What kind of year has it been

As promised, this is my last post on this blog. My intention from the beginning was to keep sharing my thoughts until they were no longer prevalent in my mind. As timing would have it, it is pretty much a year since I started chronicling my thoughts and feelings, most of which were running related but some of which breached the frontiers of Runner 'Been and attempted to offer some wider lessons in life. Those lessons were primarily meant for me; as was this blog. It was a compelling way to keep track of my progress; mentally rather than physically. My mind is swamped with vast reaches of thoughts and ideas, mostly mundane so that I often misplace those crucial rare epiphanies. I hope I've captured the important underlying themes and lessons that distance running has presented to me, whatever they are.

As I have previously mentioned, my primary thoughts currently lie elsewhere. However, running is now an integral part of me to the extent that talking about it almost seems unnatural. After all, I don't blog about eating, sleeping or breathing (and let's be thankful of that). Such is running; I can't imagine my life without it now and am grateful for the opportunity to benefit from something I love so much. Sensationalist, perhaps, but that's how I'm made. After all, it would be a shame to spend a year blogging about anything short of a passion.

So I'll march on, hopefully. My immediate plans with respect to running are now set: the Birmingham half in October, as a prelude to the next main event: the London Marathon 2011. All the time, I am improving all round fitness and, whilst injury concerns continue to infiltrate my thoughts, optimism and joy remains. I don't know if and when it all ends, but I am excited at the prospect of venturing further to great unknowns.

I part with a simple piece of advice. Don't take up running just to get fit or because it seems like a sensible thing to do. Keep an open mind, because there is something truly wonderful lurking once you probe deeply enough. We are, for the most part, built for running and like anything worth having in life, it takes a great deal of patience and endurance before you get to see the pretty side. Trust me, it's worth waiting for.

Runner 'Been signs off, with a huge thank you to everyone who has supported my efforts in the last year. My journey continues off this page and I'll always welcome your kind words of support and helpful advice (not to mention donations). I'll finish with this relevant adage:

"We don't stop running because we get old. We get old because we stop running."

:)

A little bit of everything

It’s been around a month since my last entry, suggesting this blog has little fuel remaining. It has been a year since I started chronicling my thoughts, as a naïve, inexperienced and frankly clueless novice runner. So not much has changed, then. Still, with five races under my belt, including my first marathon, I’m well on my way. To what, it remains unclear. Here’s what I know: the last twelve months has allowed me to cover new ground (quite literally) and add a new dimension to the monotony of my daily routine. Running and all round fitness training is now inherently within me; a lazy weekend has left me desperate to hit the roads tomorrow, just for the sake of staying active. The buzz is still there and I want to do more marathons, in faster times, across the whole world. Patience is key, as always, and I must find a way to balance the demands of my personal and professional life with the delights of running.

My absence over the last month owes to several factors. Training itself has taken up much of my time, with increased gym sessions and swimming taking centre stage. In recent weeks, I’ve made a comeback to running, with a view to increasing speed and building up towards some races in the Autumn. Aside from the World Cup (more on this another time) taking up much of my leisure time (and beyond), it seems I have recaptured my academic mojo. Whilst the DPhil remains a hard slog, I’m no longer stuck in neutral and even have a finish date in my sights. I hope to submit my thesis by next Summer and am currently spending much of my time writing up my results so far. It seems too convenient to attribute my recent academic form to running, but the comparisons between these two seemingly polar opposite endeavours is not lost on me. Both entail long periods of uncertainty and frustration in the face of stagnant progress, but slowly and surely reveal subtle lessons the sum total of which make for quite the life lesson. In short, success is defined within and if one approaches one’s interests with a cocktail of patience, sincere intentions and genuine passion, there’s little one is not capable of.

My plans beyond the DPhil remain as clouded as my aspirations for running. In the meantime, I’ll continue to follow my heart and throw myself into that which serves up the perfect balance of meaning and joy. The DPhil must take priority over the next year and now that I have some momentum I must pounce on the opportunity to see it through in good time. Running will remain a focus but there are serious issues to address; do I go barefoot, as seems to be the direction in recent weeks? Do I focus on strength and work towards an all round fitness challenge like a triathlon or head for future marathons? And what of these ridiculously tight hips and worryingly wobbly knees?

Questions remain and the search for answers will continue.

In any case, this blog has surely outlived its usefulness, since my thoughts are no longer primarily occupied by running. It remains an important part of my life and I hope it will continue to bless me with great moments, but it is now in the backdrop of what is a very busy time for me. It is without a sense of hyperbole that I suggest the next few months represent the most defining period of my life. For reasons mentioned and otherwise, I feel I’m in a transition phase, ready to break through walls and arrive at new frontiers.

I’ll save my goodbyes for a farewell post, as any such post warrants an in depth review of my running journey itself. The blog may expire but let’s be clear: Runner ‘Been is going nowhere.

Competition

As is prudent after a series of distance races, running has adopted a subdued role in my life in recent days. The plan is to rest up for around six weeks (of which two have passed) before resuming a serious regime in July. I am enjoying the rare pleasure run; each one feels like a sustained victory lap. At some point though, I must rid myself of these feelings of triumph. I feel it is important to take the time to enjoy one's victories. There are some I continue to revel in even today. But to rest on one's laurels is nothing short of criminal.

I am tired by the sight of mediocrity. I don't mean this in the sense of talent, for I am no more than a triumph of the middling myself. But to see people, many of whom are indeed blessed with amazing gifts, instead follow for the status quo and settle for average is sickening. My belief is that most people are unwilling to put themselves out there (wherever there is). The fear of failure all too easily cripples the mind into the submission of believing that average is acceptable. But whilst our capacity to achieve great things may be limited, surely it's a crime not to reach for the summit and truly explore those limits.

I sincerely feel that I've accomplished a defining goal with my running in recent times. Even though a 3:48 marathon is far from stunning (around 10,000 runners beat that in Paris alone), I place it somewhere near the top of my personal achievements. But my success in running is defined not by numbers, but a continuing desire to better myself. Next stop sub 3h 30. After that, well I guess there's only one way to find out. It would be galling of me to stop now and claim I've conquered distance running when, in fact, I know I'm capable of so much more.

I'm known to be competitive; perhaps too much so. But let's break this down. Do I have a need to be the best? If so, I'm setting myself up for perpetual disappointment. I am skilled in few pursuits and in not a single one can I identify myself as a master of the field. That is not the competition I seek. Rather, it's the internal battle to be the best I can be that drives me forward. Our time is this life is finite, why waste it on half-baked efforts? This high-octane approach is very much round-the-clock for me. You will not see me play a casual game of Pro Evo or Monopoly. Neither one is close to my heart (not anymore, at least) but if I am to invest my time into either one, or anything else for that matter, you'd better believe I'm going to give it absolutely everything. The moment you start compromising even on seemingly frivolous pastimes, the floodgates open and the descent from greatness beckons. As a disclaimer, I am adamant that this ruthless mentality must be coupled with a degree of respect and sense of grace. As Pacino said, "On any given Sunday, you're either gonna win or you're gonna lose. The point is, can you win or lose like a man?" Too competitive? Not a bit of it.

With certain endeavours, there are clearly defined goals. As an undergraduate, Countdowner or Pool player I had/have a tangible finish line. But where and when does the challenge of distance running terminate? After all, one can maintain their peak well into their 60's. If the marathon is conquered (and by no means has it been yet) I can increase the distance. Or strive to beat my PBs on any of the race distances I've covered. The challenge to improve and realise my full potential is immense and will take some years to even touch.

Since almost all of my training is done in isolation, on the surface running doesn't so competitive. But make no mistake, my thirst to compete is as prevalent as ever. But now it's me vs me. It's impossible to call a winner.

Top five

With my first, self-defined, running season concluded, it seems this blog has little life remaining. Still, I'll keep writing up my thoughts as and when they come, without forcing the issue. In truth, I've surprised myself in keeping it going for so long. It would appear I have a lot to say on the subject, regardless of whether or not it makes any sense.

For now, I'm happy to look back to some of the defining memories of the last thirteen months. It's difficult to compare the different stages of the journey, but certain moments stand out and are due another mention. The countdown begins here...

