The Qwer Old Fella's Marathon Method

Scheduled rest day - 0 miles, but what a day…

Yesterday, I placed an ad in the local rag and on the local radio station inviting applications from runners wishing to join my group. Inundated, so I was. Plethora of applications from all shapes and sizes and abilities.

When I woke this morning and waddled down the stairs at 5.30 am to watch Wales beat Ireland in the quarter final of the Rugby World Cup, I nearly tripped on the knoll of envelopes in the hall. And then when I logged on this morning, my inbox was chock-a-block with applications.

So, after watching the Welsh rip the soul out of the Irish nation, I began to plough through the candidates. Flummoxed by the overwhelming interest and exhausted from reading myriad requests to aid me on my journey, I closed my eyes and dozed (see nap time).

The doorbell startled me from my slumber and groggy-eyed I rose and opened the door.

‘Jakers,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Tis rude to keep a man at the door, but to keep the only living leprechaun with eons of knowledge at your door, is downright foolish,’ the vertically challenged man I met the other day said. ‘Sean. You can call me Sean.’

Seconds later he was stretched out on my sofa.

‘Now, I haven’t much time,’ he said. ‘I’m dying - and unfortunately, you’re my only hope.’

‘What are you waffling on about, now,’ I said.

‘If you don’t win the 2013 Cork marathon in a sub 2.23 (yes, I know you’ll be 48 and you’re only running 3.6 miles a day at 8.30 pace at the moment – and that’s nearly killing you.) But fear not, with my help and the right training group, you might just save my life and with that, bring back to life the magic that’s missing from this country.’

Flabbergasted, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘I know about the blog,’ he said. ‘Not a soul on there believes you’ll do it. They don’t believe in me either. They think it’s impossible for a man of your age, in your condition, with your conditions, to run sub 3 hours, never mind run sub 2.23 with less than 20 months training.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on kidda,’ I said, sitting down and trying to comprehend what was happening.

Then, what happened next was unbelievable. But, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow… The wife’s nagging me to put the bin out, soak the beans and pulses, and what’s more, the X Factor’s about to start.