Last week I had my first dream about running the marathon. For some reason they started each person one at a time. Undeterred by the ridiculous logistics of starting 40,000 individual runners, my subconscious continued its panicked rampage, which involved an unmarked, ‘find your way’ route. It was like you had to know to turn down a little side street, run into a building, up some stairs, along a corridor, out a fire escape, across a gangway to another building, down and out on to another street etc etc. And because we all started individually, I couldn’t follow anyone. So I had no idea where to go, so I ran around like an idiot trying to guess. And then my hair lacky snapped (mental note to self, take spare hair lacky). And then I realised I was wearing no less than four watches, none of which I’d actually started so I could have some idea how long I’d been going for. Murray summed it up as “hmm, anxiety much?”.
It’s funny in retrospect…just not at the time.