Happy Birthday to me

Yes folks, I´m 36 today. How depressing.

I remember feeling particularly low when I hit the big 30. I discussed the situation with the then MP for Fermanagh and South Tyrone, Ken (now Lord) Maginnis.

"Barry son," boomed Ken in his customary manner, "I remember feeling just like you do when I hit 30. Then 40 and 50 came and went and I barely noticed. Suddenly I hit 60 and realised I was an ol´man." As ever, the great man put his finger on it. I promise to lift my mood from here on in.

I did my ten miles yesterday and my previously sore right knee and sore left foot now have new friends: my sore left knee and sore right foot.

A 20 minute "speed session" (I don´t know why they´re called that as I can never get any speed up) planned for tomorrow is definitely out the window. But that might be a bonus given I´ll be having a little glass of something tonight. After that we´ll have to see.

For the first time, I´m able to say the Marathon is "next" week - a sobering thought indeed.

Although perhaps not as scary as being reminded I´ve just turned 36.

They just keep banging on

Short greetings from the Algarve - I've only got 10 minutes before my time runs out in Bernie´s Bar.

Talking of running, I went for one this morning like a good boy. Funnily enough, it's a little hotter here than in either Pudsey or Coleraine. Cold at night, though.

One thing it´s not is tranquil. There seems to be some sort of happy clappy convention thing going on (no doubt it´s not called that) and the attendees all appear to be staying where we are.

They´re deliriously pleased with themselves, very noisy and - much worse -many of them play the tambourine. Very loudly. All. The. Time.

I´ve heard a rumour they all leave tomorrow and I really hope it´s true. (Is that unkind? Don´t care if it is!)

10 miles in the morning - might try and run over one or two of them on the way out.

Off on Babymoon

Have you ever heard of a Babymoon?

I certainly hadn't but I'm apparently just about to go on one.

Vanessa and I are due to give birth (it's a shared thing!) in less than three months so it'll be a fair wee while before we'll get any distance again (although clearly I hope to cover just over 26 miles on 13 April).

So we're doing what loads of couples have done for generations and going on one last holiday on our own.

However, given that it is 2008, it has to have a cool name.

Here's how one American company describes what we're supposedly doing on its website:

"One of the most important factors for a healthy birth, mother, baby and family is the relaxation, peace, serenity and health of the mother and partner. The latest trend to complement the prenatal care and health and enjoyment of the mother, partner, unborn baby and the bonding and romance of the couple is the pregnancy honeymoon known as Babymoon."

So there you have it. It's not a cheap and cheerful week in Portugal with the help of Jet2 and Sun4U. It's Babymoon.

We're back in a week and, needless to say, the running shoes and shorts are packed with the sun cream.

I'll try and find an Internet cafe to let you know how serene my hangover is.

There's no place like home

Just back from the Easter trip home and I can't believe how much money we raised.

On top of the cash I had already accounted for and was simply picking up, the good people of the Triangle added another £750 to the total in a single weekend. It's quite incredible.

Thanks to everyone involved - friends, family and those I'd never met before. Sebastian and I are immensely grateful to you all.

A special mention to the good patrons of Portstewart Golf Club who, after some gentle persuasion from Derek who was an absolute hero, donated more than £150 in a whip round last night. You're brilliant.

On training matters, I did manage the planned 20 miles on Sunday and the North Coast was indeed as beautiful as ever. The rain also managed to hold off for almost the entire three hours - I should stop being such a pessimist.

A real bonus for me, at the end of the longest run I'll do other than the race itself, was being greeted by Sebastian and his equally cute sister Katie (as the above pic will confirm) when I reached the end.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I'm starting to feel quite emotional about the whole thing now and it's hard not to get carried away. I'll therefore shut up at this point!

But in short, it's definitely a case of so far so good - although clearly we're not over the line just yet.

PS Thanks Ceri

The long road home

I might've mentioned this before, but the whole marathon training thing is really starting to hurt now.

