A right royal affair

Rather early on the morning of the 29th of April, 2011, four of us boarded the tube at Clapham Common, bound for Hyde Park.


Alongside thousands of others, we sat, and then stood, and watched the future King and Queen of England, wed.


Whether you're into that kind of thing or not, we all agreed, it was a very nice celebration.



We then went home to celebrate the day off by eating coronation chicken triangular sandwiches, and scones with cream and jam.

Life update

It's been a while I know. The last month or so has been a blur of wonderful family visits; a royal celebration; some weekends away; all four seasons; and quite a bit (but probably not enough) study stuck in between.

Life is ticking on as spring deepens and summer approaches the front gate like a very welcome pizza delivery man. The days are officially long; the sun reaching through my skylight and tapping me on the shoulder at 5am now.

Marathon de Paris

Before the 26 miles....

After the 26 miles.

We did it. On Sunday April 11th, a bunch of us got up out of our Parisian hotel beds at 6am to eat porridge and bananas, drink sports drinks, affix race numbers and get a bit nervous.

Accompanied by wonderful support crew we got on the metro and made our way to the Arc de Triomphe for a power bar and a pee.

Then eventually we got underway. What a wonderful city to run your way around. The sun shone down hard as the tens of thousands of runners circumnavigated her streets. Past Place de la Concorde and Bastille, then along the river with the Eiffel Tower in view. All the typical touristy shots but with an undercurrent of discomfort that eventually grew into pain by about the 19 mile mark.

But complete it I did. Along with managing to wipe five minutes off my only other marathon time which was both pleasing and surprising. No lastly injuries except for a couple of toenails which are threatening to detach at the next opportunity.

Marathon prep

Now we're getting to the business end of this whole marathon malarkey.

Today I purchased new socks, drink sachets and power bars that taste a bit like the kitchen bench.

Right now I think I need all the help I can get. Even if I know it may well make me gag 20 miles in.

Hitting mountain roads

In complete contrast to my barefoot run along the blinding white sanded Seven Mile Beach in the Cayman Islands, last week I got to run along the roadside of mountain passes in the French Alps.

In places the flanks of towering peaks were heavy with a thick blanket of snow, in others sheer cliffs fell hundreds of feet with layers of terribly scarred rock to appeal to the amateur geologist in all of us.

Fortunately for this runner, the roads were clear, apart from the odd manic Fiat driver. I could freely make my way past the untouched folds of bright white snow, with skiers in the background enjoying the last runs of the day amongst the pointy little pine trees, all set under a brilliantly blue sky. Just simply a picture perfect wintry scene.

Pressies

There's nothing like coming home to find a squishy parcel from one of my most favourite people in the world, patiently waiting for me.

Pretty packages contain treats from the other side of the world.

And I now have a t shirt with my sister's place of work on it. Not many people work somewhere cool enough to feature on a t shirt.

Running, running

Training for a marathon does strange things to you.

I've now got just under five weeks until the start line in Paris which in some ways can't come soon enough, but in others I'm really hoping it drags its heels like an old fat dog which doesn't want to go for a walk in the rain.

It will be nice to have my Sundays back. One thing I've certainly realised this time around is that it is practically a walk in the park to train for a marathon in the summer compared to the winter. Going out for a three hour run was much easier when it was sunny and 20 degrees, rather than drizzling and a high of two.

These past few Sunday afternoons I've stood at the window staring out into the grey, getting colder and more morose; trying to muster every ounce possible of my self motivation that is required to get out of the door and onto the footpath. Actually it's a bit like I'm now the old fat dog I just described.

Post-run brings some interesting results also. You'd think you would be really hungry after doing 18 miles, but I usually just feel nauseous for a good few hours afterwards. When I was training for Berlin my post-run dinner (once I felt I could keep it down) was Sainsbury's prawn makhani and a mini trifle. All that cream and custard sits nicely on a tender stomach. Now you also know how I became possibly the first person in history to get fat from doing a marathon...

Usually if I do a long run on Sunday, then it's not until late on Monday or Tuesday morning that the hunger really sets in. This delayed reaction means that my colleagues are subjected to my constant consumption. As a good multisporting friend of mine once put it - 'the conveyor belt of food'.

I think I also know what it might feel to be eighty now. Those hours after your return from a long run have you feeling like a skeleton. You can feel almost every single bone in your body as you attempt to move. Down onto the floor to stretch. Up off the floor to have shower. Down onto the sofa.

Why do it all then? It's a great challenge. And it's something that is just about you. It's not about beating anyone else, it's just about beating your own doubts.

The dynamic duo of darkness

Sadness and tragedy seem to be around every corner at the moment. Like a dynamic duo of darkness they hide amongst the pages of this month's book club book; in towns and cities in Libya; under desks at work; and even behind the bright yellow tulips on the kitchen table at home. And then, of course, there's the obvious playground of the moment: the second largest city of my homeland.

Hand in hand they swing from tree to tree, laughing in their sick and peculiar way as they go; leaving a trail of misery in their wake.

Every now and then there is a light moment: a good Spanish class, an amusing joke at work, giggles in the kitchen with the Franconia ladies. But then somehow (maybe by a look on BBC news, an email, or a comment) you are reminded of all the calamity.

The day the earth shook

Right now, a little country holds its breath.

It holds its breath and waits in the hope that miracles may appear from the rubble.

That from the devastation there will be stories of wonder and survival. Against all odds.

New Zealand has had a rough ride recently, and yesterday Mother Nature dealt that little South Pacific country a cruel blow.

Be strong New Zealand. Pull together and face this tragedy as a united front. Just like you always do.

Because we all know that not even a horrific earthquake will shake this country's resolve.

Sliding doors

Every now and then, just on the odd occasion, maybe when things aren't going so well... I wonder if perhaps I should have gone to Japan after all.

Was I completely insane to turn down such an amazing (all expenses paid) opportunity?

Then my train of thought takes me to wondering where I might be now if I'd not thrown it all away. Who knows where that path would have taken me.

But then, after mulling for a while, I (usually) come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason the timing wasn't right, so I must think about all of the wonderful experiences that London has given me instead.

Also, despite veering sharply away from study when I threw in the Japanese towel, the London road I'm travelling on has steered me back in the direction of academia.

Perhaps you can't mess with fate after all.