Like Butter On a Cat's Paws: Next on the To Do list, 26.2 miles

One week to go (14 April)

With few miles to get through physically I’m all in my head this week. It’s not pretty.

As promotion begins and the rest of London’s marathon consciousness stirs, I retreat further and further away from the starting line. It seems simultaneously massive and tiny, easy and impossible, real and illusory. My coping mechanism is to ignore it all and the more people focus on it the more I descend into vague, unsatisfactory platitudes: It’ll be fun, nice to experience the atmosphere, should be good. My family and friends try to generate some enthusiasm about champagne, cake, rest; but the truth is, this was always about the training for me, not the marathon. I already feel lost without it.

My final Sunday run is far from triumphant. I emerge kitted out as usual for the British Spring (base layer, two t-shirts, fleece, cagoule, gloves, woolly hat) only to discover that it’s unusually sunny. There’ll no doubt be plenty of wind still, I reason, but bravely turn back indoors to ditch the hat. An hour later I return, drained of energy and soaked to the bone in sweat. Turns out it’s 19 degrees, and there’s a reason why you’ve never heard of Bikram Jogging. There’s a genuine fear that I might pass out through heat exhaustion and it’s many hours and copious pints of water later that my urine stops resembling butter. I spend the rest of the day in bed, feverish. Ah well.

Unintentionally bedridden I realise that I’ve still got some work to do. I need to work out how to get to the starting line on race day, I need to restock my iPod, I need to get some rest. And OMG: I need to work out what to wear.

In the last two weeks we’ve had snow and we’ve had sun; biting wind and cloudless skies. My face has been pounded by hail so hard it stings and yet I spend the next day reading the Sunday papers topless in the Wandsworth sun. It all makes for difficult wardrobe decisions, I’m sure you’ll agree: And clothes have never been my forte. I’m lucky that Hire Fitness Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire has sponsored me and provided me with a top to wear on the day, that could have been a nightmare of indecision. And don’t I look pretty?

I’ve got some loose ends to clear up with this blog, bits of running that I meant to talk about and never did. Like finally getting the point of London’s cycle ways – Brisbane had hundreds of miles of interconnecting cycle paths, completely separate from roads, so it was a bit disappointing when Boris’ revolutionary bike scheme turned out just to be the odd strip of woad. More The Wizard of... than Oz. But they’ve been a massive help for navigating when lost so no complaints here, even though they seem to think that most people on bikes are heading for Elephant and Castle.

I also never got round to marvelling at Nike+, a fantastic device that allows you to ruin Facebook and bore the shit out of everyone else via social media. I never got on board the ‘Map my run!’ trend but wish I had, if only to contribute my own fair share of spam in face of endless ‘funnies’ and domestic minutiae. Facebook is dead, that much is obvious, and I look forward to deleting my account once all fundraising avenues have been milked. Nike+, on the other hand, will be with me a while longer. The best thing about it is the congratulatory messages that come at the end of some runs, though I seem to have graduated to a Fifty Shades of Gray edition perpetrated by meaningless American athletes. Shelly Flannigan wants me to enjoy the party, Sonya Richards Ross compliments me on my boom. Tim Tebow likes my grind and asks me to grip his Heisman.

I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing

I’ve seen so many parts of London I didn’t know existed and throughout it all my surprise favourite London landmark has remained: Stand up and collect your prize, Battersea Power Station. It is such an iconographic building and takes on as many different forms as there are times of day and weather. I’ve charted its redevelopment over the last four months and its resolute immobility has been a constant reassurance for the final few miles home on my difficult outings. I also feel I know London inside out now: I can take you to Napolean’s toothbrush, Little Britain, Back Passage. The last few months have done more to improve my London geography than the past five years living here and to prove a point I’ve added some random photos to the bottom of this blog. If you can locate them all, I’ll give you £500; and for an easier challenge, see if you can spot the one that isn’t London.

I’ve also learned a lot.

That physical training is only half the battle, mental training is where it’s at
Portion control is bollocks: The suggested serving of cereal doesn’t fill a spoon
And soft drinks are universally shit
The people closest to you will be the last to sponsor you
Lance never used his balls anyway
If you raise £2k in sponsorship then you will pay out £2k sponsorship in kind
Marathons are as interesting socially as mortgages, ailments and dreams
If you’re in a pub sipping lemonade talking about running, everyone else wishes you weren’t there
That the devil has the best tunes, but God has the best architecture

There’s not much more to say, bar a massive thanks to everyone who’s supported me to get this far. Some individual thanks go to:

Alan Davis for The Tuesday Club podcast, the best on iTunes and my main support through some of the worst times. A well-timed jibe at the expense of the French football league has got me up some of SW London’s steepest hills.
Thai on the River, Battersea, for joking about ‘my usual seat’ when I burst in yet again on the way home to use the toilet. I promise I’ll come back as a paying customer.
Jedi Mind Tricks, Loso, Masta Ace, Kano, Doom, John Robinson, Cunninlinguists, Baby J, Skinnyman and anyone else with beats and lyrics to keep you moving. And TL for supplying them. Thanks too to Hospital Records and the Nextmen for their immense back catalogue of free podcasts.
Hire Fitness Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire for sponsoring me, and also for providing short-term treadmill loans to get through training when it's cold and wet outside. Genius.
Imperial College Healthcare NHS Trust, for making me re-apply for my job for the third time in 18 months and thus ensuring I have plenty to mull over whilst notching up the miles.
The 334 people to date who have read my blog. I realised early on that it was going to be of little interest to anyone but me, but decided to continue as a legacy for other average Joes wanting to give a marathon a shot.
My girlfriend, for being perfect. Only she would quietly book me a massage and wash my sweat-soaked pants after suffering weeks and weeks of stench and whining.
Anyone and everyone who has sponsored me and Diabetes UK - I really appreciate it.