[I wrote this post on Thursday evening: for some reason it was never posted]
As I write this post, I am following the tweets from the Classical Association conference, where Professor Chris Carey, with the aid of Percy, a teddy bear dressed as a gladiator, is giving a plenary lecture on Ancient Athletics. See #CA2012 if you're interested.
Last night I ran for the last time before Sunday, three miles through fields of lambs. Today I drove from one meeting to another along the seafront and looked over at Shoreham power station. For all the mythology that has grown up around that stretch of the course, when I look at the map I see that it is only about three miles in total. I worry about the weather: the northerly wind is going to make it cold, but not so cold that I need to wear anything more than my running vest.
It's hard to think of anything but the marathon; I fear I may not be at my most productive. An unexpected e-mail has just come from a fellow Strider, out of running through injury. He urges me, if it gets tough, to think of it as another training run. 'Above all, enjoy it', he says.' I have a feeling you will.' Good advice, which I will heed.
