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Teddy came home full of tales of a fab day out with his best friend Ben, with hair lank and face glistening sweat - still wearing his hoody. Over a long-sleeved t-shirt.

I left my long run too late this morning and probably too soon after yesterday's punishing sprint and had my first 'bad' run. It wasn't really bad, bad. I ran 90% of the 8 miles, walked briskly for the bit where I thought I was actually going to frazzle & die and then managed to pick up again and run the rest of the way home. And I was still out there and not sitting on my arse.

Every mile counts and every run is a win. No matter how bloody tortuous.

I also moved from km to miles now that I'm actually going to do this marathon thing. It seems the thing to do. Running miles don't sit well with me. I cycle, walk and drive in miles, but run in km. I weigh myself in kg, but weigh flour in ounces. Cured meat is in grammes but raw meat is by the fraction of a pound. Paper is in mm, fabric in inches. After it's been bought by the metre...

Wine, thank goodness, remains constantly measured by the bottle. Although even that is changing. I had to throw some left-over wine away today. There's a first...