I ran for twenty minutes just now, with four pick-ups, that is to say short sessions of accelerating until one is running almost flat-out for 10-20 seconds. It was fine, there's a strong wind which should have blown itself out by Saturday.
Time: 2.00
Distance: 20.29
Pace: 10.13
I thought about my readiness for my ninth marathon, my fifth Beachy Head. My meditations are nowhere near as profound as Highway Kind's but here goes.
Physically:
- I've had no injuries during training
- Training has been not as intense as sometimes. Now I commute for more than three hours a day, there's less time
- I've haven't done all the long runs I should have. But I have a twenty-miler under my belt
- I know I can run the distance. I've done it eight times before, four times over this demanding course, but also over other hilly ones, like the Isle of Wight and the Neolithic marathons
- I'm ready for the dark night of the soul that always comes at some stage during a marathon. I know that I can keep going, and if I wonder why I am doing it, and what the point is, I remind myself that it will be better when it's over
- There are the supporters. Not the London crowds, though those buoy me up, but those who will come out to cheer us on Saturday are fewer, but perhaps more dedicated. The people who run the drinks stations, the marshals and others are a great encouragement
- I know other runners. At big events such as London, I'm afraid I hate my fellow runners. They get in the way, they jostle, they're unsuitably hearty or just plain mad. The smaller field at Beachy is entirely different, and I feel a real sense of solidarity.
Equipment
- I have well-worn running kit
- I have three gels left
- I know my way to the start and have plenty of time, after porridge at 6 am, to get there
- I have plasters to apply to my nipples to avoid blood-soaked shirts such as I had in the Isle of Wight marathon
