We moved into our flat over a year ago. Not a single picture has been hung. We haven\u2019t painted or wallpapered and it took us 13 months to put up a shelf. Redundant audio formats sit, blanketed by dust, in the same box they arrived in. I know it\u2019s supposed to be a joint effort but, really, it\u2019s mostly my fault. When I signed up for my first marathon, I didn\u2019t anticipate the impact that three-hour runs would have on my weekends or pretentions to homemaking. By the time I signed up for my second marathon six months later, I was of the view that weekends were reserved for running and to hell with picture hooks.<\/p>\n
Now, don\u2019t get me wrong, I go to great lengths to avoid DIY. But as the door clicks softly behind me in the darkness, my body braced to meet the biting cold, I\u2019m not convinced that this is procrastination. Aged 16, I made a \u00a31,000 bet with my dad that I\u2019d run a marathon one day. Aged 30, stumbling over frozen mud tracks, my focus narrow in the dim light of my head lamp, I realise that excuse has long expired. Perhaps marathon number two is all about my goal time? I don\u2019t know. After everything, my target of 3 hours 45 minutes seems less important than it once did.<\/p>\n
By the time you read this, I\u2019ll be recovering from the Brighton Marathon. What I\u2019ve learned is that running a marathon isn\u2019t about running a marathon. I mean, it is and it isn\u2019t. I\u2019ll explain what I mean later. But I began by asking what it takes to run 26.2 miles \u2013 are hard work and determination enough, or is there something else? Something you\u2019re born with?<\/p>\n