Tomorrow, as my reader knows, sees me face my latest challenge - the Loch Ness Marathon. All 26.2 miles of it.
I don't mind confessing, there have been moments - many of them - when I've felt like giving up. Running long distances isn't something I find easy, my body isn't built for it and there have been times when I've wondered if my mind is either. Doing the training was tough going, even just finding time for it was a challenge. And the constant ache in my muscles and joints - well, you really don't need to know the details of that!
My sister wrote not long ago that there were very few times in her life that she'd given up on anything. At the time I thought she was just being dramatic but when I thought about it, I realised she was right. I also realised that it wasn't something I could say about myself. Indeed, the photo for this was taken to commemorate a less than successful endeavour of my youth, which I won't go into now but suffice to say, was not my best hour and was only salvaged by the love and long suffering-ness of my Mum and Dad! And was also pretty much all about being a quitter.
That's not why I'm pushing myself to do the race tomorrow, but I will make my second confession of the night and say I'm really quite proud of myself for being here now and facing it down tomorrow. I do seem to have developed some staying power in my old(er) age so perhaps there's hope for me yet. And before anyone mentions it, ok, perhaps not sticking power in all aspects of my life, but it's a start, right?
So, that's it. Tomorrow's race day. There's nothing left for it now other than to sit back, watch Dr Who and try to get some rest before the big day. Wish me luck...