Since taking running pretty seriously, which I have done for the last year and a half-ish now, the obvious goal for me has been a marathon. I’ve done half marathons, but now I’m getting to the point where I run that kind of distance on my long run every weekend. So it’s not a challenge anymore (though beating my PB will always be), and naturally the marathon is the next step.
I applied a while ago for a charity place with the Cystic Fibrosis Trust to run the London Marathon. Because, you know, it’s the daddy of marathons, at least here in the UK. And the CF Trust is my ultimate charity to run for. I’ve had a couple of friends affected by cystic fibrosis, including a friend who died in 2011, it’s a sucky bastard of an inherited disease and I have seen first hand why this charity is fricking awesome. So, standard.
But, they get a huge number of applications so unfortunately I was given a no. BOO.
No matter, they still had places for the Brighton Marathon and I successfully applied for one of those.
Yay! Brighton looks like a great event and nice seafront course and all that. Lovely. Sorted.
Then, this afternoon I get a call from the CF Trust. Guess what?! They had me on the reserve list for London all the time, and what do you know a place has come up! They can find someone to take my Brighton place so it’s all good for me to do the old switcheroo and take a spot for London.
I’d already started training of course, before I’d had either place confirmed. Even been reading Pete Pfitzinger’s Advanced Marathoning for training tips (man is his idea of a ‘short’ tempo run tough at 6.30am on a Thursday). But now it’s all going towards a life goal for me; running the London Marathon for my favourite charity.
And this, of course, is the point where I start rattling the donation tin.