Around six months ago I entered the Virgin Money London Marathon Ballot. It was easy to do but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been quaking in my running shoes since – you see, when I applied I couldn’t even run a kilometer.
What’s the you say? ‘You’re a dreamer and a mentalist?’ – yes, yes, you’re right – I am.
I’d started the Couch to 5k two weeks before applying having never ran in my life and was jogging intervals of two minutes when the husband and I decided to apply. ‘Why not?’ I said, ‘we’ll have six months to train and I’ll be comfortably running 10k’s by the time we find out if we’re in’.
Pahaha how I laugh now.
After applying, I thought about my chances – they weren’t great, I mean half of the country would be applying for 20,000 places – there’s just no way I’d get a place the first time I applied. I resigned myself to the quite probable fact that I wouldn’t be running The London Marathon 2018.
As October approached, the reality hit home that I might actually get a place – I mean I can now run 10k as planned but nowhere near with the pace and ease I’d thought – even with running two to three times per week for the last five months , I still sound like an octagenarian dog with asthma when I run and I have all the grace of a hippo with a gammy ankle – shit.
I could actually get a sodding place…
For two days this week it was at the forefront of my mind – shit. What’ve I done?
Why on earth did I think I could run a sodding Marathon? I’m a thirty five year old mother of two and I’m a good three stone over-weight!
Every time the post landed my heart raced – shit. I jumped up to see if there was an answer.
Two days this week we got no post. Nothing. Zero. I started thinking the local posties were on strike or something.
Then one of the days we got this leaflet – we don’t even sodding like cats.