past couple of miles was a thing of the past.

From here on, it just got harder and harder and harder. I only had six miles to go, which was a standard easy distance during training, but now it seemed like someone had asked me to run another thousand miles. My feet were starting to burn and my leg muscles were starting to ache so badly it was difficult to distract myself from the pain. I couldn’t ignore it by eating sweets or anything else, it was a constant reminder, always there, nagging me.

The worst thing of all was that I knew none of this would be getting any better until way beyond the finish line. I was actively punishing my body, pushing it beyond its limits and it wouldn’t let me forget it until at least a few days after the marathon.

Running down Chapelizod Road, the route crossed the River Liffey again then took a sharp turn left onto St Laurences Road. There was a slight incline, which I took in my stride, almost not noticing it. That can’t be said of the hill that greeted me after running underneath the Chapelizod Bypass and seeing it in front of me was a little daunting at first, but I just ploughed into it and climbed it as a matter of course.

The next three miles took the marathon back east and steadily southwards. I was still a little unsure about speeding up to my “normal” pace, but I felt that, running between miles nine and ten, It was high time to really start running this marathon like I meant it.

My Edinburgh Marathon experience meant I was fully expecting to start tiring around this point and I thought this hill would be a precursor to that. Fortunately, it didn’t tire me out or come anywhere close. In fact I was feeling so good at this point, I didn’t want to admit it to myself, lest I somehow jinx it. I was rewarded at the top of that hill with the nine-mile marker.

At this point in the race it was just a case of putting the miles in. It did cross my mind “who would ever voluntarily run a marathon?” and I suppose the answer is it takes a certain type of madness. Not just to do it the first time, but to enjoy it so much to do another! I was going at a steady pace and I felt like I had more than enough energy to get me through, so my confidence was steadily increasing. The subtle mile markers caught me out again as I missed the eleven-mile marker, which was annoying. Instead I just had to guess at my true pace. This also had the psychological effect of feeling that miles ten and eleven were longer than mile nine, because I didn’t have an accurate idea of where one started and the other finished.

It was during these core few miles that I experienced the best that Dublin hospitality has to offer (at least when running a marathon). There were plenty of bystanders and supporters, spread out all along the route, clapping us runners along. Some even offered sweets like jelly babies (extra sugar = extra energy). It was little things like that which told me why this marathon was called “the friendly marathon”.

The route then turned onto the busy Crumlin Road. Running down this road I felt a bit exposed as only the right-hand side of the road was closed to traffic and there was plenty of that coming down in the opposite direction. It was nowhere near me, this being a very wide artery into the city, but running like this on main roads always unnerves me.

Another thing which didn’t bode well was that I started to feel the first twinges of pain start to come through in my legs and feet. I was feeling so good about my progress however, that I confidently ran through it and just ignored it. A kind woman on the side of the road was offering boiled sweets and she gave me the last ones she had. They helped as a distraction, both from the pain and also from the boredom of running along this rather long uninteresting stretch of road. I ate one and stashed the rest in my arm-wallet for later.

At mile twelve there was another water station, which was also offering energy drinks, so I decided to take both, because I felt like I needed it. I felt much thirstier than when I left the last water station outside Chapelizod Gate. one thing that particularly annoyed me at this point was that my mobile, which I was using as a stopwatch, started complaining about a low battery. I knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before it died on me. The only way to complete the distance with enough battery power and to keep my mobile usable was to stop using it as a stopwatch. This really annoyed me, because now I had no precise means of measuring my pace – just rough calculations in my head.

What must have been a good half-mile after, the route finally took me off Crumlin Road onto the much quieter surroundings of Walkinstown Road. This change in direction also signalled the half-way point of the marathon: 13.1 miles. Everyone was congratulating the runners on reaching the half-way point, but I was more impressed by the fact I was only just starting to feel tired. The next couple of miles would be some of the best and most challenging I’ve ever run in a marathon.

At the top of Merrion Square East there was a kink in the course as it moved onto Holles Street. The huge volume of runners caused a massive traffic jam and everyone slowed to walking pace again. Two American runners behind me thought it was the approach to another start line, but it was just the volume of runners trying to squeeze around the bend. Holles street was on a small descent, which led onto Sandwich Street Upper, then Pearse Street.

