I decided to set up this blog back in April, the day after I signed up for the Liverpool Marathon. I intended it to be a record of my pain, my struggles, and a record of something I can look back on in years to come after I have (hopefully) long finished running around Liverpool, raising loads of money for the Children’s Heart Association in the process. Innocently posting my first entry, I had nearly six months before The Big Day. Six months of struggling through training programmes, running around some of the most scenic parts of South Manchester, such as Sharston Industrial Estate, the A5103 Princess Parkway and especially beautiful, beautiful Baguley. Six months. Half a year. 175 days to be precise. Plenty of time.

I realised this week though that I am now over half way to actually having to run the bloody thing. The actual halfway point was July 13th, just before I dashed off to Latitude to lose all my money and generally get rained on for an entire weekend. If only I had known what a historic day July 13th was I would have done something to celebrate. And by celebrate, I mean silently weep to myself in a darkened room about how ridiculously quickly the past three months have gone.

So, less than three months to go then, and on Sunday I passed another halfway landmark of sorts as I successfully ran 13 miles for the first time since the Great North Run all the way back in September 2009. Half the distance I will be expected to run on October 9th, all in one go. And it felt pretty good, up to a point. The last two miles were best described as “bloody horrific”. I ran the 11 mile course from a couple of weeks ago, coming pretty much past my flat, then had to veer off to do a loop of West Didsbury to add the additional two miles. It was hot, it was humid and I was so not ready for it. I blame Jeff Gaudette actually. He advised on a steady pace up to the start of the ninth mile, then running the next four at a faster pace before doing the last mile slower as a bit of a cool down. What actually happened was that I ran a steady pace up to the start of the ninth mile, ran the next 400 yards at a faster pace, subsequently felt a bit like it was the end of the world, went back to my steady pace and then ended up running the last two miles at probably the slowest I have ever run in my entire life, finishing the last 200 yards at practically walking pace and having to spend the rest of the day dozing on the sofa. Why Jeff, why? Why couldn’t you have just let me run normally? IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT JEFF.

Come to think of it, I blame Jeff for other things too. I realised today that his instructions are wrong for the interval sessions that I usually do on Tuesdays. It’s obviously his fault for writing them wrong and in no way whatsoever my fault for not bothering to read them properly. To cut a long story short, I thought that the sprint/slow intervals were to be done for the entire duration of the distance, as opposed to a mere four to five repetitions at the end. Considering the runs have been around six to seven miles long this has led to rather a lot of unnecessary pain and suffering and I am probably lucky that I am still here to bore you all senseless with the tale. My poor legs.

Since I am still here, I thought I’d make you all an offer you can’t refuse. I received an email today from RunLiverpool asking me to recommend a friend to run the Liverpool Marathon. Who fancies it?

Don’t all rush forward at once.