After four months hard training, the Berlin marathon is taking place in two weeks. I can't believe it. The last four weeks have been the most challenging in my schedule. 13 miles every weekend has hitched up to 14, then 15, 16, 17 and 18. Jesus wept. That's hours and hours and hours of public pavement plodding. Can you imagine what that's like?

The embarrassment of being seen out jiggling my wobbly bits about in thigh-hugging running gear evaporated from my insecurities years ago (I used to blush every time a bus-load of leering Londoners overtook me), but when you're out on the roads puffing, wheezing and sweating like a hoodie-on-the-run you're bound to grab people's attention.

I can handle the eye-popping old gits and the painfully bored gobby white van drivers (as if, mate) but it's when people actually try and stop you in the street which I just cannot fathom. Erm, don't I look a bit busy, pal?

Over the last month I've been stopped by Jehovah's Witnesses trying to sign me up (no shittin'), people asking me for directions (for fuck's sake, after 17 miles I don't even know where I live), and randoms who want to give me training advice. So here's a bit of advice backatcha: leave us runners alone - the next person who stops me in mid-stride is going to be given a special Le Vay armpit face nuzzle. Trust me: you will never be the same again.