7 Days before the dance.

This is all starting to get quite real. I've just dropped Lizzi and Isla off with my mum and dad at Toddington service station on the M1 which could, to onlookers, have looked like a child trafficking operation. I'm now heading back home to deposit Annie with friends before heading to the hotel airport with Katie. Sounds stupid I know but sitting here in traffic on the M25 is the first time I've got a little emotional about the whole thing, not the fact that I'm deserting my three children for a week- although of (course I'm going to miss them all like crazy) but the fact that in 48 hours I'll be standing on Dig Me beach. I've had a picture of Kailua bay on my fridge for almost 10 years, I've spent literally hundreds of hours on my turbo watching Kona footage of years past imagining what it would feel like to head off down the queen K surrounded by some of the finest conditioned athletes on the planet. Although having qualified nearly three months ago only now am I a little teary eyed about the whole thing.

I know that my dad and at least one other person have taken an interest in my blog over the last however many years as I've persued my 'holy grail'. So for their benefit and to fill the time I'd usually be spending changing nappies, I'll blog through the week to record and share my experience of the ironman world championships.