I spy with my little eye, something beginning with ... 2!

Somewhere about mile 16 of my 20 mile run this morning, a small child asked his mother 'Mummy, what is that lady doing?'. Judging by the size of his mother, the only physical exercise this child has seen a grown female do is lift the lid off a cake box, but it did make me think 'what am I doing?' And what is she going to tell him? Will she do justice to my efforts?

It does gall me slightly that you've got no way of showing to the watching world that you're actually at mile 16 of a 20 mile run. They probably just think I'm a seriously unfit bird running around the block, with a bottle of water in one hand and a packet of wine gums in the other. At least when I do the marathon, the spectators will be fully aware of the 'level of challenge'.

It was not the most auspicious of starts to my long run. I set off with a relatively heavy heart, which got slightly more weighty just over a mile out when I realised I had brought no water or, more importantly, no energy gels with me. The thought of doing a 3and a half hour run with no sugar was just too much to bear, but I managed to gee myself up by selling myself an imaginary bag of Jelly Babies from the first newsagent.

No sooner had I made it over this mental hurdle, my bladder decided to get in on the act and start voicing some immediate concerns. At this point I was running possibly the most exposed mile of the whole route, and there was no chance of a sneaky pee. I carried on, convinced of a petrol station at the end of this particular stretch. Unfortunately, this was an imaginary petrol station and my bladder was starting to get quite stroppy.
Then, my knight in shining armour, Sir William Hill of Bookmakers, loomed up ahead. 'Brilliant', I think, 'bookies have loos' so decide to burst into the shop and throw myself on the cashier's mercy.

Talk about making someone's day - when I asked if I could use the loo, without having a bet on the 2.30 at Chepstow or putting a fiver on the Irish lottery, the cashier actually asked me how old I was. So not only was she going to give me the key to the loo, she thought I was under 18! The rejuvenating powers of exercise, ladies (remember this was the first 2 miles though). It got even better, the ladies' loo door lock was broken so she let me use the staff toilet. I love this woman. I was so close to offering to run the marathon to raise money for the charity of her choice when I remembered I had another 18 miles to go so I best crack on and buy some sugar.

And now here I am - 20 miles, 3h30 mins, one bag of jelly tots and half a packet of wine gums later, feeling remarkably fresh. I felt so well when I got home, I started to worry I hadn't done enough miles. In fact, I feel pretty good. Given the lack of motivation I've shown this week, and the palaver I had at the start of my run, I feel quite hopeful that my preparation is good and that I'm in a good place to do a marathon. I know that there's another hour's worth of running I've got to tackle on the day, but I'm still hopeful. And that's what counts.

Or maybe Jelly Tots need to start remarketing themselves as an athletic foodstuff?

LON