5 Breakthrough

I'd been labouring away for around two months, struggling to cover even three miles without regular stoppages and even at slow jogging pace. Head dropped, I entertained the thought of giving it up, since it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Maybe I just wasn't cut out for this running lark. Then it happened; on one defining run last June three miles became four and I was buzzing, with energy in the tank and breathing under control. Before I knew it, I'd hit five miles with only one thought on my mind: keep going. On I went, until I eventually hit the treasured 10k mark. Still at slow speed, but for the first time I'd demonstrated endurance, and loved every minute of it. And there my love for running was born as for the first time I believed what once seemed unthinkable: I can do this.

4 Ramadhan nights

As I embraced the holy month of fasting, I realised this was the period that would define my preparation for my first big race, the Birmingham half marathon in October. With the days so long, my only reasonable option was to hit the roads in the dead of night. I soon became reliant on the eery silence of the Oxford streets in the deep hours and what was once a daunting prospect soon became one of the most uplifting experiences of running.

3 Birmingham Half - The arrival

My mind plagued by injury concerns, I entered the much anticipated race with a heavy dose of scepticism. Could my knee really last 13.1 miles? And would the race really live up to expectations? Within seconds of the start, these negative thoughts were replaced by the ultimate runner's high. My first race, surrounded by 12000 fellow runners in the carnival atmosphere of Birmingham. And boy did it help; to date it remains my most clinical performance, a 1:38 shattering even my wildest expectations. Hype became reality as I delivered on the big stage.

2 Jurata

With my marathon hopes hanging on by a thread, it was all or nothing at the Maths conference in Poland. On paper, I had no chance here; limited food options, disagreeable weather and academic commitments did not form the ideal backdrop for my longest training run. But with the Baltic coastline providing the setting, and weather almost ideal on the day itself, the run manifested itself as sheer joy. The sea, along which most of the run took place, made for some of the most beautiful scenery I've enjoyed. At times I was flying and by the end, I'd made the crucial breakthrough. For the first time, I believed I could beat the marathon.

1 Paris

An epic event in every sense; the culmination of twelve months of blood, sweat, tears and so much more. I left for Paris on Saturday morning and was back by Sunday evening. Everything in between remains a haze except for the race itself. I could not possibly forget the 3:48 journey that led me to a defining moment in my life. The last hour delivered all the promise of the fateful wall and so much more. It's a strangely profound feeling to endure such pain and come out the other side smiling. For all the emotion that running has brought with it, the finish at Avenue Foch was the one time I couldn't hold the tears back. This moment alone was worth all the stress, uncertainty and anguish that came before it. A timely reminder of what one can achieve when their heart desires and their mind wills.

It's curious that these moments are in chronological order, suggesting that as time goes on my experiences with running may become more significant yet. How I will top Paris I don't know. But I can't wait to find out.

Finale

I am minutess away from watching the finale of Lost, a moment I have anticipated for years. Following that, 24 will sign off tomorrow; a show I have avidly followed for even longer. Good things are coming to an end; I just hope they both live up to the hype.

I had my own season ending drama in the Coventry half-marathon yesterday. In theory, it was supposed to be a casual homage to my hometown, with the hard work done in Paris weeks ago. But the blistering heat (upwards of thirty degrees) and most gruelling route to date shattered this illusion within the first mile. Regular steep hills, rising temperatures and a bout of stomach pain were just some of the attractions of offer. Every time I settled to a comfortable pace, some other body part would scream out in protest. Throughout, the cardiovascular side was in turmoil as the hot air suffocated my lungs. This is not what I signed up for; running was supposed to be a thing of beauty but every step was sheer agony.

In these moments, my months of training did little to ease things up on the physical side. But distance running is won in the head. If you can honestly convince yourself that you are bigger than the moment, bigger than the race, you may just have a fighting chance. And there was no better way to convince myself than to draw upon my previous experience. Thoughts of the kilomathon flooded back but, above all, the last 10k of Paris. This wasn't any harder than that fateful day, surely? Actually, in many ways it was. Paris was pain, but comfortable breathing. Here, I faced unprecedented conditions, my breathing was out of whack and my muscles felt as fatigued as ever.

It's helpful, almost crucial, to have mantras to call upon in your darkest moments. As I laboured up the hills, I was Lance Armstrong ("pain is temporary but quitting is permamnent"). In the final miles, I was Rocky Balboa, "going the distance". And all the way, the strongest thoughts of stopping were entertained, but not realised. I've prided myself on never stopping, and certainly not during a race. Kurt Russell's "Miracle" speech proved pivotal; if I had ten races in these conditions I'd probably stop in nine. But not this race. In this race, I was the best distance runner of all time.

I came through in 1:48, a far cry from my PB of 1:38, but in many respects this was my most impressive outing. Performances are too easily judged by numbers, but in my mind to get through those 13.1 miles without stopping was up there even with Paris. And so, despite not having the pleasure race I was looking for, to regain that rare the feeling of accomplishment was well worth the blood, sweat, tears and giant blisters.

So the season really is over, but the journey continues. One step at a time, and my next move is simple enough; I will enjoy the next week, get an overdue sports massage and enjoy the moment.

Speed work

Earlier today I completed the Oxford Town&Gown 10k in a very pleasing time of 44:10. The race was everything I expected; the route mirrored much of my training runs and the tempo was high from the very first step. This made for a difficult race, with my chest tight throughout and no respite until the finish. This is what 10k is all about; if you're not feeling the burn, you simply aren't going fast enough. This presents a fundamentally different challenge to even the half-marathon, where one looks to maintain a decent but comfortable pace.

I've not done much speed work in recent months, aside from some intense sessions on the rowing machine. I'm not keen on pushing myself to the limit of extreme torture, where running becomes a chore. I passed that phase months ago and recognised the beauty of distance running. Still, to break my target of 45 minutes at the first time of asking leads me to wonder just how far I can continue to push my 10k time down. Today's effort was sterling, but far from perfect, with some slow kilometres towards the end.

For now the focus must remain with getting through my last big race of the season; the Coventry half-marathon next Sunday. I was already feeling a little stretched, but after the intense race today I feel almost broken. Almost, but not quite. I may just have a big race left in me and today's performance gives me confidence in setting a good time next week.

I've attempted one of each of the four main distances (10k, half-marathon, kilomathon and full marathon) but now I will embrace the challenge of beating a PB. Since the Birmingham half remains my most clinical performance, I am more hopeful than expectant, but it is the last race of the season, on home turf. Why not?

Nostalgia

Anticipation is building ahead of the Coventry half-marathon on May 23, which will signal the end to my running for this season. Thereafter, I will confine myself to gentle pleasure runs and use the time to address some underlying issues., such as my running gait and upper body strength. I've also signed up for the Oxford Town&Gown 10k, this coming Sunday, most of which will cover my training route. I'm feeling fresh enough, although my body may well cave at any moment.

It is strange then that my mind is consumed with poignant thoughts of a more optimistic time. This bizarre turn of events in my head was triggered on Tuesday night, following victory at the university Pool tournament. The St Anne's college team has been on a journey for four years; starting in the depths of the fourth division and rising to the summit last year, finishing 3rd in the top flight. The real glory lies with Cuppers though; the World Cup of Oxford University Pool. Following a devastating defeat in last year's quarter finals, under my captaincy, this year really was our last chance saloon, since all but two of the original eight man squad will no longer be at St Anne's next year. With the departure of my doubles partner Ed, our best player and only Cuppers winner (a mixed doubles champion), expectations were tempered, yet we eased our way to through the group stages as top seeds.

After a solid run to the semis, we hosted the unbeaten favourites, St Johns, and came through a tense 7-5 battle. In the final on Tuesday we faced our conquerors Keble from last year and avenged our bitter defeat, clinching a 7-5 win to take the honours. I won Varsity recently but it simply did not compare to this moment. All our hard work and passion came down to this one, final chance, and boy did we grab it with both hands.

After the initial euphoria died down, I dreamt a dream of times gone by. I realised this was my final great Pool moment, and there have been may of them, for the joy of playing with such a wonderful and talented group of people can not be matched. I've had my time, and what a great time, but now I must move on. My future Pool career is plunged in doubt, but for now I've signed off in true style with my first winner's trophy.

