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.