The Blonde, The Brunette and Their Blisters
Part 6
The clock is ticking …
There are 5 days to go and I’m in bed with flu. After six months of training, through every element, day and night, this was not part of the plan. True, we were supposed to be taking it easy this week, but this is ridiculous. I’m shaking like a leaf with a raging temperature and swollen glands. My nerves are making it worse. I have nightmares about the finish line fading away, coming to a standstill half-way across Queensborough Bridge. The brunette calls … ‘Don’tworry, we’ll be fine. Think of all those runs … they’ll pull us through. Sunday is ages away …’ Am slightly reassured. Phone rings again. The British Heart Foundation rep. ‘How’re you feeling? Have you everything you need?’ I tell her my woes, desperate for more reassurance.
Before this weekend, things had been going pretty well. We had kept to our punishing schedule, despite unbelievable work pressures and ever-darkening nights. The brunette and I had both been involved in big pitches, working until the early hours and getting up to run before dawn on a day-in, day-out basis.
The brunette announced recently she was getting bored of London! Our well-trodden paths along the Thames were suddenly a bit too familiar. The route towards Richmond Park was getting repetitive. We were having to be creative in North London … our normal circuit up Haverstock Hill and across Hampstead Heath had been extended to include Highgate Village and Kentish Town and we revelled in getting a little lost … finding ourselves in places that we hadn’t already visited.
Our last ‘long-ish’ run was a testament to how far we had come. No longer content with circling ‘a’ park, we took in five, rounding Hyde Park, St. James’s, Green Park, Regents Park and finally Primrose Hill. In total, it was about 15 miles. We felt fine.
Our conversations had also taken new directions. After six months running step-for-step, we knew every detail about each other’s lives … in that time the brunette had bought a house and I had fallen in love. I can list every purchase she has made at Ikea, the problems with her skirting boards, her plans for th ekitchen … she can detail my first dates, what I wore and where I went. We know each other’s families, their various relationships, have discussed career paths and where we want to be in 5 years time.
More recently our discussions have been more focussed … we have planned the items we are going to pack for the finish line, what is on our Big Apple shopping ‘wishlist’ and what to wear on the plane. We have allocated who will buy which magazines, bring which beauty products and sort the music selection. With so much talk focussed on the actual race, it hadn’t really dawned on either of us until this week that we are going to New York City! The excitement mounts.
The press have just announced that Paula Radcliffe has decided to re-launch her running career in NYC. Cue quips from well-meaning supporters about overtaking her at 22 miles. Suddenly the BBC decide they are going to televise the event – Eek!
There are 5 days to go. We will be ready. We have to be ready. There is no backing out now. I reach across for the pile of flu capsules, vitamins and lucozade tablets. Its all in the mind.
15miles. 1 hour, 55 minutes. 1,000 calories.
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