Marathon Man - Part 2

So, following on from where I left off, I entered Autumn 2011 back at square one, but with plenty of time to be ready for the big day. Various things happened over the next few months that gave me a terrible kicking personally, but through it all I managed to keep up the training.

Even moving to New Haw, where joggers seem to be greeted with absolute suspicion and hostility, didn't stop me from pounding the pavements. Even Christmas, a time of year when I traditionally eat and drink until my insides pack up and stop working entirely, didn't derail me. I went for a run the day after Boxing Day! It was horrific. I thought my over-extended abdomen was going bounce in such a way as to either render me infertile or knock my silly face off. But I did it anyway. And I felt great for it.

2012 has seen me reach standards of fitness that I have undoubtedly never before attained. By the beginning of February I was doing 10-mile runs, taking in giant hills, towpaths, tarmac and the occasional roundabout (road, not playground), and I was actually ENJOYING it. Crazy, but hugely satisfying. Everything was going to plan and I was actually looking forward to the big day. My plan was going perfectly. By the end of Feb I'd be doing 15-milers, and by the end of March, just two weeks before the marathon, I'd be doing 20-milers. Perfect.

Then, disaster struck. Towards the end of February I was poleaxed by a bout of flu. I've had flu, or heavy colds, before and they generally keep me out of action for a couple of days, no hassle. You know how it goes: feel shit, lack energy, sleep badly, get better, everything's fine, thank you. But not this. This wasn't going to let me off that easily.

I know people joke about it and say "oh, bit of man flu eh?!" but this is without doubt the most ill I have ever been in my life. The first evening I had all the usual shivery then boiling hot nonsense. Then, that night, I woke up at about 3:00 in the morning, so soaking wet that, ironically, it was like I'd just been out for a long run. I was literally dripping with sweat. I had to go to the bathroom to dry myself off and wait for my bed to dry out a bit. Last time I checked, sleeping shouldn't be strenuous enough to cause that. That was definitely a bit weird and a warning of what I was in for.

Over the next week I continued to have my buttocks thoroughly kicked by this particularly vicious fever. Fuck man flu, this was dragon flu or something. There were a few days when I genuinely thought I might have contracted the Black Death. Take last Saturday for example. Just as I thought I was recovering, I suffered a giant relapse. I felt so weak that I couldn't even bring my hand out from beneath the blanket to change channels on the TV. I felt paralysed with feebleness. Before I knew it, I'd watched almost two hours of documentaries on the holocaust. What. The. Fuck. Not an ideal Saturday. Let that be a lesson to you all – if you ever start feeling ill, make sure you don't leave your digibox on the 'Yesterday' channel, or you could be in for the most depressing sick day of your life.

Even now as I write this, over two weeks later, I still feel rotten. Because of the way the virus struck in my training programme, I basically missed two full weeks of training. Not a single run. No exercise at all. For two whole weeks. Double balls. With just over a month to go, they were two weeks I could ill afford to lose.

But it gets worse. I've now started running again. I simply can't waste any more training days. But things aren't as they were before I fell ill. Where once I was pounding out 10 miles easily, I am now struggling with 4-milers. And it is absolutely devastating. As it stands, I'm not sure if that's a result of the two weeks of enforced inactivity, or the fact that I'm still not operating with a clean bill of health. This virus is still kicking about in my system.

Whatever it is, I am now in a position where I genuinely don't know if I'll be in a any shape to run the marathon. I should be doing runs between 15 and 20 miles now. Instead, I'm aching my way around 4-mile circuits. This is bad.

I guess we'll just have to see how it goes. I'll keep you posted. Touch lots of wood for me please. If I miss the marathon because of a broken leg, a ruptured achilles or a burst arse, I'll be able to handle it. If I miss out because I had a nasty bout of flu, I'm going to throw myself under a bus (not literally).

This is Andy Durrant, marathon hopeful, signing off for now. Hopefully see you at the finish line. x

Marathon Man - Part 1

For those of you who don't already know, on Sunday 15th April, this year, I will be running the Brighton marathon. Me. Running 26.22 miles. Non-stop.

Ridiculous.

It all started waaaay back at the beginning of last year. Well, further back than that in truth, but the main thrust started last year. I've always thought I'd like to give it a go, so when someone I used to go to school with announced they were running the 2011 Brighton marathon, it piqued my interest for two reasons. Firstly, it was someone I'd known since I was a young, fresh-faced boy, so it brought the marathon mystique closer to home. Secondly, and I'm sure she won't mind me saying this, she's not necessarily the first person you'd pick out as a marathon runner. Don't get me wrong, she's always been very slim and, if I may say so, quite the hottie, but I'd say she's probably more accustomed to sipping a nice glass of wine or wearing a smashing blouse than pounding out 26 miles on the tarmac. So not only was it rather inspiring, but it also made me think, "hmmm, if she can go through with it, maybe I can too?" How silly and, let's be honest, fucking rude of me. Fast forward twelve months and I'm starting to suspect that she might actually be a secret Olympic athlete. Mucho respect. Needless to say, my training hasn't been all plain sailing...

Anyway, if her marathon efforts had piqued my interest, catching the train up to town to watch the London marathon grabbed me by the testes, tugged them violently and didn't let go until a) I had that sick feeling in my stomach, and b) I had told myself that I, Andrew John Durrant (full name used for added effect), would definitely run a marathon. The fact that I also knew people running the London marathon helped fire me up, but it was the atmosphere and support from the crowd that really made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wanted a piece of that action. And a medal. And maybe a sweaty hug from Nell McAndrew or, as a last resort, Chris Akabusi. Alriiight.

Within a few weeks, my friend and I had signed up for the 2012 Brighton marathon, and a tentative training plan had been drawn up. Bonza.

I officially started road running in July 2011. This was quite a shock to my system. Distance running is neither something I've ever enjoyed or been particularly good at. Put me on a grassy field and I'll sprint after a round ball all day long (not even barely literally), but point me in one direction and tell me to plod along for hours at a time and I'm likely to lash out, be sick on the spot or jog 200 yards and collapse in the gutter, crying. So the first month was pretty tough. But I persevered.

Being an idiot (as I tend to be) I thought I'd be able to juggle training for a marathon with playing competitive football on Saturday afternoons. This very quickly turned out to be an error of judgement.

The first problem was that, at 31 years old, I tended to ache for a few days after a match. So, Saturday I'd be playing, Sunday and Monday I'd be aching, and Friday I wouldn't run because I had a game the next day. Not exactly a good balance, given that running a marathon would require slightly more effort on my part than amateur football.

The second problem was that a hulking, neanderthal, master of bastardry absolutely clattered me, quite intentionally, in a match towards the end of August, leaving me with an open wound in my leg that quickly became septic. Cheers. I don't hold grudges, but I hope he has a terrible and painful accident. Every. Single. Day. Of. His. Rubbish. Life. I was given injections, a course of antibiotics and rendered immobile for about a month. That's definitely not in the Good Guide to Marathon Training.

Needless to say, when I eventually started jogging again, I was back at square one. Two months of training, effectively erased. Bollocks. So, with football now thoroughly on the backburner, I entered Autumn 2011 100% committed to the ongoing marathon slog.

To be continued...

In the meantime, if you'd like to make a donation to our marathon fund, please follow the link. I'll love you forever. All donations will go to Everyman, a charity committed to the fight against male cancer.

www.justgiving.com/Dan-and-Andy-do-some-running