Highs and lows

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. It was all going so well.

Carb-loading works, for a start. I was bouncy and full of energy as I made my way to Finsbury Park yesterday morning - it was really quite amazing to see all the other turquoise T-shirts coming together on the tube as we got closer to the circuit and we were so lucky to have another absolutely stunning day. And after a fair amount of waiting round once I arrived, I have to admit that setting off with over two thousand other smiling runners, raising hundreds of thousands of pounds between us for Cancer Research, music pumping through my headphones, crowds of supporters cheering, the park looking so beautiful, everyone bursting with London pride, well, it was all fairly emotional.

And I made it! 10 kilometers, twice round a challenging course that included three bad hills, but I did it without stopping, in 1 hour 8 minutes, a time with which I'm very pleased as a) when I've run 9k during training, it's taken me around 1 hour 7 mins, so I managed to squeeze in an extra kilometer into the same amount of time, in spite of the untrained-for hills and the heat and b) the damaged ligament in my foot, which I'd hoped would hold off until about half way round the course, started hurting as I approached the 1k marker, which was annoying. But all in all, it was a wonderful, memorable and moving experience, something I never imagined I would enjoy as much as I did - and I wore my medal with pride all the way home.

In preparation for the run, I hadn't had any alcohol on Saturday, something that I found worryingly irritating, so yesterday afternoon, when Sarah and Joanna and I met in Green Park to sit on deckchairs, eat a picnic and celebrate my run's completion, I got stuck in to the dry Reisling with perhaps a little more gusto than I should have. And perhaps I should have gone home at about 6pm when Sarah did, instead of going to a pub in Shepherd's Market with Joanna, where we carried on putting the world to rights with some Chilean Sauvignon, before I realised that I hadn't been given my £20 cashback by the barmaid some time earlier, and went to reclaim it, and was flirtatiously accused of stealing by a pair of lecherous Sloaney married men in their forties, who then joined us for the rest of the evening, plying us with drinks and eventually trying to persuade us to go to Tramp with them, even though we were both barely able to stand with giddy inebriation and also wearing jeans. Fortunately my sanity clicked in at this point and I managed to guide Joanna away from temptation and shortly afterwards, I got on the bendy bus back home where I half lay on the concertina middle section, barely able to see and giggling helplessly to myself at half-remembered nuggets from the evening. Upon arrival at my destination, and keen to favour my bandaged left foot, I stepped boldly from the bus onto my right foot, twisted my ankle, collapsed onto the pavement, losing my shoe in the process, and all I can really remember is several strangers trying to help me stand, and me howling with laughter and saying, 'I can't get up because I am too drunk,' and them all starting to laugh too.

Today I have a bandaged left foot while the ankle on my right foot has swollen to the size of a small apple and is bruising by the minute. I am hobbling as if massively arthritic while still laughing to myself at the random, disreputable hilarity of the whole experience. It was, all in all, a brilliant day. Mum: I'm sorry.