I went out for a 45-minute session this morning during which I was supposed to run three individual miles as hard as I could with three-minute jogs in between. The problem was, every time I attempted to up my pace my legs looked up at me and whispered, "Barry - go away." (Thankfully my legs are very polite).

This Sunday is the big one in terms of training, three hours or about 20 miles in one go.

Funnily enough I've been looking forward to it for two reasons. First, things get easier after this as I move into what the experts call the "tapering" stage. Next week's training is only half the distance I covered this week, the week after half as much again. I only have to go out twice in the last seven days with rest and pasta (bleugh!) taking priority.

Second, I get to run around the North Antrim Coast - Vanessa and I are heading back to Coleraine tomorrow until Tuesday. If there is a more beautiful sight in the world on a sunny day than the road from the White Rocks beach in Portrush to Bushmills then I haven't seen it. Unfortunately, the forecast is for anything but sun although I remain optimistic I won't die of exposure. Not certain, but certainly optimistic.

Whilst home, I also expect to pick up a fair bit of cash raised by family members and friends who have also been working very hard to help Sebastian and I in our endeavours.

And then, of course, there's Sebastian himself. Although I've spoken to him countless times over the last few weeks, I haven't seen him since New Year's Day.

He told me the other night the first thing he'd do when I walked in after my run on Sunday was punch me in the stomach. Hmmm.

So long as he doesn't punch me on my legs, I don't really mind. Much.

Have fun 'til Tuesday.

Testing the vest

Among the many pieces of advice you receive in the official London Marathon magazine is to try out your race day kit in training to check it's comfy (or words to that effect).

The one piece I hadn't tried out so far (everything else seems comfy enough) was my vest which is understandable as I've only just bought it.

As you'll see in the pic above (and no that's not me in it), it's a bit dull at the moment. However, I have big plans.

Once I'm finished, it will have my name and the Heartbeat logo on the front with Sebastian's name and the Children's Heart Surgery Fund logo on the back. My mother is sewing on the logos this weekend (that's what mothers do!) after she's cut them off the respective tee shirts I've been given by the charities. (I wonder if Lewis Hamilton's mum has to do this with sponsors' logos every time he gets new overalls. I would say yes).

My new friend Liz is then hopefully getting her friend in Portrush to do the names. (The race organisers suggest you put your name on the front of your vest so the crowd can shout for - or at - you, their choice). Meanwhile, having Sebastian's name on the back is something I want to do for obvious reasons.

I wore my virgin vest on a six mile run tonight and can confirm that it is indeed comfy. No doubt you'll all be relieved at that news.

The next step is to wash it a couple of times to "soften it" (according to the advice) before I take it to Northern Ireland on Saturday for tarting up.

So there you are, ladies and gentlemen, that's my vest. Exciting stuff. No, really.

Diddly aye do'h!

It's St Patrick's Day.

However, unlike every other St Patrick's Day since I reached adulthood, this year I was going to be good.

Finish work at a reasonable time, come home, get changed, go for a run, have a shower, have some tea, iron a shirt, watch some telly, have some sleep - I'm doing the London Marathon you know.

Nup, never going to happen.

Instead, it was off to the pub, drink some Guinness, drink some more Guinness, roll home late, burn my tea, burn a shirt, fall in bed, get up stupidly early in the morning for my run instead ('cos I missed tonight's and have to work late tomorrow night).

What's worse as I write is that I've only actually got to the roll home late bit, the rest is yet to come.

Hope you had fun if you were out. I did and thanks to Kate, Carson and Kevin for that (all of whom have sponsored me).

I'm now off to burn my tea.

Wheelie embarrassing

Only four weeks to go now and thank goodness for that.

I've had sinusitis for the past two days and didn't sleep more than a couple of hours last night, not exactly ideal preparation for a 19-mile run this morning. But I made it round and that's all that matters at this stage.

However, later, whilst crumpled in a heap on the sofa, I flicked across to the coverage of the various Sport Relief miles taking place around the country. The images prompted me to break out in a cold sweat. Let me explain.

