Tick, Tock

85 hours to go. That's right, I've resorted to hours, rather than days.

The training has all been completed and I am now sitting around, bored witless while I build up my energy reserves and allow all those niggly little aches and pains to settle down.

My lovely (but rather bright!) running vest from the RNLI turned up last week and my official marathon pack plopped on my mat the following day. So it's all rather real now. In 85 hours I'll be standing on a start line with a few thousand other maniacs feeling a bit nervous and needing the loo for the 6th time that morning. And (hopefully) in 90 hours I'll be an emotional wreck hobbling over the finish line with mascara streaming down my cheeks and a frizzy afro.

Unfortunately my hotel (which I booked over 6 months ago) has kicked me out for 'maintenance' and moved me 1 mile away to a "fabulous hotel with free use of the gym and pool". Oh excellent. I can do a few miles on the treadmill the night before *sigh*. To add insult to injury my mate, Collette, who is running as well, hasn't been moved. So the logistics of driving up the Edinburgh, dropping off at 2 hotels, getting into town for a tweetup, meeting my friend (whose birthday it is!), getting back to 2 hotels, figuring out where to leave the car during the race, getting back to the car afterwards, and then driving all the way back to Nottingham is giving me a headache.

Never mind. The weather is supposed to be perfect and I've just stuck my name onto my vest. So if you see me on the day, give me a wave. I'll be the only one in yellow who isn't a daffodil.

I'll let you know how it goes, after I get back, recover a bit and break my month of 'on-the-wagonness' with a day in the pub. Apparently alcohol numbs the pain. Honest.

Here's mud in your eye.