Thanks for taking the time to look at this (and hopefully donate as much as you can), running the Marathon might seem a rather unattractive proposition to most people but it's been a dream of mine for many years now. 

Keep on Running.....

They say the training is the easy part, the big day is the hard one. “They” have clearly not trained for the London Marathon in the icy solitude of a January night after a 10-hour day at work. Do I push on for the longer loop I promised myself or do I take the short-cut home in time for my favourite mid-week TV programme? I remember the sense of pride at making myself put on my running kit and dragging myself out of the door, this spurs me on to greater efforts and I resist the siren call of the easy option. The running app selects another track on shuffle from the deepest depths of my iPhone, like a DJ at a cheesy school disco indulging me with the guilty pleasure of a long-forgotten S-Club 7 oldie or maybe a Francis Cabrel chanson to stretch my brain. Anything, it doesn’t matter, as long as it distracts me from the monotonous pounding of my feet on the pavement. I rack my brain for inspirational, motivational sound-bites to help me keep up with the relentless ringing of the alarm on my Garmin every time my pace dips below the stupidly ambitious target I programmed into it when I started off. “Better Never Stops” leaps to mind; is it allowed to walk on the steep uphill parts though, I ask myself? I think of the fundraising that is making this all worthwhile, impressively pre-learned facts and figures about the amazing work of the Stroke Association flit through my mind for those fifteen seconds of fame when Sue Barker pulls me aside on the day for a quick interview. “So tell me, why exactly are you running whilst carrying a ukulele?” “Well Susan, it’s all about raising awareness of the work of the charity in the UK, the 1.2 million stroke survivors, the fact that someone suffers a stroke every three and a half minutes.” The strings start to bite into my hand and bring me crashing back to reality, who thought this would ever be a good idea to run over 26 miles carrying a musical instrument? Am I seriously going to carry it around the whole way? Will Mr Raggett mind if, half way round, I ditch the school uke I’ve been training with, even if it’s gaffer-taped together after a sixth former sat on it and no longer works? If I meet another person out walking their dog who asks me to give them a song, I might scream; if I had enough air left in my lungs that is. Gradually, as I hit five miles, my muscles warm up, my breathing settles, the oxygen starts to hit my system like a shot of caffeine, I feel great. Forgotten are the initial pain barrier, the cold, the tweaks and aches, the dozen more “tartes tatin” that I need to bake and sell, the countless busking sessions to be held. It might be another two miles to get home, it might be another ten, who’s counting any longer?