Less than four weeks to go to Copenhagen, and at last – the start of some good old dry-mouthed terror to report. Saturday’s droopy 18 miler seemed like a gloomy portent, and marshalling at the London marathon on Sunday was another – at times. If I shut one eye it was a joyful experience. If I opened it and shut the other… well, it was like peering from the shadows at my own funeral.… READ MORE.... …