Someone called Moose2000 (possibly not their real name) emailed me to tell me of the flaw in security camera plan (and it was something that I had meant to write about yesterday). The drawback to the otherwise faultless conceit is that another person who is passing at the same time as me might be the one who is in an accident or abduction (though I think it's unlikely anyone will make a suit of anyone else's skin and then run the Marathon in it). In that case, to quote Moose2000 (maybe he's a moose who is celebrating his fourth birthday this year) "You will be forever remembered as the heartless idiot who mugged and capered while, say, a small child was lead off to his doom."

Moose2000 is correct. My actions, whilst appropriate in a situation where I myself am being mourned, could be seen as disrespectful in other circumstances.

But anyway, I don't care, as I have already changed my idea. Dancing and mugging is all very well (hey, I've made both a career and a courtship ritual out of these things), but there's something that would be much more effective and memorable in the case of my untimely, candle-in-the-wind death. From now on every

time I pass a security camera I am going to look right into the centre of the lens and pull a mournful and meaningful face. As if I am aware of the moment of doom that is about to come from nowhere to fell me, and consequently I am appealing to the viewers of the tape from beyond the grave. "Look, he looks right into the camera. Look at his eyes. He knows he's going to die." That would send a chill down anyone's spine. People tend to look fairly ghostly on those videos anyway, especially when it's only taking images every second or so, so to stare into the camera and look pitiful and maybe even mouth "Help me!" or "I am dead!" or "My soul will wander the earth unless I am avenged" or even just "Why!!!" would be really effective.

In fact I might pay someone to follow me around everywhere dressed up as the Grim Reaper. To see that shimmering apparition behind me on the security video would put the willies up anyone (well anyone who hadn't been near me at the time and seen the bloke following me around all the time). A little glance back from me and a terrified face would add to my legend.

I would have to tell the Grim Reaper actor that he was not allowed to intervene if anyone attempted to murder or abduct me, or all of our work would be for nothing. The actor might find this difficult after he'd built up a personal relationship with me (possibly over a period of years) but if he was good enough at his job he'd be into character enough to stand beside me as I'm murdered, possibly waving his scythe around a bit and moaning. Of course none of this would help my case if someone else in the shot was the one who got hurt, but it would add a certain dignity and danger and controversy to my own death.

Anyway, I failed to achieve my long run on Sunday, so I did it today instead. I did twelve miles in just under two and a quarter hours. It's not fast, but it's far. I am confident that I can finish the half marathons that I've got lined up, but still a bit daunted by doing the full one. Luckily I largely managed to avoid the rain today, but the path by the river was very muddy and puddly and my feet were soaking. I was running with water sloshing around in my trainers. This immediately made me remember doing cross country and rugby at school. This was the last time I had run with water in my footwear and my socks soaked and something in my brain had retained these memories, but not thought about them for all these years. Now I was going through the same thing again the memories were released. I don't know why. I didn't need the memories. I was experiencing that actual thing (though for the first time actually voluntarilly).

It was actually slightly comforting to think of the 14 year old me running round the long Kings of Wessex cross country course (whilst, as legend has it, the games teacher enjoyed himself with a sixth former on a mattress hidden under a bush) with my football boots full of mud.

I was quite good at cross country. But then that's probably because no-one else was that bothered about trying to do well at it.

I was thinking about all this during the difficult six mile mark, when all my instincts wanted me to stop and somehow those memories helped carry me through. The last three miles were much easier than the middle three. It's an extremely psychological discipline.

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