And Now We Taper

Did a 20-mile run last week, lads. Nothing special. No big deal. Just part of the training. Just the big two-oh. Just the 32.3 kilometres. Just the six parkruns one after another, and then another half. I've had worse.
That's a lie. I've never had worse. At the end of the 20, I was hurting so much I felt like I was going to cry. Except I didn't have enough energy left to cry. I hardly had the energy to walk home. Stretches? Forget it. Couldn't lift my legs. My muscles practically screaming at me. Back of my knees felt like they were held together by two elastic bands stretched to way beyond their capability. I got home, collapsed into a hot bath (yes, I KNOW it's supposed to be an ice bath, but there's only so much agony I can face in one day) and contemplated what manner of stupidity had got me into all this.

Except... except maybe it wasn't so bad after all. It might have hurt like crazy, but I DID manage the 20 miles. I DID keep on going even when at 16 miles I thought I couldn't physically run another step. And my favourite moment - some joker in the park knocking back a can of Stella who came up to me after I was finished and said "Come on, jog with me", the look on his face when I told him I couldn't because I'd just run 20 miles. Now that was a look of respect! OK, it was from a park-bench alky who'd have trouble running a bar tab, but still.
And now? And now we taper. The four most beautiful words in the English language. The training runs continue, but the distances get shorter, the pace gets less strenuous, and the physical demands on my body get less... well, less demanding. The next fortnight is dedicated to not doing anything stupid, steering clear of any injuries and maintaining what I laughably describe as my peak physical condition. As the multitude of helpful marathon preparation guides keep reminding me, I can't get any fitter for the marathon over the next two weeks. Whatever level of ability I possess right now, that's as good as it's going to get.
So now I can concentrate on some of the little things that I've been pushing to the back of my mind. Like raising more sponsorship (little reminder - the link's right here ). Like examining the course and working out where the water stations are. Like ironing my name on to the front of my running vest (the first race I did this for, I lovingly applied the letters R-O-B to my vest, making sure they were perfect and even, only to realise I'd stuck them on to the back rather than the front - which is not much use if you're hoping people are going to cheer you on as you run towards them). 
One other thing I'm determined to make time for is getting my marathon haircut. Well, you want to at least try and look good in the official photos. For the last couple of weeks, my hair's been getting floppier and floppier, and as you can see from the photo above, that doesn't make for a good look at the end of a long run. After a couple of dozen kilometres, my hair is closely resembling Donald Trump's at a US airforce base when he stands too close to the helicopter he's just got out of.

Not a good look

It's not a good look. So when I make my appearance on the start line at Blackheath in two week's time, I will be shorn and shaven and looking my best for the big occasion.
Of course, the last couple of weeks before a marathon is not just about tapering and making the last-minute preparations. It's also about carb-loading. The dietary advice seems to be that this is the time when you tilt your diet from being protein-rich to being more carbohydrate heavy. Which is fine by me. Carb-loaded a whole bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk only the other day. Delicious.