The Night Before: Socks, Salt, and a Slight Sense of Panic

It’s the day before the marathon, and the questions are coming thick and fast.

Are these the right trainers?Will this T-shirt turn my chest into a bloody crime scene?Which socks won’t eat my toes alive by mile 14?Why am I doing this again?

Here’s the thing: I should have answered all these questions already. In fact, if you’re reading this and you’ve still got brand new shoes in the box, I’m going to kindly suggest you stop, have a word with yourself, and go grab the gear you’ve worn for every long run.

TEST — Test Everything Several Times. That’s the golden rule. Nothing new on race day.

No mystery gels, no funky new shorts, no fresh-out-the-packet socks that feel like sandpaper after hour two. If it hasn’t been run in, sweated in, or cursed at during training, it’s staying home.

Let’s talk prep:

• No caffeine – not today. I don’t need the jitters, or a pre-race toilet panic.

• Hydration and salt – not gallons of water, just steady sips with a bit of salt to keep the electrolytes in check. No point turning into a water balloon at the start line.

• More stretching – the hips, the hammies, the calves. I’ve been giving my body the TLC it deserves. Or at least the minimum required to not seize up by mile six.

• Early night – I know I won’t sleep well. Nobody sleeps like a baby before a marathon. But I’ll be in bed early, lights off, pretending.

• Good food – not a kilo of pasta like it’s 1996, but solid, familiar fuel. Carbs, yes. Quality, yes. Panic-eating pizza and Haribo? Not tonight, pal.

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Everything’s laid out and ready — from plasters to pain gel, socks to salt tabs. My race number’s pinned, playlist queued (with a mix of bangers and emotional power tunes), and nerves sitting nicely just under the surface.

Ten years ago, this routine looked the same. But now, I’m older. Smarter. My knees make more noise than my phone. But I’m still here. Still running. Still chasing that feeling at the finish line that says, “You’ve still got it.”

Tomorrow, I’ll run with the version of myself who didn’t always believe he could. I’ll run for the future me who still wants to be strong and mobile well into the next decades. And I’ll run for the absolute buzz of knowing I did something bloody hard — and didn’t let the fear of sore nipples stop me.

Let’s go. One more sleep.