Feb: More hill work and grabbing practice runs where I can. Barbados gym treadmill in 31º and no air-con was NOT a pleasant experience. Literally slid off the machine! Flight delays in the Caribbean owing to Montserrat's volcanic eruption have messed up home training schedule further. Back two days later than rostered, so only managed to do first half marathon run of the season three days before the actual Brighton Half.

Whole training is about three weeks behind now with snows etc. Usually do first half training run two weeks or more ahead of the event. This practice was really slow - normally reckon on under two hours (but I was physically knackered from all those rescue flights in the sun). Took two hours and twenty along the oldHalf Marathon seafront  route, Hove Lagoon to Roedean and back - with stops.

Hoorah! Just completed the Brighton Half without stopping in 1:58 and the nastiest, wettest, coldest conditions I can remember for this event. It was foul. My personal best is about 1:54, so things are not as bad as we thought. THERE IS HOPE PEOPLE! It took a shed load of determination (see image) and everything is hurting now. Finished the month with first attempt at 16 miles. Ran and staggered for 2 hrs 30 mins. Always hardest part of the build up, trying to breach 'wall' territory between 15 and 20 miles. Just have to keep at it. And at it. And at it....

Mar: Invested in a cycle machine at home in an effort to squeeze in extra strength building. Gonna have thighs like
the hulk at this rate. Also investing in some osteo crunching sessions to rebalance the frame and sort out the painful shoulder freeze. Did quick six miler today at tempo and it was relatively smooth. Feels like the base distance level and core strength are starting to shape up.

Sue is back from her travels. Lovely to hear from her today. Really lifted the spirits. Talking of which, been off the booze for a fortnight now. Never thought it possible! The paunch hasn't realised yet! Broke through my first 17 miler. The hips and shoulder are groaning under the strain - not pretty. But did it and feel surprisingly ok. Ran for 3 hours. Madness. Ran a fast 3 miles (half hour) at pace in LA and it went well. Four weeks of training left. Have to work on intervals, speedwork and hills to supplement the long slogs. Talking of which, another 17 miler this weekend. Maybe 20 miles. Dread :O/

Ran a half Marathon down route in Orlando. Then two days later another half Marathon along Brighton seafront. Any road up, the long runs are starting to take shape. Big thanks to Gemma from Virgin Atlantic for dragging my carcass out. Gemma will be running her first Marathon with us - and judging by her performance yesterday, she'll be ripping it up. Go Gemma.

Been watching the three part series on Eddie Izzard's 43 marathon round Britain run for Sport Relief. Here's part 3 -

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00rjv12/Eddie_Izzard_Marathon_Man_Episode_3/. Texted in my £5 donation. A paltry sum when you see what this fabulous man did. The biggest proof of mind over matter and stubborn determination. If Eddie can do 43 big ones in 53 days at 47 years of age, a brief shimmy round Brighton & Hove should be possible for this 46 year old. Now received my Martlets running vest. Thanks guys. Nice and purple. Will match my knees. Had 'for Martin' stencilled on the back and 'Wilf' on the front so folks can cheer us on. 

Finally managed to crank it up to 20 miles, running from Hove Greyhound Stadium out to Shoreham Power Station, east to Rottingdean, back to Hove Lagoon and home again. 3 hours and 17 minutes later it was done. Now everything aches or has seized up. Or both. Coming the opposite way along the seafront was another runner in his purple Martlets vest. We stopped and shook hands. Solidarity is a good thing. New York tomorrow. I wonder if the legs would manage two laps of Central Park next day...? Thanks for the latest sponsorship contributions folks, this is what makes it all worthwhile.

