A new world of hurt

Thirty three days to go.

You want to hear something that sounds utterly crazy? I'm pretty comfortable with running thirteen miles now. Not only can I do it without feeling overwhelmed or exhausted after, but I don't experience many lingering pains or discomforts. Sure, there are the usual aches and muscular clenches, but nothing nearly as severe as it was back in December, when I first reached this milestone.

What I've learned now is that my body can tolerate the half-marathon distance fairly well - quite comfortably, even. For me, the real test of stamina and endurance comes into play once I hit the fifteen-mile mark. That's when things change.

Martin Lawrence appears at my side to announce this moment.

Once I hit this figure, my body reaches peak endurance. Everything beyond this becomes a test of sheer willpower. I have to tell myself to keep going, keep going, keep going. Two weeks ago, I reached the amazing new milestone of seventeen miles - the last lap of which saw me practically screaming 'Come on!' at myself over and over to keep going and not give up or falter.

It's not just a mental challenge at that distance, but a physical one, too. At fifteen miles, the pressure that has been steadily building inside my knees reaches critical mass. My calf muscles begin to seize, burn, and throb all at the same time. My lungs begin to ache from the strain of controlling my breathing for almost three hours. My vision starts to blur - colours shift and swim, and I start to see faces in passing trees. It hurts like hell to keep going - but stopping makes it so much worse.

What I wouldn't give for this kind of torment...

If I slow to a walk, everything starts to burn from within. It feels like fire spreading across my legs, knees, ankles, calves, thighs - everything all at once. The only way to make this agony end is to pick up the pace again - but that's nigh-impossible after already running for three-plus hours. It gets worse as the distance increases, until I'm ambling along in this pained forwards-crab-walk, desperately trying to keep moving, wishing the pain was at an end already.

Last week I reached nineteen miles on my run and that damn near finished me off. The pain I described above only gets worse with each mile, steadily doubling until I'm unable to do anything except run and wheeze and scream at the night sky. I felt drunk after that. In fact, I was told that I looked drunk. I came back to work and collapsed on the floor, talking in gasping, broken fragments that might have sounded like English, but probably wasn't.

New personal best. Will I be able to beat it before the big day?

At least I know what to expect on the day. And given that I'm capable of reaching nineteen miles in just over three and a half hours, I can probably afford to slow down a little and postpone this agony as much as possible.

I'm not running for myself anymore

Forty five days to go.

I came to a strange realisation during my run this past Monday: I'm not running for myself anymore. Once upon a time, I would lace up my trainers whenever I felt like it and enjoy a quick thirty minute run-walk-jog around the park at the bottom of my road. Even after finishing the 'Couch to 5K' course, I was mostly running for myself (people told me that I looked slimmer and that was a really nice thing to hear).

Even those small compliments felt like this.

Those days are long gone. Now I lace up my trainers with other things on my mind. I've one goal, one vision, one thought occupying my mind during every minute of every run for the past six months. The London Marathon has clouded all my thoughts. I'm still nervous, still excited, still barely able to believe that I will be tackling the most famous marathon in the world.

I'm not running for myself anymore. Not for my own health or my own pleasure or my own benefit. Now I'm running for a cause. I'm running because there are people relying on me. I'm running for all the people Crisis are going to support with the donations they receive. I'm running because people have sponsored me and believe that I can do this. But most of all, I'm running because I have to. I have to do this. Six months ago, it seemed like a crazy dream. Now I'm just over six weeks away from the biggest, most daunting challenge of my entire life.

Minutes?! Jeez, calm down, Mr. Endurance.

Can I do it? Yes. I believe in myself. In all the training and preparation and reading I've done in anticipation of the big day. All the vegetables and protein shakes and eggs I've consumed, knowing what the effect would be on my body. I'm feeling good about it. There's just the 'small' matter of trying to finally hit the big 2-0 mark before the end of the month. I can do it. I know I can do it.

I know because I have to do it. I'm not running for myself anymore. Every step I take, I can feel the support and energy and willpower of every single person cheering me on. All the donations, all the jokes, all the questions and encouragement and support - I can feel every single one of them flooding my body with every step. It keeps me going. Keeps me focused. Helps me push through the pain and press on, no matter what.

Thanks, guy.

Even when the torrential rains begin at the ten mile mark, I don't quit because I can't. I am committed to this. There are people counting on me and I will not let them down. Crisis. The homeless people they support. Everyone putting in money to show their support. I will not let you down.

Nice.

Thirteen soggy miles

This past Tuesday, I did something I've never done before: went for a run in the pouring rain. It was a strange experience. I've run in cold weather and boiling sunshine and light showers, but never in constant, monotonous rain like that. At first, it was pretty amusing. People gawped at me in cars and chuckled from under their coat hoods as I raced past, ignoring the cold water pelting my face. But it soon began to wear me down.

Two and a half hours in the cold downpour. Not my finest moment.

After the first hour, it stopped feeling so funny. I started to feel cold. I zipped up my light raincoat and kept going. My hood kept blowing off or obstructing my vision, so I ignored it and carried on without. Halfway through the second hour, I had to ease back on the pace more often and that's when I started to feel genuinely miserable for the first time ever. I've never felt that way while running before. Even if I force myself to get out there and go, my spirits have always picked up as the miles begin to tick by. The feeling of unrelenting misery; of running beneath endless dull, grey clouds; of racing through constant, unceasing rain was thoroughly unpleasant. The worst part about this is that the cold and damp seeped into my clothes and left my joints feeling more achy and pained than usual the day after. It seems that wet knees require even more love and attention than usual.

I wanted to try and hit fifteen miles again, or - even better - to reach a new personal best, but the rain and the cold worked together to dampen my mood and totally throw me off my game. At thirteen miles, I called it a day. Hey, at least I know that if it rains on 28th April, I can still run half the marathon.

Like these poor people. I don't know what's more disheartening - running in it, or trying to cheer people on from the side.

In other news, my fundraising has finally crossed the halfway mark! This is utterly incredible! Thank you to everyone who has chipped in so far. We've still got a long way to go, but there's plenty of time.

Look at that! Amazing.

As for me, I'm planning another run today, but those heavy clouds are slowly rolling back into place above me. I'm trying to steel myself for another inevitably damp and disheartening session...

The big push begins

Fifty three days to go. I still want to try and hit the big 2-0 mark before the end of the month - that's my goal. I'm planning to run after work (weather be damned!) and hoping to reach a minimum of thirteen miles tonight, more if I can. It'll be tough if the weather is as poor as the forecast suggests, but I have to do it. What if it rains on the big day? Can't call off the entire marathon because the British summer arrived early.

Pictured: summer in the capital.

My fundraising is going really well, too! I'm so thrilled to have raised just under half of my goal - almost one thousand pounds! Absolutely incredible. A massive, massive, massive THANK YOU to all the wonderfully generous people who have chipped in so far. You're going to make a huge difference in the lives of people who really need our support.

Look at that! We're smashing it!

I've never done anything like this before. Not the run, not the fundraising - none of it. I sometimes throw a bit of change into a charity pot if I can, but that's about it. The was a challenge I set myself - to do something right, to give something back, to try and help people who really, truly need it.

And, of course, I'd be lying if I said that the opportunity to run the biggest and most popular long-distance event in the world had nothing to do with it. I want to push myself to the limit and beyond. Some people ask me why I chose to put myself up for this. The answer is pretty simple. I want to know if I can. I want to see what I can do. The chance to run this event is simply too tempting to ignore.

A lot has changed in my life over the past few months. I wonder where I'll be a short few weeks from now..?