As we head into the last couple of days of Lent, I am struck by an almost overwhelming urge to blow it all and eat some crisps. Or some chocolate. Not sweets, don't seem fussed by them. Isn't that astonishing? Having gone forty three days without those things, with a minimum of fuss except for a very occasional inner tantrum, I'm almost itching with the need to eat them. Is it because finishing line is in sight? I think it is.
When I ran the Berlin Marathon, I knew that the course finished just a little bit past the Brandenburg Gate. You run through it and then it's only a couple of hundred metres to the finishing line. So there I was, having run about 23 miles, when I see the Brandenburg Gate. WHOOP. But it's still about 3 miles away. So I keep running, but the bloody Brandenburg Gate doesn't seem to be getting any closer. All of a sudden, it's not so much about finishing the race, and it's just about getting to the bloody Gate. I got there, of course, but it seemed to take FOREVER. That's what the last couple of days have felt like. I can see the Gate, but I just can't seem to reach it. So I'm just focusing on the fact that I will get to that finishing line. I will get there. And there will be a packet of Walkers Ready Salted there waiting for me. Nom.