 

Apr: Winding down the training now. Just back from Los Angeles where despite jetlag and fatigue I managed 8 miles in the hotel gym on the first day and 7 miles around the Pasadena Rose Bowl the second day. And guess who was on the flight home? Mr Eddie Izzard! We had a lovely chat about his mammoth 41 marathon feat for Sport Relief. I felt very humble in his company, but true to form he was incredibly matter-of-fact about the whole thing. Things I learned from Eddie: he had to run without music so he could hear the approaching traffic and react / he calls this kind of un-charted road running 'ferrel running' / the annoying thing hanging from his waste while he ran was his high-viz tabbard / his kit was sponsored by New Balance / his body grew more used to endurance running the more he did it / each marathon stretch was back-to-back, taking him right around the UK - no transfers by transport between runs / he believes we are built for this kind of exercise / he became at one with the countryside, much as the native American Indians do / he's now experimenting with barefoot running. How utterly random and amazing that was!

Managed to stay of alcohol intake for Lent. Strangely a glass of red wine no longer has that alluring appeal. Probably a good thing, but a shock to the system! Managed a 6am half marathon along Brighton seafront  - not a natural time of day for Wandering Willufs - and a couple of short runs. Nice to see the Army Fitness mob working out on Hove Lawns! Good luck guys and girls. 

Just back from some bone crunching at the Osteo! With the wind down to the big day, the frame is suddenly feeling achy and inflexible. Lots of stretching, resting and pasta-ring. Butterflies and palpitations kicking in. But we've been here before. Fortune favours the brave, so deep breaths and.........calm! 

16.Apr :  A text in from Gemma of Virgin Atlantic to say she's stuck in Narita owing to the closing of UK airspace in the wake of the Iceland's volcanic fallout. So after months of training she - and no doubt many others - won't be home in time to run the race on Sunday. Such a shame. She will be really down about this (and I'll be missing my running buddy) :O( Bummer. So where's the bright side? I guess we'll have to find Gemma another marathon to run. The weather on Sunday looks like it will be more clement than previously forecast. The sponsorship is still climbing and there's a medal and blues gig waiting at the end of the line, as well as plenty of friends and well-wishers around the course. It's going to be a glorious day. :O) 

18.Apr - Race Day! As ever it was very hard to get any sleep the night before the run. Endless tossing and turning as nerves and anticipation mounted. The day dawned with clear skies and sunshine, so on went the lucky marathon shorts (veterans of two London runs), deep heat, Nurofen gell and nipple plasters. On the head, face and neck went factor 30 sun screen, and a marathon training T-shirt under the Martlets vest to protect shoulders from the sun. All set. Lump in the throat as I approached Preston Park and the starting pens. And then next thing I know, the gun goes and I'm running Brighton's first marathon. Quite surreal after all the preparation. It was wonderful to be running on familiar ground and bumping into familiar faces. Yells of hello from fellow runners who live locally, family and friends lining the route and of course the cheering station of Martlets supporters. I had set a target of finishing between 4:20 and 4:30 as training had not been so rigorous this year. My two London efforts had been 4:23 and 4:21 respectively. The first half marathon up to16 miles went very smoothly with a time well ahead of my personal best. I was on course for between 4:10 and 4:20. 

Then turning at Boundary Road the right hamstring started to complain quite badly and I could feel a deterioration in my pace and balance. Not comfortable at all. Teeth gritted, stride shortened further, I pressed on to Hove Lagoon and the stretch out to the Shoreham Basin. It didn't get any better. This was the nastiest part of the course. It just went on and on and on endlessly. Then it went on some more. Sardonically, City art students had built a façade across the route with two portals and painted it up with the words THE WALL. They were dead right. Welcome to hell. This is where your guts, grit and determination make or break the day. It's NOT funny. It's plain nasty. Tooth and nail survival. It hurts, You shouldn't be there. If you had four legs they'd be putting you out of your misery with the quick crack of a pistol. 

