This time next week, it will all be over. By lunchtime next Sunday, surely I will have crossed the finish line and become a marathon runner. If I haven't, please somebody, come and put me out of my misery.
The nerves are worse than ever and I don't know why.I'm an overweight, middle-aged housewife from the 'burbs and nobody expects a world record.
Finishing will be triumph enough, I keep telling myself and yet I keep putting conditions on that. Finishing is the goal but I don't want to be last. Not being last would be great but breaking five hours would be better. And while breaking five hours is certainly attainable, based on my half marathon time, I should really aim for 4hr 30m. Or maybe under that.
Then reality intrudes and I'm back to wondering whether I will even finish.
There is no reason why I shouldn't. Man for man, I have a greater support team than the All Blacks.
There's Gaz, my trainer, who has masterminded the whole programme, Ian the chiropractor, Kiri the masseuse, James the podiatrist, James the surgeon, Emile the aqua jogging coach, Fiona the nutritionist and Tim the physio.
Then there's the Titirangi Tunnel Rats who've provided support and encouragement and Bruce, who's going to run to keep me company.
Who would have thought running could be a team sport? Without each and every one of them, I doubt I could have got this far. These wonderfully talented people have got me to the start line and now I've got to do my bit and get to the finish.
