So, events have conspired to get me a place in the 2012 London Marathon. I'm very happy about this, not least because last year's event was so completely and utterly shit for me. Unfinished business and all that.
Sadly, the place has come because John, one of our Punks on the Run, has had to pull out after snapping a tendon in his foot. And then there were three. And of course, I was supposed to be doing Edinburgh with John too, so that's just me now.
The shit planning part of it is that Edinburgh is just a few days after I get back from Macau, which is quite a gruelling journey for me usually. It's a 12-hour flight from Hong Kong to Heathrow, then a long journey home from there. But this might even work better for me than usual, because I'll get in to London from Heathrow - to Paddington, to be precise - then get across on the Hammersmith and City Line to Euston, walk to Euston Square, then get a direct InterCity train to Edinburgh - which will, bizarrely, be faster than getting from London to Ludlow. Then I spend Friday and Saturday in Edinburgh doing absolutely fuck-all other than putting my feet up, watching my swollen ankles go down, then running a marathon.
As my stepdaughter neatly summarised: I'll just go for a good time in London, and just get round Edinburgh. Job done. Then no more races in 2012, apart from the one I am organising.
Speaking of which, I walked the course yesterday, and I have to say, I'm bloody glad I'm not running it. It's fantastic, beautiful, different surfaces, absolutely amazing views, but it's also got at least three men-from-the-boys hills in it. At least three.
Still, nothing worth having comes without some pain. Except, in most cases, orgasms.