On Wednesday I hosted the annual St Anne's Mathematics dinner, introducing the guest speaker Hiten Patel. A colleague of mine during our undergraduate days with whom I have formed a fond friendship over the years. His spirit and energy during the evening, in both his talk and the dinner, reminded me of those glory years of my undergraduate days where I was full of love and passion for my subject, whilst being surrounded by some of my closest friends.

Great days indeed, and I will never reach those heights in Oxford again. With my zest for the subject waning and my passions diverted elsewhere to running, Pool and whatever else, I feel I am unable to fulfill whatever potential I have in my current role. Teaching will always offer a profound sense of accomplishment and the PhD itself will prove a defining achievement if I ever complete it, but my approach is nothing more than graft at this stage. I yearn for the fire to burn within me once more, a fire that running has kept alight but which needs re-igniting with a major attitude shift. I must accept that I need to get out and re-define my goals, as I do not belong in the academic world.

To answer the frequently posed question, I have little to no idea where to go beyond Oxford. This place is all I've known for the last seven years and I need more reflection before I commit to a lifelong career. I refuse to submit to a generic role. There are certain goals I will not back down on, like raising the ambition of the youth, and any career I settle on must leave scope for me to do this. If that means it takes a little longer or some creative thinking to get there so be it. I'm all about the flair.

For now, I'll content myself with the 10k on Sunday. With the absence of music (no iPods etc allowed!) it may not be my most joyous run, but a sub 45 minute excursion will make the medal feel well deserved.

Pool of talent

In most pursuits, I consider myself a grafter, having to make the most of the limited skill I have to reach my full potential. A notable exception is Pool, where I have no hesitancy in saying I am blessed with a touch of raw talent. This is seldom enough though and having not picked up my cue for over three months, expectations were low going into Varsity week.

I scraped my way through trials with some consistent but uninspiring play, littered with errors characteristic of a man out of practise. Having made the team, just three days ahead of the match, I had little time to sharpen my tools. Still, I could do no worse than last year when, after winning the trials, I succumbed to a dismal 0-3, 0-3 showing in the singles (there was some redemption with 3-0 in doubles).

This year threatened to end up even worse as my erratic form manifested in some wonderful shot making, but ultimately reduced me to another 0-3 on singles. With Oxford 30-18 up overnight, it seemed the match was in the bag but with my contribution a nonentity. On the second day, at 0-2 down in the doubles, my fortunes reversed as I negotiated a decent clearance. With my second singles clash to come, Cambridge had clawed their way back into contention.

My kamikaze approach finally paid off, with some flair, unorthodox speed play unsettling my opponent into unforced errors. After finally getting my first Varsity singles frame on the board, I kicked on to win the exchange 3-0. Utter relief and sheer joy. Sweet enough in itself; the demons of last year (which ended 45-45, meaning Cambridge held on to their title) firmly put to bed. To add the cherry, this final frame took Oxford over the line and won us back the title after a six year wait.

I pride myself on my entertaining and thoroughly unpredictable kamikaze approach. It makes for nervy viewing for teammates, and often has tragic consequences, but I feel Pool should be played with instinct and not over-thought. It's interesting how this is in stark contrast to my approach to running; which is far more considered. My strength here is with consistency and discipline, a mantra echoed by a good friend. Rarely do I sprint or speed up, instead maintaining a punishing pace from the first mile. With Pool, all bets are off with my no nonsense mentality.

Perhaps my enjoyment and success with running could be transferred to Pool by invoking this degree of patience into my game. However, Pool has ceased to be a priority in recent times, with practise limited at best and motivation often scarce. My involvement peaked last year as I reached the heights of the university team, whilst captaining my college to promotion to the top flight. In the end, it had to make way for running; a decision which cost me form this year but which I do not regret in the slightest. This Varsity triumph, and forthcoming tournament matches with college may well resurrect my interest in the wonderful game.

Marathon Diaries Part Four: Aftermath

What do you do immediately after achieving a defining and utterly tiring goal? In my case, I had no respite as my flight back to the UK was scheduled for the same evening. The race was done but the mission far from complete. Moving across Paris on the Metro was arduous, painful even, but accompanied by a sense of sheer joy. The ache after a long run is actually rewarding; a continuous reminder of a job well done. This was the longest of runs and the aches had never been so bad, the feeling never so fulfilling. Somehow, I had enough left in the tank to make it back on time. To my genuine surprise, it was a flawless weekend. The fact that I'd gone it alone added to the sense of occasion and achievement. I can only thank God that I made it through unscathed, with perfect health throughout.

The recommended recovery time for a marathon is twenty six days; one for each painstaking mile. In the week after the race, I totally let myself go, not training at all and stuffing myself with all sorts of junk food. It's important to liberate yourself now and then and this was the one window of opportunity I had to satisfy my nutritious urges.

After a week though, the itch was back and light training resumed. Running was off the cards due to a strange, unpredictable acute pain in my right foot. An x-ray revealed it was mild tissue damage and not a break, suggesting rest was the sensible option. Not a huge blow given that I ought to have been taking it easy anyway. However, I don't usually conform to the status quo and, contrary to advice, resumed a more intense schedule, including some running, ahead of the Coventry half-marathon on May 23rd. My motivation is threefold: firstly, I love running and want to experience the atmosphere of a race as soon as possible. Secondly, I advertised this race as the final component of my "50 mile challenge" when I launched my latest fundraising adventure. Lastly, Coventry is home and the perfect way to sign off this season in front of family, having missed out on it in Paris. I also missed out on Coventry last year due to a cold; here's hoping my ongoing foot injury doesn't stop me this time.

Cross training is the way forward for now: lots of rowing, some cycling and back to the free weights. I've lost much strength having ignored these aspects, focussing solely on running over the last two months, yet I've never felt in better shape.

Marathon Diaries Part Three: The Race

After an agonising wait, the time had finally arrived to put to task everything I’d worked towards over the past twelve months. With every stride, I was one step closer to the dream of finishing my first marathon. But a four hour run warrants a degree of patience and longevity that it is prudent to break the 26.2 mile distance into small chunks. In my mind I had a four phase strategy: miles 1-8, 9-16, 17-20 and the final stretch.

My aim was to maintain a consist 8-minute mile pace for the first 16-20 miles, leaving me with ample time to hit the sub 4h and 3h 45 targets, whatever the last 10k threw at me. Indeed, the opening few miles of a race are usually an opportune time to get minutes in the bag, where one can clock even quicker miles without pushing too hard. In Paris, this proved impossible as the congestion of a big city marathon does not allow one to make short bursts and overtaking often presents a health hazard given all the elbows one needs to avoid. In fact, I found myself going slower than even in training and despite feeling fresh despite warming weather conditions, frustration was kicking in at the 10k stage which I arrived at in 52 minutes. To put this into context, in the Birmingham half I was there after 46. Still, phase one was almost complete and my body was holding up.

As I was expecting, the cardiovascular side was perfectly fine; by mile 10 I was well into my rhythm and felt I had much left in the tank. On the other hand, hip pains that were my main concern beforehand were worsening to the extent that I was now expecting to stop later in the race. There was at least some daylight between the runners now and I was able to push on ahead, getting to the half way stage by 1h 48. This is perhaps the most important stage of the race mentally, since for the first time you are able to count down the distance left to cover relative to that already conquered.

In anticipation of the wall, I cranked out my small stash of jelly beans for an invaluable sugar boost. The sun was well and truly shining down on us, but I tend not to sweat too much and on this most crucial of days, my bladder was holding up. I got to 16 miles at around 2h 11, on par with my effort in the kilomathon four weeks earlier. By now, hip pain was overshadowed by the familiar hamstring discomfort that had threatened to stop me in previous runs. The focus now was to get through to mile 20, as then surely the motivation to finish would be enough to get me through the final phase.

I was taking in many of Paris’s key landmarks along the route, but paying little attention to them. Instead, my personal highlight of the race was at the 17th mile where we passed through an underground tunnel that stretched for the honest part of a kilometre or so. With Eminem’s Lose Yourself blasting through my earphones and nothing but the runners in the vicinity, this was undoubtedly the most epic part of the race. My hamstrings were on fire now and lower down, my calves and heels were making their complaints too. The fun part of the race was over and the grunt work was in full flow.

