Yes I did. The whole iMarathon training programme!!
Yesterday, I ran the final set of 60s intervals. I ran in glorious spring sunshine around University Parks, running past French school kids on some kind of exchange visit who were lolling on benches, or snogging sulkily under the trees. 6 repeats of 60s sprints, with 90s rest in between each. And it was beautiful. Beautiful to work my legs, beautiful to be in the sunshine. A lovely, lovely way to spend my lunch hour.
And that was it. Four months of training. Done. I celebrated with a slice of cake (my first in months, although it has today been followed by my second. There’s a risk I’ll be dragging a whole extra arse around Brighton with me, at this rate!)
Now all I need to do is run an actual really-o truly-o marathon.
This final week of taper is a little like the last weeks of pregnancy. You’re all prepared; you know that what’s about to come will be hard and there will be moments of pain. You also know you’ve put the work in, and you’re as ready as you can be. You just want it to happen, please. *NOW*, if that’s at all possible. As the week’s gone on, I’ve got more and more twitchy. I’m doing all the things: making sure I drink plenty of water; visualising myself crossing that finish mat; reminding myself that I am just imagining that blocked nose/sore belly/blister… getting lots of sleep. Last night, I even packed my race bag. And my post-race bag. And my weekend bag. I’m ready.
I mentioned to the lovely and ever-patient Mr P, last night, that this was like the last weeks of pregnancy. He looked at me as though I’d finally lost the last remaining marble. And that, too, is a characteristic of this week. I’ve had that look a lot. (I haven’t. Lost it, that is. There it is, in the picture…)
Anyway, lovely Matt reminded me at lunchtime today that, very much unlike the last weeks of pregnancy, I *do* know how this is going to end. On Sunday, I will be induced. To run a marathon.