I'll be running the 2012 Virgin London Marathon on behalf of Mind, the leading mental health charity in England and Wales. You can sponsor me by visiting http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyCraig and follow my progress on Twitter and Facebook. Read about all of the excellent work Mind do by visiting Mind.org.uk.
Hello again...
It's been six weeks since I last pressed the publish button on my supposed weekly blog. I was en route to Budapest back then, looking forward to lashings of Goulash and Soproni in unequal measure (didn't end up having any of the former, although I did enjoy a sumptuous venison and blueberry stew, as well as that other well known Hungarian dish - Double Whopper with Cheese).
As tempting though as it is to grandiloquently express the all round loveliness of the city over the course of five paragraphs, I am not Michael Palin and this is not a travel blog, so both Budapest and the differing delights offered by Dublin a few weeks later shall go uncommented on (also saving The Stag from an awkward chat or two), other than to say both were enjoyed immensely.
So, to the marathon, and the dénouement of the cliffhanger in the last entry. The feared stress fracture turned out to be a number of angry tendons in my right foot. A setback, yes, and a major interruption to the most crucial period of my training, yet I seized on the fact that I wasn't definitely ruled out on medical grounds and placed all of my focus on being on the start line (forgetting any previous notions of running it in a stellar time). A combination of weekly physio sessions and buying enough strapping to fund Elastoplast's Christmas Parties for the next 10 years meant that I reached last week ready to do "the long run" - 20.5 miles of Thames-side running through Barnes, Chiswick, Kew and Richmond, a picturesque route on which the worst area I ran through was disappointingly when turning onto my own road (with the exception of Brentford. All of it).
Under three hours later. I was back at the flat. Wincing, sweary, and dreading the ice bath I was about to put myself through, but for the first time in the two years since I first received the letter of acceptance, I felt ready.
And then, bombshell. Sat at my desk 48 hours later, I realised I hadn't received the letter telling me my start location, so I called up the Virgin London Marathon hotline to find out. I was placed on hold.
"Mr Craig? I've just checked your details on the computer and you haven't been allocated a running number. We received your deferral notification but not your illness and injury form, and as such you are not registered to run in this year's London Marathon."
Months of training. Weekly physiotherapy sessions. All my sponsorship. Giving up football. No(t much) alcohol. All for nothing. Gone. Heartbreak. Numb.
I knew I had submitted the form. I could remember doing it, and could also recollect calling the very same hotline number afterwards to confirm they had all the information they needed from me. I can quote what the man said back to me that day, but my protestations fell on cold, unsympathetic ears.
I thanked her for her time and returned to my desk, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what I'd been told. Not in the marathon. The lingering pain from Tuesday's run was a constant reminder of the hammer blow I'd just received. I went out for some air, fit to burst with frustration, but instead spoke to Sabrina, who gave me support, encouragement and pragmatic advice that was beyond anything I could possibly have hoped for. Thank you.
I resolved myself to find another marathon later in the year to justify the sponsorship you've all so generously given so far, yet when looking at entering Berlin and New York, I still felt unable to give up the London dream. Without really thinking, I fired off a desperate email to Sarah and Amanda from Mind, apologising for the straw-clutching in advance while asking if there was even the remotest possibility of gaining an extra place through the charity, be it as an injury replacement or anything else.
And now for the Wayne's World ending (the happy one, not the Thelma and Louise one). That email sparked Sarah into action; action that was an all-conquering combination of sympathy, persistence and fabulousness. She spoke to her Virgin London Marathon contact, who in turn worked similar magic in the corridors of power of VLM headquarters. 24 hours later, just as I was teetering on the brink of committing myself to an evening of pub and KFC, Sarah called to say I was back in the race on the authority of race director Dave Bedford himself. Like waking from a bad dream, natural order was suddenly restored. Sarah - I cannot thank you enough.
It's 36 hours away now. I'm increasingly nervous, struggling to get over a cold and worrying about a dodgy calf that in turn is pulling at my knee. But I think back to what I felt last Thursday lunchtime, and I know the only place I want to be on Sunday morning is on that start line. Bring it.
