My bag is packed.
To include:Trainers (check)
Painkillers (check)
Safety pins (check)
Nasty tasting gels (check)
Bin liner (thanks Emma for reminding me) (check)
Glamorous LDB for victory drinks on Sunday night (check)
Unglamorous flat shoes to accompany said LBD (sadly, check)
More painkillers to provide hangover relief following victory drinks (check)
My anxiety levels are sky high.
It's been a rough week at work; we've moved offices. Lots of organising, sorting, carrying and panicking. But it's been a marvellous distraction. So, when asked yesterday whether I was looking forward to the weekend, there was a pause from me; it was like being hit by a bus. The realisation that finally it's here. The culmination of months of training, good runs, bad runs, tears and tantrums, happiness and hills. Masked by project managing the office move. Now a reality.My fitness levels are questionable.
I've had a cold. But I'm feeling better now. Mostly. I've been spending most of the last week living in a mist of menthol. And I managed to rescue a printer during the office move by inadvertently volunteering my knee cap as a crash mat. Ouch.My friends are full of support.
How amazing is it to have such good friends? And how lucky am I? I've had loads of messages of support from colleagues at work, from family and friends. And masses of help from the supremely brilliant marathon guru Sam and sports masseuse Julie.
My husband is the best.
He deserves the finishers medal, not me. What that man puts up with is beyond reasonable. He truly is a Superfan, and takes his role very seriously.... duties include: getting me to the start safely, providing additional water/fuel stops, popping up and offering concerned looks at regular intervals throughout the race, verbal punchbag when it goes wrong, scraping me off the floor at the end - oh, and carrying my bags at the airport. He really is a diamond!
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