Did you just sneeze?

With just over a week to go before London, the paranoia is starting to set in. It's that time in marathon training where the start line is so close, yet so far.

Anything could still go wrong. Although we're unlikely to suffer a hurricane that causes significant damage to Greenwich Park and forces the organisers to cancel the race next Friday (see my November 2012 posts for reports on that unlikely outcome), there are still so many things that can keep me from my marathon goal. Bacteria, and millions of them.

I am now officially crazy. This is the part of the marathon training period that is most likely to provoke arguments in my house. My beloved never complains about the early mornings at weekends, the long hours spent out training, the random pasta meals and the anti-social Saturday nights in. But he gets seriously exasperated by the mildly hysterical germ phobia I start to exhibit during taper time. As well as trying to monitor his handwashing activities (tricky), I have been known to check the health status of everyone in his office during the final weeks of marathon training. To him, it's the sign of insanity. To me, it's last minute self-preservation.

In an ideal world, marathon runners would be able go into quarantine properly before a marathon, sealing themselves off from commuters, small children and unexpected pavement obstacles. But runners have lives to lead, jobs to go to and journeys to make, so we have to take all sorts of lovely precautions to avoid the sneezes and diseases.

My close friends know not to even attempt to try and see me if they have the slightest sniffle and by now usually just resort to email communication even if they feel fine, as they are used to being treated as potential disease carriers. Those with small children, a.k.a. incubators, usually just say 'see ya!' about 4 weeks beforehand, and we try and get a date in the diary after the race for a proper catch up. More casual acquaintances are indirectly interrogated by phone, email or text before meetings to check their health status. All unnecessary journeys are ruled out, and meeting travel is planned so it doesn't require too much rush hour travel, where you're most exposed to people's nasties at close quarters.

But then there is the impromptu encounter, like yesterday's visit from someone who casually mentioned they're getting over shingles. What kind of contagion are you trying to bring into my cocoon the week before a marathon, for God's sake? Have you no compassion? Is it any wonder I am slightly hysterical?

Before the marathon, I've got two long distance train journeys, six tube journeys, one family lunch and two large meetings to get through unscathed. These are dangerous levels of human contact, so I've stocked up on the Carex and Echinacea, and am prepared to refuse to kiss any member of my family. Harsh, but necessary. Wish me luck!