One of the most amusing things I can remember was the number of male runners who were “caught short” and had to relieve themselves. Running down Sandwich Street Upper I saw a whole line of runners relieving themselves against a row of garage doors.

The first six miles of the marathon would lead us out of the city centre and into Phoenix Park. Coming to the top of Pearse Street, the route turned onto Westmoreland Street, which took me across the River Liffey, then along O’Connell Street. I ran past the Dublin General Post Office, a landmark in Irish national history for the rebellion against British rule that took place here. I can confirm that the Dublin GPO has no steps.

After we reached the top of O’Connell Street, the route ran around Parnell square and up a light gradient. My hotel was a few hundred yards off to the left as I approached the first mile. Leaving Parnell Square behind, the route turned right and continued to climb up Dorset Street upper, then turned left onto Eccles Street, still continuing on a steady climb up and out of the city centre. I was a little surprised to see more men relieving themselves behind a shopping arcade. There were so many that as soon as one man finished, another man took his place almost instantly.

At this point, approaching my second mile, my pacing was spot-on. The first mile had taken me 12:42 and my second mile about a minute faster at 11:45. I continued at this steady pace for a good few miles. Running down the North Circular Road, towards Phoenix Park, mile three approached faster than I expected. It felt a little strange to be running down a tree-lined leafy suburban street with so many others and I was still trying to settle down into the race. Plenty of other runners were still surging ahead, the pack was still very fluid.

Mile three was significant because it signalled the first water station. Unlike at Edinburgh, where I felt the water stations were irregularly spaced and few and far between, Dublin had one roughly every three miles, which I thought would be more than enough – possibly even too many, but then I was sure I’d be grateful for this in the latter stages, when I would really need it.

Even though I had deliberately not taken on any extra water before the race began because of the frequency of water stations, I didn’t feel really settled enough at this point in the race to be troubled by taking on water. I knew from Edinburgh and from training however, that it is better to take on water before you feel thirsty, because when you start feeling thirsty, it’s already too late to make any difference in this type of race. So I took a bottle onboard. They were very small bottles though, so small that you wouldn’t have thought they would make any difference.

Eventually we reached the top of North Circular Road and the first major change of scenery as we entered Phoenix Park. At first I wasn’t even sure if this was Phoenix Park, because on my left was the business end of Dublin Zoo. I think all the animals must have been still sleeping, because I didn’t spot much activity.

Moving up North Road behind the road I was caught out by the rather subtle mile markers for the first time. I don’t think they were as obvious as they should have been (just notices fastened to lampposts) and I missed the four-mile marker, which meant I wasn’t able to gauge my pace over miles four and five accurately. As the course came around from behind the Zoo to join Chesterfield Avenue, the main road running diagonally through the park, I was becoming more worried about my speed and pace.

I became more and more convinced I was running too fast, even though I was keeping more or less to my target pace of twelve minutes per mile. Erring on the side of caution, I decided to gradually slow myself down. this is much harder than you might expect, as the sight of other runners flying past, the atmosphere of the occasion and a full tank of energy can make it so easy to go too fast in the early stages. For the rest of the Phoenix Park phase of the course, I deliberately aimed for a pace of about a minute slower than my target.

The psychological milestone of the six-mile marker (representing approximately a quarter of the entire distance) felt a long way off. There was nothing much to do though except admire the scenery. Several people were in fancy dress, including a man dressed as a toucan (who was also running with a pint of Guinness). I lost track of him when he darted behind a tree to answer the call of nature. This wasn’t the last time I would see him or the pint of the black stuff, however.

If there’s one thing about Phoenix Park which becomes apparent to you whilst moving through it, it is the huge scale of the place. the park stretched all the way up to the horizon straight ahead of me and off to the left. Running up Chesterfield Avenue at my restrained pace genuinely felt like it was taking a disproportionate amount of time, after the easy miles which were clocked up leaving the city centre. Miles five and six, run in the open surroundings of the park, felt much longer than the ones I’d just completed in the city.

Mile six was also important for another reason: I decided that my energy strategy would be pre-emptive and that I would take an energy gel at the second water station, which was coming up at mile five.

The main reason I did this was mainly motivated by what happened at Edinburgh. I began to tire at around mile ten and despite a second wind which carried me through the early teens, by the time I reached mile sixteen, I was shot and had to take regular walking breaks just to keep going. I took my energy gels fairly late in that race, when my body was already telling me it was running out of energy, but by then it was already too late to avoid hitting the wall, which I did. Hopefully my pre-emptive strategy would help me avoid the same fate this time.