My pace slowing, I laboured to the 20 mile mark and considered this testimony to all the hours of training. I had got there in 2h 47, on schedule, without stopping. My energy reserves were being depleted every few km, but every time I felt too hot there would be buckets of cold water to cool me down. When I needed an energy boost, endless supplies of oranges and water were picking me up. I was now entering the defining part of the marathon and had around an hour to finish 10k in order to meet my goals.

Completing the marathon without stopping was always a key ambition of mine. I felt the training would get me through to 20 miles and this indeed proved the case. But it came at an inevitable price of leaving me in excruciating pain. Now was the time to persevere through this pain, which would only get worse with more miles, to the end of the race. I was at the Wall, which I had envisaged in my head so many times. Every kilometre was torture and suddenly the belief that adrenaline alone would be enough seemed laughable.

The last 10k personifies the challenge of the marathon. By now, every muscle is screaming at you to stop. Except, if you do, it makes absolutely no difference since the pain persists. This is the ultimate mental battle that defines the fine line between success and failure. The temptation to stop and walk was massive, given that I could still get through in under four hours. But I entered the marathon with the inherent belief that I was bigger than it; that I could overcome any obstacle and endure anything that came my way. So in this sense, stopping was not an option.

To achieve this, I had to call upon the deepest of my mental reserves. I thought back to the darkest days of my life, as recent as three years ago but mainly my childhood, where day after day I would encounter torturous pain through my pancreatitis. Surely if I could manage the chronic pain and abdominal surgery, these final few miles would be easy enough, right? Wrong. The crucial difference is that with the former, one can at least seek pain relief and even when it doesn’t come one can win the mental battle because they are in an environment where everyone is fighting with them against the pain. In Paris, I was alone and nothing, not even stopping, would help the pain. All around me, runners were collapsing, packing it in, or walking. All looked dejected; as if they had lost the battle because the race had become bigger than their capacity to deal with it.

Two inspirations came to mind. Eddie Izzard; if he could run 43 marathons in one go, it was quite pathetic of me to struggle towards my first. I am no fan of Izzard or his comedy, but as a runner you must have the utmost respect for his accomplishment. Then Lance Armstrong’s mantra came to mind: quitting provides temporary relief, but a lifetime of regret. I hadn’t come this far to limp away in defeat. This was not the time for mediocrity; if I couldn’t rise above it now I may as well give up any pursuit of greatness.

So on I went. I thought I knew pain, but on this day, in these final miles, I finally realised what the marathon is all about. Overcoming barriers; not just the big hurdles but the impossible ones. Even though my pace had plummeted to 10-minute miles, I knew I was on the verge of making personal history. Glory awaited and the end was close. Five kilometres became four, then three, two and one. Then the final straight, where for the first time in the race I knew I’d done it. The emotions of the final 200m down Foch Avenue are impossible to pinpoint, but they were the sum total of the hardest struggle of my life. The last hour was nothing short of merciless torture. But when I crossed the finish line, I was so grateful for it. This is what I signed up for all those months ago. Even though I missed 3h 45, instead coming through in 3h 48, I realised the magnitude of what I had just pulled off. The tears that followed owed as much to this as they did the physical pain that had crippled my lower body. It was a pain that ripped right through me for a good hour after the race. As I sat on Foch Avenue, sharing the painstaking story of my race with fellow runners, I lost all sense of time. Even in this state of delirium though, I was careful to rehydrate and get energy levels back up.

In a defining image that will stay with me forever, I stood in front of the Arc de Triomphe, munching away at the halal burger I had just accosted, remembering the view from the top. I had visited Paris once previously, whilst a teenager in 2002. I thought then that the view was unbeatable, but looking around me Paris had never looked so damn beautiful.

This moment sits right at the top of my personal achievements. It was unthinkable a year ago. But there is nothing that can’t be done when the human spirit desires. In one sense, with over five million runners every year (and growing) worldwide, the marathon is the very definition of cliché. But I can assure you that no two runners will have the same story. Every race is a unique journey that ends with the same outcome for those who finish: sheer, unadulterated joy. These are the moments we live for. Many say after their first marathon that it will be years before they take it on again. But I have the bug and want to get back out there as soon as my body permits it. How can anyone get tired of feeling like this?

Marathon Diaries Part Two: On the move

The Paris mission was twofold. On the one hand, it would be effort enough just to navigate my way around the city and get to the race on time. My routes and schedule was clear in my mind: airport->expo->hostel->marathon->hostel->airport. Easier said than done given that it was my first time travelling alone. My limited exposure to French GCSE would be sufficient, I hoped, although in fact I was more reliant on the natives' ability to speak English.

So Saturday was mainly travelling from one place to the next. Not the ideal scenario for the day before the race. So much walking, standing and even jogging in certain instances left me feeling fatigued by the time I even got to the marathon expo. I was sneaking in short rests where I could but I feared all this movement would take its toll when it mattered the next day.

My concerns with fatigue and continued hip pain were quickly overridden by the sight of the Marathon Expo. It was here that I formally registered for the race and received my bib and other goodies. However, I was not expecting the sheer magnitude of the event, with stall upon stall of exhibitions. Somehow, there was even room for a bed company to make their pitch as well as a motor show. The prevalent theme was of course running and I did well not to give in to the temptation of spending money on merchandise. The Expo also boasted a 'Pasta Party'; with top quality, delicious pasta served in huge portions at just 3 euros. The perfect fuel for the exertions ahead. With its carnival atmosphere, I finally felt part of the marathon experience. Up to now, my involvement was restricted to emails but now I was in the heart of Paris, experiencing the same buzz of emotions and tasting the same quality pasta as the thousands of runners around me.

I'd loved to have stayed longer but I was in dire need of some serious rest. A few metro stops later and I arrived at the pre-booked hostel in the Latin Quarter. A wonderful area, perhaps too noisy, but only because there is so much going on there. The hostel itself lived up to its cheap price tag, offering basic facilities but getting the job done. It was very much in line with the honest nature of running a marathon and reinforced that this was anything but a holiday. I spent some time treating my legs to the treasured hot water bottle before crashing into an early sleep. One of my roomies ran Paris last year and ensured I'd have nightmares by offering spook stories such as the 'impossible climb' at km 36.

My sleep was minimal, but sufficient to give my legs the freshness they so craved on race morning. After a light breakfast and more hot treatment to the legs, I made my way to Foch Avenue, which is at the opposing end of the Arc de Triomphe to the Champs Elysees. The race would begin on CE but finish at Foch Avenue, with all gear dropped at the latter. There was no risk of getting lost en route, given that almost all passengers at this time (7am, Sunday morning) were dressed for the marathon.

The anxious long wait in the cold ahead of the race start (8.45am) was something to forget. Still, I was at the right place at the right time. I used the time to warm up, stretching everything I could all over. Inside my head a prolonged pep talk unfolded, the crux of which was that the time for bullshit was over. This is what I signed up for and I wouldn't have it any other way.

As I headed towards the CE I realised that part one was done. Now for the main course and the reason I was here in the first place. In four hours time, I'd know one way or the other if the mission was a success. The sun was out; not the best sign for the hours ahead, but for now conditions were good. The entire CE was flooded with runners, with precious little space to move and a deafening sound piercing the morning air. Yet this was the calm before the storm that was about to come.

Marathon Diaries Part One: The final days

Having returned from Poland, I was in optimistic mood, with my longer runs out of the way and just some gentle 2-3 mile runs to finish off a largely turbulent training programme. One of the key revelations of the full marathon has been the importance of preparation off the roads. Running is the bread and butter of training; a simulation of the real thing is irreplaceable. However, so much work is needed outside of this to keep legs fresh, muscles stretched and morale high. I've developed an unhealthy attachment to my hot water bottles and long baths, without which I could not have survived the long runs.

In the final days, hot remedies and rest were very much the norm. Perhaps my most effective asset, though, came in the form of my sports therapist Patrick Cane. After experiencing some hip pain, and for the sake of regaining added freshness ahead of the big day, I underwent an intense session which seemed to help if not eradicate the underlying problems. Months of training and lack of stretching in the right areas meant my hip flexors had become ridiculously tight ("special" according to Patrick). It's all too easy to neglect certain muscles when they present no obvious problem, but they always catch up with you. There was now serious doubt as to whether they'd last the 26.2 miles on Sunday. There was only one way to find out though and that was to run the race and see what happened. Such uncertainty poisons the mind with pessimism.