Two years ago I ran the last Sport Relief Mile along the Embankment in London. The problem was, none of my friends down there would do it with me so by the time I got to the start line I was a little bored. When the gun went, I thought to myself, "what the hell, it's only a mile so I might as well get a bit of a sweat up." I therefore took off as quickly as I could (although clearly there were many better runners than me so my extra efforts might very easily have been missed by the cheering crowd).

Then, about halfway down the course, I noticed a familiar figure some distance ahead of me. It was Ade Adepitan, best known to most as the deadlocked guy who featured in the BBC wheelchair dancing sequence a few years ago. You know, when the announcer says, "and now on BBC1..." and off they go. I think you've got me.

Anyway, I spotted yer man pushing himself down the road with all his might. Suddenly there was only one thing in life that mattered to me - I had to beat him. For the next three minutes or so I ran quicker than I'd run since my early twenties. At one point I thought my head was going to explode. And the result? I just nicked him on the line, even taking the precaution of dipping like an Olympic sprinter to guarantee my crown. I felt wonderful, what I hero I was!

But a few seconds later, as I was being guided round to get my goodie bag, I caught the appalled stare of an old friend I used to work with who was acting as a steward and had seen my antics. She looked me straight in the eye, smiled and shook her head. The reality dawned. I wanted the ground to eat me.

Needless to say, I don't think Ade himself noticed me at any point and if he had I'm sure he wouldn't have cared.

But there again... thinking back, a few minutes after the finish I remember him doing a TV interview in a particularly cheery manner. Hmmm. Actually, now I hope he did notice me. I beat him fair and square and he'd better just accept it. How sad is he? Tch!

Raising a glass to the Two And A Half Club

Thanks to the generosity of "a well-known global drinks company" which sells Guinness, I'm now through the £2,500 barrier.

Naturally I'm rather pleased. It just sounds like a lot of money - say it, "two and a half thousand pounds" (hope you did) - and clearly we're not finished yet.

This little landmark also provides an admittedly lame excuse for me to tell you about my mate Ben and the Two And A Half Club.

Ben's a Cockney Diamond Geezer whose dad drives a London cab. We also fancy ourselves as the next Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant (don't laugh or, on second thoughts, perhaps do 'cos that's the whole idea) and hope to have the pilot episode of our first sitcom written by the end of June. More of that another time.

Anyway, you know how you get to a Wednesday lunchtime and you realise you've done two and a half days of the working week (assuming you work Monday to Friday) and there's just two and a half days left to the weekend? "The Hump," as Chris Evans called it on the radio the other day.

Well, in one of Ben's many previous jobs whilst still living in that London, they had the Two and A Half Club which had only one rule/activity. Every Wednesday lunchtime to mark the occasion, all members had to meet in the pub and drink two and half pints before returning to their desks.

What a great idea and, like most of the best ideas, it's simple! I trust you feel better for me sharing that with you.

Oh, and watch out for our sitcom.

Shoe problem solved

Isn't she lovely? Yes, my friends, this is a picture of one of the new running shoes I was forced to buy earlier today.

And I think it is a she because I'm assured it (and its friend) will keep me upright when I'm dying for another drink after making a mouth of myself for several hours in front of a big crowd (work it out).

Thanks to Steven at Shoes Unlimited in Bradford for doing me such a generous deal - just the latest of many acts of human kindness I've been on the receiving end of this week.

Now for the road test - seven and a half miles tonight...

Doing all sorts of do's

The pace of this whole thing is really starting to quicken now (unlike the pace of my running which still isn't exactly singeing my eyebrows).

As you may have read elsewhere, I've been fortunate enough to receive the support of proper Yorkshire celebrities Dickie Bird and William Hague - both of whom were also prepared to put their money where there mouths are located. Two top men.