I passed under the huge extended arm of the dockside lifting crane under which hung the 21 mile sign and resigned myself to a recovery walk. This lasted right around Shoreham B power station for a mile. At 22 miles the overhead sign read "You've just been through hell". Too right. I swung my shoulders and lifted the legs back into action. Pain, pain, pain. Weary. Sleepy. Four simple miles to go. Three laps of Hove park in training terms. But four miles I didn't have. The hamstring was screaming. The hip was joining in. The lower back was also starting to sing in discord and sent fizzing signals to mission control. Blank it out. You've been here. Keep going for 40 minutes and you'll cross the line. I haven't got forty minutes. Yes I have. No I don't think so. Think of the charity sponsorship. Over £700 riding on this.Think of Martin. This is nothing. Picture your medal. 

The spirits lifted for a mile. Three more to go. Hove Lagoon. Crowds again. The sea front. This should be the idyllic run in to the line you've been longing for. But it was utter misery. Complete and utter. People yelling your name but out of focus and out of view. Just the tarmac. Head buzzing, limbs howling I was staring at the promenade surface, struggling to keep going. Just the tarmac. Come on. Another runner passed me, audibly spurring himself on. His words echoed those in my own head. Come on. Keep going. You're going to do this. Just blank everything out - the faces, the pain - keep your feet moving. Just you and the tarmac. I was too tired even to acknowledge my name now. Then the engine cut out completely. That's it. Crashed and burned. My race time is shot. No chance of coming in under 4:40 now. Probably nearer 5:00 if I can walk to the end. 

Two lousy miles to go and and no more fight left. F*ck it all. This can't be right. I'm on my own with two miles left of a sodding marathon and noone to dig me out...except myself. But I've got nothing left. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm bankrupt. I see a water station and hobble towards it. I grab a tiny bottle of water from an outstretched hand. I grip the bottle hard, very hard, and take a long draft of liquid. Then I register a group of six supporters yelling, snarling, baying my name. I'm swaying like Rocky on the ropes. Come on Wilf. You CAN do it. Come on Wilf. I look at them, take one last swig, pour the rest over my head and throw the bottle to the ground in one last act of defiance. Let's get this f*cking job done. 

A huge cheer goes up. Go on Wilf. Go on my son. The feet move into a shuffle. The shoulders roll. The pelvis grinds into movement. The hamstring starts to whistle. My head is spinning. There are tears in my eyes. Two miles. Just two lousy miles. Fight it. Fight it. My God this promenade is on a bastard hell of a camber. Why can't it be flat. More faces yelling. I stutter and kangaroo my way towards the Palace Peer. One mile. Only one mile. 10 minutes and it's done. Laid to rest. Completed. But it hurts. Sweet Jesus this hurts. I join the ugly parade of battle bruised and battered runners. I come round the Palace roundabout and can see the 26 mile marker just tucked into Marine Parade. You're there man. Careful. Save yourself. You've made it. Remember it's 26.2 miles. Don't be fooled by the mile marker. There are two tenths more just to mock you. Keep going. And then, in the distance, the words FINISH are arched across the road. 

My legs suddenly lift, one last shunt and I'm passing half a dozen runners on my way to the line. Job done. 4:23. No wonder the system had packed in. I had been well ahead of my normal pace and it just couldn't cope. But I was there. The pelvis was throbbing like I had cystitis, was starting a period and trying to give birth at the same time. But I was there. I had my medal. It was a real one. And the day had been a joy. Brighton was a beautiful place to be. The whole event had been organised to perfection. Elation, satisfaction and relief set in. Congratulations EVERYBODY. Thank you Brighton. This was a perfect day.

And to cap it all off, after a steak pie, beer and a nap in the sun, I'm blowing my harmonicas amongst friends in the Ranelagh Arms - Brighton's home of the Blues. Playing a gig. Well it'd be rude not to have a party wouldn't it?!! Everyone's generosity was astonishing. The camaraderie was edible. And another £200 were added to the fund. Martin my man, we got there. God knows how, but we bloody well got there mate. And we raised over £1,000 in the process. 

Thank you, good night, now it's time to go home. And he makes it fast with one last thing... We bloody well got there.