23 Weeks to Go (11 November)
I was hoping to have rediscovered my enthusiasm this week but it’s not
really materialised. I’m still grinding
out regular runs but they’re getting shorter and shorter. And I’m getting tired, the increased exertion
over the last few weeks taking its toll on my unfit body.
Also, my initial excitement at rediscovering London has run into a
significant barrier: Even with daylight savings, it always seems to be night
time. In Brisbane I drove Gabriella mad
by setting my alarm for half five every morning to watch the sunrise; in
Paddington, I can pop out the office and catch it rising and setting in the time it takes to finish elevenses.
It’s like an advert for moles.
Finally, the fundraising side of things is spooking me slightly. I had an idea to host a football tournament
for the NHS and cover the venue cost with corporate sponsorship, but I’ve
misjudged either my own powers of persuasion or the severity of the current
financial climate. The pharmaceutical
industry would happily write a blank cheque for Harold Shipman a few years ago,
now it appears they’ve put in place all sorts of processes and justifications
for not throwing their money away. I
turn to my last resort, the medical rep, and cannot believe my ears when the
same person who invited me to attend a two-week ‘study tour’ of Dubai three
years ago apologetically explains that these days she can’t sign off so much as
a free pen.
I’ve also mentioned it to a few of my friends by now, whilst failing to
admit that the reason I want to collect a couple of grand is to buy my way into
the marathon. Without exception they’ve
told me stories of how people they know raised millions within a matter of
minutes, which is obviously no fucking help whatsoever but at least my hatred
of these anonymous people is fuelling my stamina.
It’s not all bad, though. For a
start, I’m now only aiming for £1,990 after I receive my first surprise
donation from Paul Mehta – surprise because I’ve not yet told him (or anyone)
what I’m doing. He’s tracked me down on
Just Giving after I gave him a pack of Tim Tams to say thanks for storing my
bike whilst we’ve been away, his place at the top of my ‘most generous man
alive’ ladder secured when he also texts to offer to fix my chain for free. Who’s that selfless?
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Further donations creep in. Bringing
a box of Celebrations to a meeting that coincided with World Diabetes Day yielded
surprisingly generous donations and my girlfriend is now so sick of my whining
that she’s taking a more active fundraising role. So far I’ve been filing her suggestions
mainly in the ‘need more development’ box, but I won’t get anywhere without her
constant enthusiasm and support so I keep my concerns about some of her ideas
to myself. Yes, popping to the continent
then selling bootleg fags and cheap booze might bring in some much needed
capital but a bit of me feels like I should at least pay lip service to
‘healthy’ fundraising. Having said that,
her suggestion of a work bake off adds a few more shiny coins to the tin and I
realise that what seemed an insurmountable task is fast becoming a task that is
merely very, very, very hard to surmount.
As my old boss used to say ad
nauseum, how do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
There are even some positives on the road, too. I’ve chanced my first run with a purpose
rather than just for the sake of it, jogging home to Clapham from Victoria after
a conference. With that under my belt
I’ve also jogged to work, 8km, a short distance in the scheme of things but an
eightfold improvement on my initial effort.
Funny to think that a distance that seems enormous on a bike in the rain
Monday morning actually needs a quick lap of Hyde Park tagged onto the end of
it just to meet 10k.
I’ve also identified some tools to increase my motivation, the best of
which is somewhat unexpected: Hummingbird.
A near-miss with a van as I crossed a road without looking led to my new
personal best time, as I followed the Hummingbird Bakery delivery van all over
West London dreaming of the treats that lay in store.
Having mocked people publishing their dreary Nike+ stories on Facebook
previously I’m now an overzealous convert, relying on it to keep me distracted
with podcasts as much as mapping my progress.
It’s a statistician’s dream, analysing the pace and distance of each run
in comparison with your averages but my lack of competitive spirit means that I
notice my interest seems to be purely academic rather than to motivate me to
run further and faster. There’s some
satisfaction when I finally run the distance of a marathon, though; admittedly
tempered by the fact that it’s cumulative over my last six outings.
Finally, I’ve had my first out-of-London runs, one in Nottingham and
one in Sheffield. The former came after
an unsuccessful job interview (“We’ve decided to offer it to the internal
candidate who has been acting into the role for the last six months”, not that
I’m bitter) and was very cathartic. It
culminated in a lap of the National Water Sports Centre whilst watching the GB
white water rafting team train to an audience of three: Where are you now, London 2012? Fickle.
It feels good to run past my old house by Trent Bridge and so I stop to
photo it, prompting the beginnings of a vague quest to take pictures of each
place I’ve lived as an adult. After
discounting my time living abroad I’ve still got houses in Derby, Mansfield,
Birmingham, Sheffield, Heanor and London to get round.... maybe I should settle
down for a bit, I muse.
This is the first of many life thoughts. The best thing about being out and about each
day is the thinking time it affords you and I’m coming back from each jog as
mentally fresh as I am physically tired.
And my thoughts at the moment are that I’m as likely to sack it all off
and bum around Italy for a decade or so as I am to complete the London
marathon, so watch this space...
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