To add to my woes, I'd been dealt the severe blow that my parents would not be joining me in Paris, for reasons out of our control. At short notice, my sister offered to join me, despite the high airfares. Her loyalty dwindles not under the scrutiny of financial strain, but I could not allow her to spend so much money on what would be a brief, focussed trip as opposed to a holiday. It almost seemed fitting too; almost my entire training regime had been done in isolation and so what better way to finish off the journey than on my own in a different country? It was a daunting prospect to be sure; I'd never travelled on my own prior to this and now had to hope that I'd be able to take care of myself after the race.

So there I was, on Saturday morning, heading to Heathrow to catch my flight for what would be an historic and defining weekend in my life.

Catch up

I haven't posted since coming back from Poland a week ago. So much has happened since then, both in Poland and with the running, that it's hard to summarise. Instead then, I shall break down my lifetime's worth of thoughts into chronological chunks.

For now, let me just give the headlines:

- A tense final week as hip problems posed a huge threat and circumstances at home meant I had to make the Paris trip alone.

- Alone I went and embarked on a weekend to remember: a hectic Saturday involved much travelling and little resting but got me where I needed to be.

- Sunday, race day and the climax of months of training and speculation: 3h 48, no stoppages. History is made!

- Now back in the country, revelling in the glory and basking in the pain.

First, a disclaimer for why I didn't post last week. Usually I'm eager to hype up big events in my life and have no problem with raising expectations. But when one wants something so much it's often torture to think about it, with the fear of failure crippling one's mind. There are few things I've yearned for as much as the Paris Marathon and there were so many things that could go wrong that I dared not allow myself the indulgence of thinking ahead. Best to keep a low profile and emerge the other side, whatever the outcome, I felt.

Now that I have emerged, I do have much to say. Let's start by winding the clock back a week...

Nowhere To-run

I've never been a keen traveller. So much walking and sightseeing usually leaves me too fatigued to enjoy the surroundings. Egypt was historic, but hot. Andalucia beautiful, but tiring. My latest trip, to Poland, is certainly not a holiday but nevertheless a welcome break during which I've developed a new found appreciation for venturing into new places.

The measure of a city for me now is the scope to run therein. My experiences in Jurata, a desolate coastal region on the Baltic Sea, and the urban setting of Torun, have largely been defined by my ability to keep up training. In other circumstances, and for most people, Jurata would prove a chore (poor food, little life and inconsistent weather). But it does lie on a promontory that seems to go on forever, converging towards the edge of the sea itself. A runner's dream. Torun, on the other hand, is full of life, culture and beautiful scenery. But there is nowhere decent to run! The Maths institute is close to a bridge, which overlooks the river and spans around 500m. I can do no better than just run up and down it around twenty times. It says a lot about me that I consider this bridge the highlight of what is actually an amazing city.

A keen runner will always pounce on the opportunity to cover new ground; for a budding marathon goer it's absolutely essential. Running is universal in that it can be done anywhere, any time (pretty much). Packing my gear was simple enough and finding water even easier: what more could I ask for?

Paris is now 10 days away. Whilst Torun is unideal for this final stage of training, I need only complete two 10k runs before returning to Oxford on Monday. The buzzword for next week is chill. Taking care of one's body off the roads is just as pivotal to training as running itself, especially at this crucial tapering stage. My legs are far from fresh and there are, as always, some real injury concerns. But right now I'm happy to count down the days to what could be an historic occasion.

New territory

I wasn't as prepared for this week as I probably ought to have been. A 20 mile run and conference talk on back-to-back days warrant a serious degree of preparation. With injury plaguing my efforts in recent weeks and much ground left to cover in my subject area, doubts consumed my mind as to whether I'd be fit and able to take on these unprecedented challenges.

First, the run. Wednesday was the mid-conference break and the perfect time to attempt my first and only 20 mile run. I ventured along the promontory, starting in Jurata and heading up towards the Baltic coastline. Perfect weather, no traffic and a breathtaking close look at the sea. As I gazed ahead at the seemingly endless body of water, all the time focused on the precious three yards of ground ahead of me, the runner's high that has long eluded me came flooding back. Minor shin splints were a tame effort to spoil this; no camera to capture the moment but it will stay with me for a while. As a result, the first hour flew by. Of course, soon after I began to feel it, with my hamstrings stiffening up as they did at the kilomathon. Still, I felt I was far from done even after returning to my starting point around 16 miles and 2h 10 in.

Then came the defining period; at the kilomathon I'd hit the wall by this point, yet here I felt eager to continue. Every stride was by now a chore and soon I was in pain all over, but the incentive to hit 20 miles got me through, despite some steep inclines late on. I had been expecting the infamous "wall" to confront me; that moment where the body runs dry on glycogen stores and has nothing left to give. However, aside from the pain, which was quite severe by the end and would no doubt intensify if I went beyond 2h 45, I was absolutely fine. Breathing was easy and my upper body seemed to be holding up. Maybe the jelly beans were to thank, or my recent physical therapy and added rest. I managed to push the wall back a few miles and hopefully the progression will continue into Paris.

For the first time I felt I was bigger than the marathon. I have built up the last part of the race so much in my mind that I feel I can deal with whatever comes my way. But complacency may be my fiercest enemy and I'm well aware that the slightest factor could yet thwart my efforts. But for now, I'm over the hill and can spend the next two weeks easing the mileage and getting fresh for Paris. Just a day after the biggest run of my life, I feel almost fully recovered. I'm not sure how it happened, but I seem to have made the defining breakthrough at this crucial stage of training. Let's hope I can see it through the final period.

Buoyed by this success, but still incredibly nervous, I delivered my talk at the Maths conference. It seems I talk way too fast when on stage and it was far from inspiring. But I'm grateful for the experience (my first conference talk) and for not being lynched by the audience. It is no doubt a significant step to regaining my academic mojo.

Accommodation and travel are booked for Paris. Only a last gasp travesty can stop me now. I wouldn't rule it out, but for now I'll revel in my first 20 mile run.

Let epsilon be positive

The culmination of my training for Paris is proving to be surreal. The setting is Jurata, Poland, on the Baltic Sea, at a ten day Functional Analysis conference. In many ways, the situation is utterly shambolic. The conference itself is manifesting itself as a real joy, with an atmosphere ripe for creativity. Having breakfast with the leading experts of your field, whose work has astounded you over the last few years, is really something. My feelings may switch to those of trepidation when I deliver my own talk on Thursday, but by then I hope to have an extra spring in my step, for I hope to have completed my last long run of training.

The conference aside, my efforts are being hampered somewhat by the sheer lack of civilisation in the local vicinity. With the hotel food an absolute chore, and just one shop in the area, most of my meals consist of bread and cheese. Decent for keeping up the carbs, but annoyingly my masterful plan of bringing pasta with me has fallen flat on its head since there is no way to cook it. With cold weather, a strong wind and much snow, training conditions are far from ideal.

Still, the marathon runner's mentality has at its core the appetite to turn negatives into positives. Our hotel is located on a 20km promontory, which is mainly flat and perfect to run along. Today I managed to track down a swimming pool at a nearby, swankier hotel. Despite its tiny size, it was sufficient to give me a much needed workout. I've also squeezed in two runs since arriving here on Thursday (after an eight hour coach ride from Warsaw) and am set for the long 'un come Wednesday. The target is to run for 2h 45 with brief stoppages only. Jelly beans and water are at the ready and I have all of my kit (minus the headband; somehow forgot to bring it along). With a decent bath and kettle that just about boils, and freezer that just about keeps ice packs cold, I am able to maintain the healing regime in between runs.

If I do get through Wednesday's run, I will begin to entertain the prospect of Paris, to the extent that I'll book flights and accommodation. From that point, tapering will take over, as I'll ease off on the mileage, instead focussing on keeping my muscles fresh and stretched. I hope they'll have healed suffieciently by Thursday to allow me to stand whilst delivering my talk.