At the official six-mile marker, my timing chip recorded a time of 1:18:28, which was just a little slower than my paceband dictated, but at this point in the race I wasn’t bothered. The slower the better! The route turned left onto Furze Road, which again changed the scenery into more of a forest route. The pack had considerably thinned out now, though as the course wound down Upper Glen Road towards the gate at Chapelizod, hundreds of runners were still passing me. I was surprised at the numbers of runners who continued to pass me, as I thought the main crowd had overtaken me earlier. I deliberately resisted the urge to catch them up, as I believed I was still  burning to much energy by going too fast.

I noticed that it wasn’t just the men who were caught short, as we came out of the wooded area, I noticed several women dart off to my left and crouch behind trees. Naturally I was too much of a gentleman to take any further notice.

At the bottom of Upper Glen Road, the route took us out of Phoenix Park through the Chapelizod Gate. This also marked the eight mile point and, I decided the last mile I would run at this slower pace. With evryone passing by me, I couldn’t help but feel that the race was literally passing me by. One of the things I disliked the most about the Edinburgh Marathon were the long, lonely stretches of road, where the runners at the back of the pack were spaced out, sometimes by hundreds of yards. I didn’t want to run another “lonely” marathon, so I began to speed up to my normal pace again. As the marathon entered populated areas again, I didn’t need to worry about that, as there was a steady supply of supporters along the rest of the distance.

After Edinburgh, I’d decided to invest in an arm-wallet, which allowed me to carry extra energy gels. If Edinburgh was anything to go by, I’d be needing them! I left Dad in bed, still dozing away whilst I went down for breakfast.

My Dad and the rest of the support crew had decided to return to the hotel to have their breakfast after I had set off, which was a charming thought – as I would be pounding the streets of Dublin, they would be enjoying a “Full Irish” breakfast!

So we all congregated in the hotel lobby and set off on the 1.5 mile walk to the start line. The lengthy walk would, I hoped,  serve as a warm-up, seen as I hadn’t decided to do a short pre-race run this time. It was a fresh, crisp morning and very cold. The sun was hiding behind clouds, so we go the light but not the warmth. It was very cold. I wasn’t looking forward to the point where I would have to take off my jumper and jogging bottoms because I knew there would be a lot of hanging around waiting to start.

When we got to the start line, (view a map of the route – external link) at the junction of Lower Fitzwilliam Street and Merrion Square East, I had to say goodbye to my support team and be funnelled through into one of the pens. So I got changed there and then, pinned my race number to my running shirt and clipped on my pace band. Then I entered the runners-only section on Merrion Square South to join all the other runners. Merrion Square South was full of runners, depositing their kit-bags, taking toilet breaks, getting changed and warming up.

I followed the instructions of the race marshals and walked all the way around the block, walking down Merrion Street. All the “green numbered” runners then had to turn again onto Lower Baggott Street (although some runners took a crafty and rather pointless shortcut down Fitzwilliam Lane and Baggotrain Place to cut the corner off). Finally all the runners took another left turn back onto Lower Fitzwilliam Street.

I gave my Dad a ring on my mobile to see if he was anywhere near me and found him and the support crew waiting just a few dozen yards away on the pavement. They’d made their way down from the start line to try and see if they could see me. I moved as far up the crowd as I could until it became too dense to carry on. The start line was only a hundred yards in front of me and there was a great carnival atmosphere. On one of the side streets a kettle-drum band was bashing out a rhythm to get everyone in the mood.

As I thought, I was standing around for a good fifteen minutes before everyone got under way. I tried to stay warm by doing some last-minute warm-ups, but there was no disguising just how cold it was. My support crew took plenty of photos, including some of me (which make for an interesting before and after comparison).

At about ten to nine, the announcer piped up and asked for quiet whilst the Irish national anthem was played. How was I feeling? Well, I had plenty of nervous energy as ever, but this was balanced out by my faith in the tremendous amounts of training I’d put in – more than ever before. So I was confident I’d be able to complete the race in my target time of under 5h30m.