Then this afternoon (which you obviously won't have read), I received an e-mail out of the blue from someone back home who I know is as fond of Sebastian as he is of her. She has a couple of terrific fundraising ideas - one of which is brilliantly off the wall - and is now in the process of hopefully getting the necessary legal approvals to make things happen. I'm sorry for having to be cryptic on this but as soon as I can say something more I will.

Another friend - my mate John (aka Batman) - is as I write in the process of trying to secure the agreement of another celebrity backer who, if it comes off, will send this whole thing into orbit. Again, I'll tell you when I can and it might not happen. And if it doesn't, I'll probably tell you anyway because I'll be annoyed.

I also received an e-mail today from my old friend Lydia Kerr (nee Davidson). Lydia and I have known each other for many years, having spent seven of them walking past each other in opposite directions on the Old Bridge in Coleraine as we made our way to school. Bizarrely in this small and crazy world we live in (particularly for Lydia who is both small and crazy and sometimes bizarre), she not that long ago married my even older friend Andrew Kerr whom I first met in reception class at Macosquin Primary School.

Lydia is one of the few people I know (other than my mother) to have confessed to reading this blog - you've no idea how good that makes me feel. Let me repeat - someone, somewhere (other than my mother) reads this rubbish and that's great (the feeling, not the content which is clearly pretty poor).

And not only did Lydia tell me she reads this, but she even passed me the advice of her desk buddy Chris in relation to my running shoe dilemma which I told you about yesterday. Chris, it transpires, is also doing the London Marathon and the same thing happened to him i.e. he put his toe through his running shoe. In my book, this makes him more than qualified to give his opinion. And what is Chris's view? Buy new shoes. I've never met Chris but I think I like him. Chris, if you're reading this, thank you my friend -it's settled. Tomorrow I am going back to the running shoe shop.

And Lydia, if you're reading this, I hope you like my picture of your lookalikey Betty Boo. When I receive your cheque, I will bank it in your joint honour.

In a bit of a hole

I've had a "wardrobe malfunction."

Running doesn't require much in the way of equipment other than a good pair of running shoes. So guess what I've found a hole in? You guessed right.

I bought a new pair in the sales at the beginning of January and for the last two months they've served me well.

Then last night I discovered that my right big toe had worked its way through the top of my shoe. It's not the whole (or hole for that matter) way through, but it's halfway there. This is not good and it leaves me with two options.

One, do I perserve and hope that the problem doesn't worsen and the shoes see me through the next four and a half weeks to race day?

Or two, do I fork out another probably seventy-odd quid for a new pair and start the process of breaking them in which is a task in itself?

On sober reflection it's going to have to be the latter as there's no point in coming this far, risking the shoe splitting the week before the race and then not having another pair ready to jump into. AAAGGHHH!!!! £70 it is then.

I said right at the beginning that I would cover all the costs of this little Marathon adventure myself and that includes replacement shoes.

However, I'll feel much better about my mishap if you can find it in your heart to send me some sponsorship money - all of which will go to the charities.

You might as well.

The Caped Crusader swoops in

Five weeks 'til race day and a weekend visitor has just departed.

John Fulton, best man at my wedding almost three years ago and best mate for as long as I can remember, arrived on Friday and is now en route back to Cardiff where he currently works for the BBC.

We went to school together in Coleraine and despite the fact that we've lived in various different locations since those distant days, we've managed to remain in close touch throughout.

And as ever when he arrives for a weekend in Yorkshire, we didn't see much of it.

He met me straight from work in Bradford where we went directly to the pub until shortly before closing time and then taxied home for a pizza.

To his great surprise, I was up early yesterday morning as I said I would be (I'm doing the London Marathon you know) and ran ten miles as planned. Then it was back-to-back rugby and football on the telly before food was served and more drink was drunk - we never left the house.

Then today it was a pub lunch and away for him (and shortly off to bed for me).

Not a sophisticated weekend I'm sure you'll agree but unfortunately very much what's expected when we get together. Most importantly, it was a laugh.

Tomorrow reality - and the training programme - returns with a vengeance.