I'll be in Torun next week as a guest of their Mathematical Institute, before returning to England the Monday after. These are hectic times; in many way defining. It's game time.

Polishing it

Warsaw provides the backdrop for this overdue post, as I arrive in Poland for a three week academic stay. With much going on in all aspects of my life, finding the time to keep this blog up to date is proving a chore. But the show must go on.

The highlight since my last post was undoubtedly Sunday's kilomathon. A 26.2km/16.3 mile run from Nottingham to Derby (my place of birth) proved testing, but not impossible. My goal was set at a tentative 2h 15. I consciously chose not to push the lead all the way like I did in Birmingham last October, as I needed enough left in the tank at the finish to convince myself Paris is still realistic. However, my lack of training due to injury in recent weeks showed and by mile 10 I was visibly slowing, with swarms of runners overtaking me. By mile 15 I'd hit the wall and my only focus was on finishing without stopping. This I managed, just. And the decent early pace ensured I met my target. Happy days.

Still, it makes me shudder at the prospect of adding 10 miles to this in four weeks. I was completely gone by the end, with my hamstrings seizing up to the point where even just standing was painful. I still intend to run Paris, though my target is revised to under 4 hours. I'll also need to get some serious training in whilst in Poland. It's not the ideal setting, particularly with the streets covered in snow, but I'll take what I can get.

The coming weeks will no doubt provide some defining moments in my life. Here in Poland, I am due to present some work in front of a star-studded audience (stars in the world of Functional Analysis, anyway). This is both exciting and daunting, but perfectly feasible in comparison to the prospect of Paris. The marathon is giving me added confidence in other walks of life. A talk at a conference suddenly seems natural, as it is just another mechanism by which to perform. And in maraton training, one develops the ability and confidence to perform at a supreme level. The decisive moment will come on April 11 though, if/when I do enter the race and inevitably hit the wall. My hope is that training will get me through to 18-20 miles (which I will attempt in Poland). After that, all bets are off.

Painful truths

With the kilomathon looming, it was prudent for me to step up training this week, despite ongoing foot pain. The pain is proving to be one of the most intriguing characters in the epic tale that is my marathon journey. Or perhaps more the relentless villain, hell-bent on ruining the dream ending.

The condition seems to be gradually worsening, as one would expect with an increase in mileage. As a result, I am resting as much as possible in between sessions, even limiting my daily walks. With hot and cold remedies in the mix, I seem to have it under control for now. The good news is that during runs the pain seems to peak in the first half hour and then settle down to a manageable state. I upped the distance to 12 miles today and despite an early struggle, came through with energy to spare. Perhaps worryingly though, the pain spread as the run went on; an ominous sign of things to come. The kilomathon should be fine, but the prospect of going 26.2 miles is more daunting than ever.

Make no mistake, the marathon is a notch above its worthy predecessor, the half. It was perhaps too optimistic of me to imagine that the tougher breakthroughs were at the bottom end. I hoped that with increased distance, it would be easier to keep adding miles. But adding even a mile beyond the twelveth takes considerable effort. Presently, the 16.3 mile distance of the kilomathon seems just about plausible. Then perhaps 18, at a stretch. But the fascinating aspect of the marathon is that training ends at the 18-20 mile mark. It as at this point that the body begins to break down, running out of glycogen and experiencing unknown discomfort. Only on race day will I know if adrenaline and the occasion is enough to get me through.

Five weeks until Paris and the dream that last year seemed futile is within touching distance. But the crucial period lies ahead and with a three week trip to Poland on the horizon, it will be anything but standard.

The Countdown Specials

While the title may sound like the birth of an unlikely superhero franchise, it was precisely for this reason that I found myself back in the hot seat on Monday. Around a month ago, I received one of my best emails of 2010 so far; an invite from Countdown series producer Damian Eadie for a special show against archrival Charlie Reams. It was the last of four specials filmed that day, with other lineups including the fascinating Laddiman-Sfyris showdown and downright awe inspiring prospect of Bevins-Davies.

As a veteran of game shows, I can proclaim with no hesitancy that Countdown is a cut above the rest. Even though this was just a friendly encounter to fill up a slot in the calendar at some arbitrary point later in the year, it was another opportunity to experience all the thrills of appearing on my favourite quiz show. The beauty of Countdown is its wide ranging appeal; consider that its target audience consists largely of OAPs and young blooded students. It is the latter which tend to dominate the show as contestants, thanks largely to their willingness and ability to learn endless word stems and number tricks. With a buzzing online community and plethora of real life competitions, Countdown exists well beyond the screen. But there's no doubt that the greatest joy lies as a contestant in the studio itself. With an engaged audience and tons of cameras focussed on you, it's the perfect stage on which to shine.

As always, the experience began long before I even entered the ITV studios in Manchester. Having arrived in the hotel (all expenses paid!) the night before, the sight of the other contestants was a welcome reunion. I was in a self serving form of semi-retirement until I received the invite, from which time I practised enough to be confident of my prospects. I'd neglected the forum in recent months and missed the last few real life tourneys, meaning it'd been a while since I'd last seen the guys.

Countdowners form a special bond for many reasons. For me, it's probably because nobody in my everyday life has enough of an interest to want to discuss or play the game. With this lot though, we did nothing but. Watching series 60 champion Kirk Bevins display his incredible word knowledge was par for the course. Sad, maybe. But my kind of sad - I wouldn't have it any other way.

It was a pleasure to see young Kai Laddiman again (although at 13, not so young anymore). At 11, he wowed the nation by reaching the semi-finals of series 59 (which some joker went on to win). The strange thing is that Countdowners exhibit a childlike excitement for the game, meaning he was anything but out of place amongst us oldies. Aside from his obvious flair for the game and academic prowess (A Level student in Maths already), it's actually his down to Earth demeanour and zest for life that really stands out. Remember the name, because this guy is destined for great things in life. His tussle against Dinos Sfyris, a very likeable and highly capable player, was the perfect example of what makes the game so enjoyable to watch. Dinos recently appeared on The Krypton Factor and his performance has inspired me to apply; more on this later.

Speaking of brilliance, we were treated to the ultimate battle between the two champions of 2009; Kirk Bevins vs Chris Davies. The top two players of our generation and arguably of all time. It did not disappoint and we even got to see Davies solve the Rubick's Cube in 25 seconds (he wasn't quite at his quickest).

And what more can be said about Charlie Reams? Think me but whiter, slightly funnier, not quite as good looking, but equally charming. I've battled with the Cambridge PhD Computer Scientist twice before in two close contests. I edged the series 59 final but he avenged me in the Championship of Champions QF that followed soon after. A decider was always rumoured but to actually get the chance to do it on air was a real privilege. I tend to enjoy our games; decent enough quality but what really sets them apart is the enormous amount of fun we both have. We tend to exchange knowing glances in between every round. This game was perhaps my most watchable, with many twists and turns and a whole load of laughs throughout. I shall say no more.

That night, I found myself talking to Jeff in the hotel. As an eight time marathon runner, he imparted his inspiring words of wisdom on me: "Don't stop during a race. Ever." Fair enough! I stuck around for the Tuesday recordings, mainly in anticipation of the 5000th show, enjoying the games as a spectator. I think this will be my role from now on; I've had more than my fair share of thrills as a contestant. Still, I'll always accept any invite to go back. No other game show is like it. The game is played with such grace and class that it's so hard to let go. Which is probably why I continue to compete online (on Charlie's wonderful site) and in CO-events. It's great to be part of this family and I intend to stick around for a while.

The Mubeen-Reams decider will be aired on August 16.

Breaking it down

With just over a fortnight remaining before my first planned race, injury continues to paralyse my efforts. I've now had three sessions with therapist Patrick Cane, who continues to emphasise the importance of stretches, teaching me new tricks along the way. I almost look forward to our weekly sessions, despite the inevitable discomfort of his deep muscle massage. Sports therapists are the real world analogues of Jack Bauer; getting paid to inflict pain. In an almost masochistic way, I quite like the idea of my dodgy muscles being broken down so that they can rebuild in the right way. It's definitely worth putting up with if the long term result is easier, pain free running.

