Funny.

So, no training for someone with the runs. It makes sense. I can't say I covered the full 1 hour 45 minutes in actual running. By the afternoon, I took a risky but much-needed nap, and that seemed to sort things out. Meanwhile, the cough was refusing to be shaken off with mere echinacea and orange juice, and was brewing, exactly like the gremlin-monster in the Benelyn ad, I could feel it sitting on my chest.

On Monday, I didn't need to think about whether or not I was well enough to be in work. It was an obvious "no". Frank LOVES it when I am sick. He spent the whole day on my bed, languishing, looking up at me and purring. It made me think of Tom's song, "this is how life... is supposed to be" was clearly written in his face. I did a lot of sleeping.

I did allow Jill to come over and talk about my production in the evening, although I warned her I was sick, but that was mainly in case she said anything negative, because it certainly would have made me weep. Fortunately she didn't, although she didn't bowl me over with her praise either, but I wasn't really expecting that. It was a mistake. I could have gone to sleep half an hour before she came, but instead, I got on my dressing gown and slippers, and went downstairs. She only stayed half an hour, but by the time she had gone, I was completely awake, and thinking only of The Crucible. I tried going back to bed, but the play rolled around and around in my head. At about 2:30, I sat up, and watched Strictly Ballroom on iplayer, which finally drummed the Crucible out of my head. Scott, the arrogant youth who knows he can dance better than anyone, reminded me of Dan in many ways, some of them to do with his actual dance moves. After it finished, I revelled in the mastery of anyone devising a TV show, in all seriousness, on the back of that... isn't "Strictly Come Dancing" absolutely hilarious, when you think that the main tenet of that film was that the panel of judges were corrupt and wrong? That made me smile as I finally drifted into sleep. Seemingly, minutes passed (and in fact, certainly not more than an hour or so) and I woke up. I felt, as the lack of sleep hit me, as if I'd been run over by a train. I realised immediately what had happened. Because I'd slept all day on Monday, I hadn't slept in the night-time. And what I was crying out to do now, was sleep. Which would mean that I'd not sleep tonight either. I resolved to sleep for a few hours, then go to the office for the afternoon, which would hopefully (a) keep me awake (ahem) and (b) tire me out.

Blissful though that sleep was, however, I started dreaming. In the dream, I had to get up, because the half marathon was... today! I started to panic. I heard running Dave saying, "you see, I knew we should have got the distance in!" I realised he was right. I should have already run 13 miles. How was I going to run it faster, when I hadn't run it all? I should have done the practice Grunty Fen... and I didn't. And now it was too late, and I was sick, and I was never going to make it. Somehow, as the dream tortured on, I appeared to have given myself a reprieve. The actual race was a week from today, and today, I had to run a practice race; I'd missed crucial things, I'd messed up... I woke up, drenched in a sweat, relieved but also panicky that I actually had 3 weeks until the race. The phone was ringing. It was my line manager: I'd missed a meeting. Worse, it was my quarterly review meeting. Somehow, I managed to come through it shining though... I appraised her of my plan to come in for the afternoon, and it not only impressed her that I was willing to get up off my sick bed, she was able to progress some work in a timely fashion herself. The sacrifices I'm willing to make.

I was able to catch up with Sally in the office, whose voice was only partially tinged with concern, as she said, "We've still got time. It's OK. You just might not make such a good time". This is also Rubbish! I mean, it's almost certainly true, but very bad news. I don't generally consider myself to be a competitive person and may previously have made the statement that "I don't have a competitive bone in my body!" This however, is patently nonsense. The truth is that I'm so competitive that I really really hate losing; I'd quite simply rather not play than lose. Oh I can happily lose things that I acknowledge I'm bad at (I'm not happy. I'm dying inside). If I mock myself enough, and send myself up, then you know, it's OK.  So, of late, I've realised that I DO have at least one competitive bone in my body: the funny bone.

Nonetheless, long distance runs should be OK, they should be reasonably threat-free - I'm never going to **win** it (so I thought). But now I understand what I should be able to achieve. And I need to beat it.

Well, with this in mind, I've set up a sweepstake. The idea, as discussed with Nigel, is that you pick a minute - my range is between 1:35 (yeah, dream on) and 2:40. Pick a minute, give me a pound. If I come in on that minute, you get a tenner, the rest goes to charity. Now here's a thing. I set this up today, this afternoon, and I've virtually already made a tenner. These are colleagues of mine, many of whom haven't yet sponsored me. Does this mean that they infinitely prefer paper to my Just Giving site (what's that? I should put in a hyperlink to my Just Giving site? Good idea - in case you haven't yet had a chance to sponsor me?) or that they infinitely prefer taking a flutter to passing up cash? Hmmm.

Anyway, with this in mind, I have labelled where other colleagues' personal bests are. This has had a negative impact on me. A lot of them are a lot faster than my target time. I've done the maths. I can't run a half marathon faster than I ran that 10k. However, I have enlisted running Dave's help. His main issue is that he starts too fast. My main issue is that I run out of motivation for keeping going. We are a perfect Yin and Yang. I will pull him back (quite possibly literally) at the start of the race. We'll run the first half at "slow pace". To realise anything like my personal target time of 2 hours 10 minutes, we cannot run it slower than 11 minute miles. Sadly. Then, Dave takes off, hopefully calling out "Come on, Emma", and I chase him. It can't fail.

5 Point Plan:
1) Get better (by Saturday);
2) Cancel all engagements between now and 9 October (except Susie's wedding);
3) Do everything Sal says;
4) Encourage Sal to be a proper slave driver and stop being so nice (and obey 3);
5) Set iphone reminder to go to bed early every night (except Susie's wedding).

With this in mind, I'm off to bed. Goodnight.