Things I have learnt while training for a marathon

This time in three weeks I will be hunched up in a bath full of ice yelling things like “Where is my peanut butter pie-fritter-doughnut? I ran a MARATHON yesterday – I NEED ALL THE FATS! Start the intravenous avocado drip immediately”

Cos yes. I have agreed to run the Virgin London Marathon for a very good cause. It’s the cause of telling people I’m running the marathon. LOLs.

No it is.

Okay, it’s all to raise money for Breast Cancer Care – a great charity who provide support to anyone in the UK affected by the disease. It’s a charadiee close to me as quite a few women in my family have had this illness including my old mother dearest, aka Gill babes. Plus, I really like breasts. I was bought up on them. And without them it’s unlikely we’d have ever heard of Katie Price. Not on my watch.

Here are the things I have learnt training for a marathon:

1) Running beside the River Thames, taking in the sites of London town sounds like a picturesque way to do your training. In reality, it’s a gladiatorial gauntlet of French students with rucksacks full of baguettes, Japanese girls with extra long selfie sticks and men of all nationalities posing for pictures with Big Ben as a massive erect clock penis. I used to weave around them. NO MORE. I windmill right through these photo-hungry idiots like a neon lycra photo bombing machine. Tourist skittles.

2) A marathon is literally DOUBLE the length of a half marathon. So if you have ever done a half marathon and thought “Cool! I should do a marathon!” take that thought and shove it up your stupid uncramping arse. You know nothing, John Snow.

3) I’ve developed an extremely aggressive hand. In the olden days, I was like any other civilian; if I was rounding a corner and came across another human, I’d guess which way they were going and go the opposite way. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t and we’d bump into each other and do a “Sheesh! Life is so SILLY!” smile. Not any more. I have no time for this shit. Nowadays when someone comes towards me when I’m running, I stick out my hand in the direction I’m going and they move out the way because THE GOD DAMN HAND HAS TOLD THEM. I feel powerful. I’m like Tom Cruise guiding a beautiful but inept female agent out of an Iranian hostage situation, with only my turgid palm and scientology alien gods for protection.

4) You become really boring and no one cares. You talk about nutrition, no one cares. You talk about your splits, no one cares. Even when you come home from a 20 mile training run with a funny feeling in your pelvis and say to your husband “I think I’ve broken my vagina” and end up having to put a packet of frozen soya beans down your knickers whilst doing a calf stretch, no one cares.

5) You become quite emotional because you’ve run for two hours and haven’t had anything to drink because you forgot money to buy a Lucazade because you were too excited about your new fleece headband and then you end up running over London Bridge crying because ‘One Day More’ from Les Mis has come on your iPhone and Eddie Redmayne’s funny little burpy voice seems to be singing directly to your dehydrated soul.

So please, if you can, I’d be so happy if you’d like to donate to my fundraising page even if it’s just a few quid – that would be super lovely.

And for every pound you donate, I promise to knock one less tourist toddler to the ground.

Amen. And thank you.