Speaking of which, I did venture out on an 8 mile run on Thursday. I'd not ran for over a week so was wary of my fitness levels, even though I had kept up CV training through swimming and the cross trainer. The result was adequate enough; 62 minutes suggesting I was still on form. The shin splints were minor extras, but the foot pains stole the show again. The pain surfaced at mile three, peaked at five and then stabilised. How on Earth I'm meant to run twice this in a fortnight is a daunting prospect. Still, with continued therapy and lots of stretching and therapeutic remedies (think Radox baths and hot water bottles), I'm hoping the pain will get no worse and maybe even disperse over the crucial weeks ahead.

Paris remains on, but with tempered expectations; I am mentally prepared for the very real possibility that the marathon will be delayed. The kilomathon will be an honest measure of if I am on course in two weeks. Until then, I am having to compromise on mileage, striking a balance between not overdoing it but running enough to condition myself for the full race. My training has taken a severe hit, but is not quite dead in the water.

A welcome relief from this strain was a return to the Countdown studios as a contestant; see the next post for a review (no spoilers).

My left foot

It's been over a fortnight since my last post, the longest lull since I started blogging last year. It's due not to laziness (though that does account for a lot of other things in my life), but my lack of desire to discuss running whilst injured. Yep, I'm injured and then some. Shin splints were the problem initially but issues with my left foot manifested during a 'casual' 6 mile run. Before I knew it, running felt painful and lethargic, suggesting I was having real problems in my lower legs.

The cruel irony is that this flared up very soon after I launched my second fundraiser, advertising a trilogy of races beginning with the kilomathon on 14th March. In the last 10 days, I've done very little running. I gave RICE a try but even after six days a 5 mile run proved too testing. This was despite buying new running shoes (and socks!) and attempting a slower pace. With the first race looming, drastic action was needed. I somewhat randomly came across a local strength trainer, Patrick, and after a pleasant phone conversation arranged to see him on Tuesday. After a thorough 90 minute debrief, which including him stretching me out some, he was very confident in where my problem was: my leg muscles, particularly the calves, are far too tight, accounting for both my foot and shin problems. He demonstrated with real panache the difference a bit of stretching can do. By getting me to squat before and after, he was able to convince me that some sustained therapy might be prudent.

I am due to see him again on Friday. In the meantime, I am off running and all training is in the pool and on the rowing machine (which is growing on me despite its ruthlessness). In the meantime, I'm regularly performing some stretch exercises he taught me. We hope I'll be running again within a week and that my plans for 14 March, and especially Paris on 11 April, are still on track.

Patrick's sessions will no doubt prove useful, but also expensive, at £35 a pop. I am happy to invest some serious money as I feel he can and will make a difference. I hope it's enough to see me through Paris, as that is the only real goal for now. I can address underlying issues thereafter, no doubt aided by my sessions with Patrick.

So for now, patience is key. I may well have to resign Paris, but that will just mean delaying the marathon by a few weeks. Given how far I've come so far, and how long the experience will stay with me, it'll be worth the wait. I don't just want to finish the marathon; I want to run it and run it well, without stopping or walking. For reasons that will become abundantly clear in a few months time, I will only be attempting one marathon this year and not two, as I originally planned. So time is still on my side. But I am itching to get back on the roads. Heal, muscles!

Setbacks

Yesterday signalled the return to my long run, a 'casual' 14 miler at steady pace to maintain fitness levels before pushing it up to 18 miles next time round. Within minutes, I realised the run would be anything but casual. A stiffness in my shins suggesting I was either fatigued or was suffering from tight muscles. It imposed an excruciating level of discomfort in what would otherwise have been a relaxed opening few miles. By the end of the 5th mile I was forced to stop; I can't recall the last time this happened. I've kept up an impressive record of completing every distance I've set out to cover. However, it now seemed I'd have to settle for a shortened excursion.

After some desperate stretches and loosening my running shoes, I set off again. Breathing was a breeze but the pain continued to dominate. A frustrating experience which suggested I had 9 miles in me at best. I stopped again after mile 6 and found myself walking for a while before I resumed a 3 mile steady jog home. It was during this period, with Eminem blasting through my headphones, that my legs seemed to embrace a new lease of life. Within the next mile, I was feeling fresh enough to up the pace and contemplate the 14 mile run after all. By the time I'd finished mile 8, my face was plastered with a cheeky grin. An astonishing twenty minute turnaround; an emphatic demonstration of the beauty of triumph over adversity. The final five miles presented a new challenge but one I was expecting: the shin splints are back and here to hound me for a while. It'll be back to RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation), but for now my concerns were drowned out by screams of joy at finishing the run in 1h 58. Six minutes above my last 14 mile effort in December, but this race was very much about endurance not speed.

By the end, I was grateful to have gone through the early suffering. There is no doubt in my mind that, however well prepared I may be, I will hit the wall in my first marathon. I anticipate the last few miles being a battle of will, which could well break me. It will be in these moments that I draw on past experience for inspiration. To know that you've overcome the suffering before is a huge weapon. That's what this run gifted to me. Never has suffering been such a pleasure.

I remain concerned about injury; it seems I'm always contending with something. Shin splints have been dealt with before but are a major hassle. More worrying is my right ankle, which seems to flare up in the latter parts of my long runs. They are setbacks, to be sure. But I'm still going for now, at a level that gives me confidence in launching my next project. Stay tuned.

A necessary obsession

Half-time at the Emirates, United 2-0 up. So much for Arsenal. I'm listening to the game on radio. In any other year, I'd have made the effort to catch it on SkySports, but I've made a conscious effort in recent times to distance myself from the emotions that go hand in hand with supporting Man Utd. I decided I was investing too much time into following their progress and have therefore limited my viewing. Champions League games and end of season title deciders will remain compulsive viewing, but it ends there. Perhaps I'm a part-timer or second rate fan, but the simple fact is that there are too many other, more worthwhile pursuits I'm currently following.

Still, it's difficult to detach completely, exemplified by my feelings of outrage after Tevez did the damage at Eastlands a fortnight ago. Despite Utd making it through, it was a stark reminder of how difficult I find it to let things go. On a similar theme, I've relaxed my commitment to Pool. After playing Varsity last year, it was clear that to even maintain my form would take much effort. On Friday though, I produced some fine form and recaptured the glorious feeling one gets when clearing a table. It's tempting to hit the practise table to keep the form up, but that would inevitably eat into my training regime. I'm going to have to rely on raw talent, which will no doubt have disastrous consequences.

With the marathon, I feel this absolute approach, maybe even obsession, is not only justified but necessary. With so many things that can go wrong, I have to make sure I'm doing everything I can to shift the odds in my favour. Extra training sessions are a no-brainer in the face of the challenges ahead. It means reducing my commitment to other endeavours. So maybe I won't make Varsity this year, or am just a part-time Football fan. But ask me after my first marathon if it is worth it. I think I may already know the answer.

Running tracks

I've neglected any real discussion about what I listen to whilst running. A glaring omission, given that music plays a key part, especially in my longer runs. It was suggested that I use my time on the roads to listen to talks, podcasts and the like in a bid to settle my mind. Apparently time seems to speed up with this kind of distraction. However, it is not in my interest to lose sense of time. I am eager to absorb every last second of the experience, especially when I'm in the so-called 'zone'. These moments are golden and largely the reason I run in the first place. I need my mind to be focussed on running , but in a way that still allows it to drift. To keep concentration levels up I need some way of drowning out the sound of my footsteps or laboured breathing.

Thankfully, music seems to address all the points in one fell swoop. I'm generally not into music and certainly can't single out a genre that appeals to me. It's usually the tunes that get my attention, not the words. Still, with running there are some incredibly uplifting messages that seem wholly relevant in the middle of a run. But to go for 10+ miles in one stretch, the mind must be allowed to drift and so most of my music is orchestral, often movie soundtracks. The classics never fail; the Rocky theme is equivalent to an emphatic pep talk.

There are some songs that seem mediocre at best, but are ideal to run to. Sometimes you just want a harmonious melody to complement your surroundings and gentle pace, especially in the latter stages of a run. Other songs can help give you a second wind, particularly those with a rip roaring tempo.

