Numbers are pinned to vest and kit is laid out, the family have called and I’ve been overdosing on Comrades Marathon stories in the literature from the Expo yesterday.

Keep catching myself staring into space. At this second, I’m mostly concerned about Polly Shortts. The hill that makes grown men weep, and Comrades Veterans suck in their breathe, requires a steely resolve just to walk up. Lying at 77km it’s a killer and when you get to the top you’ve still got another 8km of tarmac and tears before the finish. I’ve heard a lot about Pollys, and now I wish I hadn’t asked.