Week 3

I've started noticing a lot of people asking how far I am running. I suppose it's their yard stick for how close to marathon standards I am, judging whether they think I am going to make it or not. When I reluctantly/embarrassingly tell them how far they either look very worried for me or laugh hysterically at me. The truth is I am probably not even going to get to marathon...

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Week 2

It was all going so well...this is this weeks efforts: Day 1 - My weekly 6am run, this time with my 10 year old son Joe. I was quite glad he agreed to come with me as it was so dark it's probably not safe to run around the park on my own. I figured I could throw Joe in the attackers way for a quick escape. At least, I would if I could catch him, he was sprinting circles...

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Week 1

Well I still hate running, but I feel good for actually getting through the first week without wanting to throw the towel in completely. I'm likening running to child birth at the moment. At the time (and a little after) it's hell and I want it to be over and I swear to myself that this will never happen again, ever. But after a while I forget the pain and think there was...

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I hate running...

It happened. A while back I had signed up for the London Marathon. For years I knew of people trying to get a place and failing, so I figured I'll sign up for it. I can be one of those runners without actually having to run. I'd just have to act disappointed when I get my rejection and join in with the 'oh dear, maybe next year' club. At least I could say I've tried to run...

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