Currently, my top 5 running tunes are:

5) Mad World (Gary Jules)

A new discovery for me, this won't be found on many runners' playlist. Yet there's something so soothing and meditative that makes it ideal for running. The meaning isn't so relevant, but the tune seems like the perfect partner to the striding motion. Its poignant melody reinforces the emotional component to running. I found myself singing this aloud (which I rarely do for any song) on mile 16 of my latest long run.

4) Going the distance (Rocky soundtrack)

A magical but often understated piece from the legendary Rocky films. This tune is played in two iconic scenes; the fight in Rocky and training montage in Rocky II. The message is clear; endure against the odds and fight to the end. Perfect for a distance runner, but very short in length.

3) Requiem for a dream (Mozart)

I'm generally not into classical music and this piece itself does little to inspire me most of the time. But when I'm running, it speaks volumes. As it gathers pace, so do I. By the crescendo, I find myself sprinting and yet totally at ease. At 6 minutes or so, it can get me through the best part of a mile; perfect for near the start of a run when I'm looking to hit top speed.

2) Tomorrow (Salif Keita)

This African song is played twice in the (Will Smith) Ali film and is best remembered as the backdrop of the gripping climax. When I listen to this, my mind journeys back in time to Zaire, 30 October 1974 and (for me) the most glorious moment in sporting history. This is the track I intend to have on when I cross the finish line of all major races. I barely understand a word of the lyrics, but it is incredibly uplifting nonetheless.

1) Lose Yourself (Eminem)

This is a motivational track for all endeavours. It's helped pump me up for exams, abdominal surgery, a Countdown semi-final and now running. An ode to the art of performance, this song/rap will make you believe you can take on the world and beat it.

Triumph over adversity

The physical benefits of distance running are self-evident. Since I took it up last April (although it was around June time that I first hit 6 miles), I've conditioned my body towards a lean build, putting on 4kg in weight, lowering my resting heart rate and enjoying generally good health throughout. However, this is all very much a welcome bonus to the true benefits of this sport.

There's no question that running is a journey of the mind more than anything else. Training takes care of the physical side, but to run for 2 hours without rest regularly requires a deeper appreciation of the the joy that running can bring.

I owe a debt of gratitude to running, for it has taught me lessons to take off the roads and incorporate into all apsects of my life. In particular, it demonstrates first hand how we can overcome seemingly impossible obstacles, as long as we have enough belief and dedication. As I was limping the final leg of a 16 mile run on Monday, I wondered how I am ever going to add another 10, given how exhausted I was. Then I recalled that only 7 months ago, I was revelling in my first 8 mile jog, thinking then that it was a huge landmark. And indeed it was. Now I'm able to run twice that. With 11 weeks and much training ahead, the issue of running the full 26.2 miles is not today's problem. For now, I can bask in the triumph of completing my first 16 miler, in a fluent time of 2h 08, well within my target of 2h 15.

It's not the triumph alone that is so rewarding, but the fact that there have been times where I've doubted I was capable of such distances. Weak bones, asthma, pancreatitis and more tells you I'm not exactly your textbook athlete. So when injuries occur and pain reveals itself, I find myself consumed with this doubt. It is in these moments that I turn to inspiration. Especially during a run, when at times it seems easier just to give in, I think of some of my role models and the example they set.

The history of running is full of incredible figures. Abebe Bikila, the original and best of the African distance runners, always comes to the forefront of my mind when I think about running. To win the marathon gold in the 1960 Games was astonishing for many reasons, not least because he ran barefoot from start to finish. But even more inspiring was his defence four years later, smashing the world record and stunning the crowd by immediately warming down with a series of dynamic stretches. He took distance running to the hugely competitive and popular level it's at today.

Bikila is only one of several people I look to for inspiration. What running has given me is the ability to see the greatness in everything and everyone (for the most part). Not just runners, but everywhere around me I see people battling great adversity and emerging triumphant. In this sense, running is the perfect metaphor for life. There will always be barriers; the challenge is not in removing them but rather confronting them head on and achieving great success on the other side.

Spirit of the Marathon

You know that feeling you get when you watch a film and you know you've just witnessed something quite special? You leave feeling replenished, like it's going to have a real positive impact on you? It happens to me every so often and less so in recent times. However, I've now had that feeling twice within the last week.

I finally got round to seeing the hugely hyped Avatar. As a huge fan of James Cameron (Terminator 2 is my favourite film by a country mile), my expectations were high. Suffice to say, it didn't disappoint. A predictable plot was immaterial in the face of some stunning visuals (and I only saw the 2D version) and an incredibly crafted world. Cameron is the epitome of pure imagination. The world he creates and the characters therein are utterly breathtaking. Well worth the £6 entry fee.

Yesterday, I finally got round to watching the much less known 'Spirit of the Marathon'. Released in selected cinemas only in 2007, it has yet to make it to this part of the world. But the wonders of YouTube strike again. In 10 parts, you can see the entire documentary, which profiles six runners as they prepare for the Chicago Marathon. From an elite Kenyan athlete to first timers, the film captures the essence of distance running without being too imposing. Add in some dramatic background music throughout and it really is a masterclass.

For an aspiring distance runner, it is compelling viewing. Right now, the thought of crossing the finish line is a distant pleasure, but watching this really brought home what makes the challenge so special. Seeing the genuine emotion as the runners cross the line, watching the sea of 37000 runners come together with a unified ambition and witnessing the highs and lows of the epic 26.2 mile journey is a welcome reminder of the wonders that lie ahead.

The film covers every aspect of distance running, from its rich history to the particulars of training. The six runners are a great mix and between them highlight the wide reaching attractions of this great sport. For some, it's an unrivalled opportunity to be part of a team effort whilst for others it's a welcome brand of escapism. I'm definitely amongst the latter, working hard to become a so-called 'zen runner', losing myself out there all on my own. There's no doubt though, that the experience of running alongside thousands of others will be monumental.

When I cross that line (God willing), it will be a defining moment. "Life changing", according to professional runner Dick Beardsley. With Paula Radcliffe also amongst the speakers, it really is a great opportunity to discover the spirit of the marathon runner.

Here's part 1. You could do worse for inspiration.

Snowed in

Crikey, only a day ago I walked along the clear roads of central Oxford with only the occasional hint of ice, scoffing at nature's attempt to thwart my training. Fast forward 20 hours and the view from my window tells no lie. All I see is white, the snow besieging my surroundings and relentlessly growing by the hour. Ten inches thick apparently, and yet there's more to come. A small trip down the road to Tesco is daunting enough, let alone a run.

I can't recall this much snow in the UK since I was a child, way back in the early '90s. Back then, it provided the perfect backdrop for snowball fights and snowman building. Now, it's a major drag. Maybe it's a sign that I'm getting old, or just more boring. Although, part of me would love nothing more than to get out there anyway and see what happens. What better way to re-enact the legendary training scenes from Rocky IV? Indeed, in the marathon I have my very own Ivan Drago, an incredibly powerful and quiet opponent that will show no mercy. Maybe I should just embrace the extreme conditions and run for the hell of it. That's what real men do, right?

Sounds awesome, except I'm under strict orders from mum not to run until the snow clears. Ah, well...the exercise bike will do for now.

Sign me up, Fergie

Oh dear, Man Utd 0-1 Leeds Utd. That would have been unforgivable at the start of the noughties, let alone now. We can't even put it down to inexperience as it was a near full strength Man Utd side. Well, whatever full strength means at Old Trafford these days.

Dismal. Appalling. Lacklustre. And that's just Berbatov.

So Sir Alex, if you're reading this (and let's face it, you probably are), pay attention. I am offering you my services. I can run for 90 minutes straight, without stopping. I just did 12 miles in 1h 42, and that's slow compared to usual (icy roads, you see). With a full marathon the next target, my fitness levels will only increase; subject to avoiding injury. Although, the Owen-Hargreaves pairing (yes, the pun was intended) suggests that's not an issue with you. I'm not very talented with a football, but the Nani-Park pairing suggests that's no issue either. In any case, at 25 my best years lie ahead. Complacency and grandiose feelings of self worth are alien to me.

For what sum must your club part, you ask? I'm a simple guy; £500 a week will do. But make haste, because enquiries have been made elsewhere. OUISOC will guarantee me regular first team action (though, admittedly are unable to match my wage demands).

The ball is in your court (another intended pun).