by James Bell
The Caledonian sleeper sidled out of Euston at 9.30 pm on an unremarkable Thursday night heading for the capital of the highlands. By 9.31, Alison and I had already drunk half the wine, eaten most of the cheese and had plans to stay up no later than 10:30, such is our rock & roll lifestyle. Tucked in bed, my last though was “why I am doing a marathon?”. For anyone who knows me, I have a problem with marathons. I just don’t see the attraction. However, my inner trainspotter had noticed that whilst I had ticked a few race distance boxes, the marathon had defeated me. The reason for the defeat is that I had run courses that I considered boring, really boring. I needed something stimulating and then, I thought, my moment would come.