The countdown continues!

"This time in two weeks I'll be running" has become "ten days", and now... "three days", accompanied by the stirrings of a rabble of internal butterflies. The internet suggests a surprisingly extensive range of collective nouns for butterflies. I think I like "rabble" best mainly because it seems so incongruous, but also because the description will probably fit my abdominal sensations quite accurately by Sunday morning. Knowing that nerves won't help anything, and that they use much-needed energy, isn't doing a lot to diminish them so far!

Am I ready? That's what I keep asking myself. Well, there are certainly some jobs still to be done before setting off, mainly in terms of assembling the kit, food and information I will need for the 30 hours or so between leaving Kensington and finishing the marathon. I'll stay Saturday night at All Hallows Convent, Ditchingham, which has three retreat/guest houses. This should allow me to prepare physically and mentally, as long as I've remembered everything I need!

Maybe there is just too much guidance available for marathon runners nowadays. It seems every eventuality has to be considered and planned for, whether that concerns nutrition, hydration, temperature, comfort, or 101 other areas. A couple of days ago I found myself watching a video clip telling me how many grammes of carbohydrate I am likely to need for each mile of running, and how this can be translated into the ideal pre-race breakfast. It's very easy to be sucked into that scientific (or quasi-scientific) approach: to feel that any neglect of such matters is a sure route to failure, with only oneself to blame. But then I remember completing the "Cleveland Classic" walk - 56 miles in under 20 hours. The sum total of my preparation was a 28 mile walk a week before. Admittedly I made lots of mistakes and suffered as a result, but I made the distance, despite plenty of moments when I thought it was impossible to walk more than one more stride. Or I think of cycling and walking trips with Mum, when we found ourselves halfway up a mountain and wondered if we'd bitten off more than we could chew, or when we carried on several hours past the point of exhaustion with only an apple turnover to sustain us. The limits of human endurance are constantly surprising. Maybe getting round 26 miles isn't such a big deal after all. Hooray! No more butterflies!