And yes, that is us dressed as Batman and Robin.

Money flows in as Paula's chances go down the loo

The London trip paid off handsomely thanks to the generosity of some very nice people - I raised £236 over the course of Tuesday evening. But that was not the end of the story.

I arrived home last night to find a cheque waiting for me from two extremely kind relatives back home. And then this morning, when I checked my e-mails, I found another incredibly generous pledge from an incredibly decent Scottish friend living in Yorkshire.

Sincere thanks to all of them and indeed to everyone who has dipped their hands in their pockets thus far. You're brilliant.

On a lighter note you may have heard that the Toilet Queen herself, Paula Radcliffe, has today withdrawn from the London Marathon.

This is a shame as her involvement would have attracted a lot of media attention in the last couple of weeks before the race and made it easier for people like me to raise money.

It also robs us of the chance to hear all the old jokes about what she did or didn't "do" on an Athens pavement four years ago (not to mention what we know she definitely did do on a London street a few months later - see above if you can't remember).

But there is an upside.

At least there's now one less girl who's going to beat horribly me on the day.

Off to that London in search of gold

Eagle-eyed readers may have noticed I'm just a handful of rich person's change away from breaking through the £2,000 barrier in money raised.

So where better place to spend the next couple of days than London, the so-called financial capital of the world.

I've got some work to do down there but I've also taken the opportunity to arrange to meet a few people who will hopefully be persuaded to donate to my fund.

Needless to say I'll let you know how I get on - once the hangover is out of the way, of course.

Nice to have an old friend back

Six weeks to go now and I've just completed and 17 and a half mile run - this is getting silly.

Thankfully I've been reunited with my cheesy iPod who's been to rehab to be dried out. Actually I made that bit up. Yes it has dried out but only after spending some time sitting on a radiator after last Sunday's soaking. And it certainly made this morning's long trek go a lot quicker.

The likelihood is that you wouldn't like the contents of my iPod. And I'm pretty certain most joggers would hate it - do you know of anyone else out there who takes to the streets to the strains of Lyin' Eyes by The Eagles?

Followed, more than usually, by a bit of Neil Diamond and perhaps a quick burst of Debbie Gibson? And then some Howard Jones? Jimmy Somerville anyone? Or what about a touch of Erasure?

There is slightly more "respectable" stuff on their too - Snow Patrol, REM, Amy MacDonald who I love - but, in general, cheese is the predominant smell.

Which reminds me, it's time for a long, hot bath.

A pleasure to watch the Rhinos charge

Despite being a rugby union man at heart, I've tried really hard to get into rugby league since moving to Yorkshire four a half years ago.

It was therefore a real privilege to be at Elland Road last night to see the Leeds Rhinos lift the world club championship after a 11-4 win over Melbourne Storm.

There's a great feel about a big rugby league game. It's a real family affair with mothers and daughters as common a sight as fathers and sons. Everyone seems to turn up ready to enjoy themselves, come what may, with the clubs also deserving great credit for the efforts they make in putting on additional entertainment before the game and at half-time.

And then there's the players. Unlike their footballing counterparts, there seems to be a complete absence of big shot egos and a real appreciation for the supporters who pay their wages - which are absolute peanuts in comparison to what the likes of John Terry and Wayne Rooney are accustomed. Most of them also tend to live in the local comunity, rather than in mock Tudor mansions far away from "ordinary" people.

Last night's game was a real battle of wills in horrible conditions and the Rhinos, led by their inspirational skipper Kevin Sinfield, deserved their win and the title of best rugby league club on the planet.

As a result, Rhinos fans went home happy. But even if their team hadn't triumphed, I reckon most of them would have done so anyway. That's the rugby league way.

On marathon matters, I was out for short so-called "speed" sessions both yesterday morning and again today. Tomorrow morning, as ever on a Sunday, I'm due to run for the longest time I've ever managed - in this case about two hours and 40 minutes. Needless to say I'm not looking forward to it. At all. But hey-ho!