Now one of the things I’m used to is seeing runners walk around in the pen wearing bin-liners (seriously) to keep themselves warm whilst waiting. What I’ve never seen before was clothes being thrown from the middle of the crowd onto the pavement. This was a rather bizarre sight, watching jumpers, jogging bottoms and other bits of clothing flying about minutes before the start. The spectators had to be careful not to be hit by airborne clothing!

Finally, at 08:55, the wheelchair competitors set off and the crowd moved forward. At 09:00, the rest of the field set off, including me. Everyone walked towards the start. I waved goodbye to my support crew and started jogging slowly. When I crossed the start line, I set my stopwatch going on my mobile, which I would be using to track my pace and make sure I wasn’t going too fast, especially in the early stages.

By the time I crossed the start line, I realised just how cold my hands were, because they were nearly numb!

It was fairly low-hassle as well, as we had all checked-in online beforehand, so all we had to do at the airport was show our boarding passes and passports and wait at the departure gate. The most stressful part of the process was the stringent security, which meant I was restricted in what kind of energy drinks and powders I could take (and, I would find out, bring back). Oh well – I managed to cram my rucksack with all the essentials I needed.

On arrival at Dublin, the most tiring thing I did was the long walk from the arrival gate to the exit – a walk which never seemed to end! Fortunately we managed to find our way to a taxi rank outside, where a jovial Irishman took us to our hotel.

The original choice of hotel had problems with it’s water supply to our floor, so they moved us to their higher-rated sister hotel. Unfortunately for me it was also an extra mile away from the start line of the marathon, but at least that would help me warm up on the day!

Now our room wasn’t ready when we arrived, so me and my dad left our luggage with Alan and David and left for the marathon Expo. A fairly lengthy bus ride later, we arrived at the Royal Dublin Society main hall. The first priority was to collect my race number and timing chip. So we both went up onto the balcony and collected my race pack. The chip was attached to the back of the race number, instead of being tied to your laces, like in Edinburgh and Leeds. Then I had to walk over a special mat to “activate” my chip and saw my name flash up on a screen, which I still find a great novelty.

We spent about another hour walking round the rest of the expo. I was quite impressed by the scale and organisation, it was about twice as large as at Edinburgh. There were a lot of exhibitors and I came out with a whole heap of free samples and leaflets. At the Adidas stand I had my gait analysed, which told me that I had a neutral gait. This surprised me because previously I had been told I was a serious over-pronator. So I was left a little bit confused on that issue.

After me and dad returned from that, it was time to look for somewhere to eat. I was in the mood for something Irish and hearty and of course full of complex carbs like potatoes. Eventually, after wandering round a chilly Dublin for a while, we found a pub called O’Shea’s. It was busy, but we found two tables for the four of us. I had seafood chowder to start, but I didn’t realise chowder contained smoked fish, which I don’t really like. Then for the main I had braised lamb shanks, with mashed potato – though not a lot of it.

After that, we walked half-way across town to try out a bar with a reputation for serving top-quality ales. My support crew did their best to test this claim. It was a shame I couldn’t join in with the drinking, but if there is one thing which was going to adversely affect my performance, it was alcohol. So I was left drinking orange juice all night.

Eventually I decided to leave the beer-drinking to the experts and left to return to the hotel and get an early night before the big race.

Just minutes after completing the Dublin Marathon 2008

Just a quick note to say that I successfully completed the Dublin Marathon 2008 on Monday in a PB-smashing time of 5h:27m:47s.

I’ll be posting a fuller account later. In the meantime, I’d just like to say thank you to everyone who supported me and gave generously. If you haven’t donated, you’re not too late – my justgiving.com fundraising page will be accepting donations right up until the end of January next year.

The first day of training on Monday was tough, tough, tough. This was more down to the fact that I hadn’t prepared properly by going to bed late the previous night, getting up early that morning and skimping on my warm-up because I was running behind. Bad idea. Following my usual route, once I left Northstead Manor Gardens at Burniston Road, my legs weren’t playing ball. They felt about as flexible as iron and as heavy as lead. So I gave up around that point and walked home. When you’re in that situation, there’s no point punishing yourself by continuing running. It’s better to save your energy for the next session.

My next run on Wednesday was much better, probably because this time I didn’t skimp on warm-up exercises or have a late night beforehand. I’m not going to say it was easy, but it was easier to get into a rhythm which carried me through.

On Thursday it got even better and I felt that Thursday’s run was just a little bit easier. So it looks like that base training has done me the power of good.