Rosie and Philip Millard, in their biggest challenge yet, grit their teeth, tighten the laces on their trainers and get ready to raise thousands for charity.

Mrs Millard thinks “I really don’t want to do this. Well, I do, but I’m worried about failing”

Like everyone else, I view the London Marathon, on April 13, with a mixture of regard and fear. And desire, for a fleeting moment, when I see that aerial shot of the milling thousands at Blackheath. What a great thing to do, I think. Next year I’ll pluck up the courage to apply. Of course, I never have. Really, what I am thinking is that the London Marathon is a great thing to have done. Because no one actually wants to run the blessed thing – 26.2 miles. Unspeakably ghastly. Getting the medal, what a feeling. If only there was a way around it.

I see preparing to run the marathon a bit like preparing to have a baby. Most women rather like the way it begins, and feel great when they see the end product. I was thinking about childbirth only this morning, while on an eight-mile run around one of North London’s least glamorous parks. I am on a schedule that is so gruelling it looks like something produced by the Army. Which is worse; the London Marathon, or going into labour? From my current position, it’s a close call (and I’m a proud mother of four). At least with childbirth, you have the option of pain relief. “Oh, you’ll lose your big toenails,” said a friend who did the marathon in 4 hours 30 minutes. And, from what I’ve read, both nipples.

Then there is The Wall, the point at which you can no longer put one foot in front of the other. I fear that I will spend so much time anticipating The Wall’s dreaded arrival that it will probably turn up at around Mile 2. And so we proceed, at a grim clip, towards April 13. Above my desk, my sophisticated New Yorker calendar has been turned into a mileage log – I have also been clocking up the miles on my tracker chart on The Times Health Club. At this juncture, my miles (in blue) on the calendar have been clocking up rather more successfully than Mr Millard’s (in red). This drives him mad. I hope it will drive him on. Because if he is driven on, then I will be.

Why am I so nervous? I’ve always wanted to do the London Marathon. I ran a perfectly respectable 10km the other day (49 minutes, if you really want to know). I’m doing it to raise money for an important charity, Help the Hospices, which aims to ensure the best possible care is provided to all those affected by terminal illness. I’m hoping that my efforts will raise thousands of pounds. But getting through the race? That’s where mental strength comes in, and that is my Achilles heel. At which point, bring on Amanda Owens, a sports psychologist, who used to play tennis for Britain, is on the British Olympic Association advisory board, and is sports psychologist for Surrey and Essex county cricket clubs. And she has run the beast herself.

“You will have no problem running the London Marathon,” are her first words when we meet. “We need to remove the mental blocks you have built up.” We discuss my ideal running conditions. My idea of a perfect run is to go out on my own without so much as a watch, let alone an i-Pod, and to let the miles clock up, unremarked. I do not wish to be among 30,000 runners, many of whom will be in comedy outfits. I don’t want mile markers, buzzing helicopters, and streets lined by Paula Radcliffe fans. Yet that is the reality of the London Marathon and I fear that it will make me want to give up, simply out of disorientating panic.

Amanda outlines her coping strategies, which include running on a treadmill surrounded by video clips of the Marathon – something she can set up for me at her gym. This is so I get used to the overwhelming noise and the crowds. She talks about a different method for envisaging the monumental distance. “You have to break it down. Think about it as two half-marathons, or eight sections of three miles (plus a wee bit more). We want to create a Rosie bubble for you to run in. This will help you not think about the other people who are running alongside you.”

She advises me to start a running journal, marking down each of my training runs. “How did you feel during the run? How did you get into your flow?” We talk about visualisation techniques. “I want you to work out how you are going to feel lining up before the race begins. And what you will look like. I want you to visualise yourself at mile 16. I want you to visualise yourself finishing.”

Lining up? Mile 16? Finishing? No, I still can’t really believe I am going to do this, but after my first session with Amanda, somehow all that money I hope to raise and that very special silver wrap which you get at the end of 26.2 miles has inched a little closer.

HER EXPERT SAYS

Familiarise yourself with the route and key monuments along the way. Don’t overtrain or get fixated with punishing set routines. Make sure you get in a long weekly run. Mentally put your negative thoughts on running into a black box, and chuck it out of a virtual window. Remember that everyone else will be feeling nervous. If you get into a negative mode while running, use positive visualisation to get yourself out of it

Amanda Owens is a BASES-accredited sports psychologist (07736 853375), who runs the sports & Business consultancy www.believeconsulting.co.uk  

Mr Millard thinks “Which nutter invented such ludicrous training schedules?”

I’m running the London Marathon and I need help. Most of all, I need counselling for agreeing nearly a month ago to take part in the first place. I suspect the psychiatric advice will be the same as my neighbour Tim’s. “Don’t do it,” says Tim, with an I-know-better look. “The training will kill you.” He thinks Rosie is also bonkers; probably more so. She’s been getting up to go running in the dark. For me, a mixture of vanity, stupidity and a misty-eyed desire to Do Something Different with my spouse is driving me recklessly on.

I’ve told as many people as possible that I’m running the marathon. And just in case I’m tempted to pull out, feign injury, or catch a convenient cold, The Times recruits an expert to help me through it. Lloyd Bradley, the author of The Rough Guide To Running (£9.99), cuts an unthreatening, if rather large presence. Somewhere near 6ft 4in, he confesses to being the wrong build to have lots of marathons under his belt. Nevertheless, he’s full of optimism and reasonableness.

Lloyd’s book has lots of sensible advice. One section is called “Should I be running?” The answer is: “Of course you should.” Another section is headed: “Will I look stupid?” The answer is: “Not unless you are running a marathon dressed as a carrot.” I won’t be dressed as a carrot, but I will be raising money – £2,000 and hopefully more – for charity, in my case the autism education charity TreeHouse, one I’m particularly drawn to having made TV programmes about learning disability.

At this stage, I’m reasonably confident about the outcome. I have done several 10km runs and finished four half-marathons, although with different results. I will not be repeating the “I can win this race” technique, which bedevilled my first attempt. This resulted in a furiously fast two miles followed by 11 miles of misery as the field filed past me, including some very old people. The second attempt, ten years later, was far worse. I entered the Wimbledon Half-Marathon along with the new Mrs Millard, who was wearing lipstick and who started off some way behind me. After 10 miles, I collapsed to a near-walk, only to watch Rosie, make-up intact, speeding past me a few minutes later. My last half-marathon, about seven years ago, went slightly better. I’ve been using the same shoes ever since, sometimes for gardening. On seeing these antiques, Lloyd laughs and tells me I must immediately replace them at a proper running shop.

My next meeting with Lloyd is three weeks later on Hampstead Heath, in the rain. Lloyd runs just behind us and says: “Philip, you must be a funky little mover on the dance floor because you’re shakin’ as you run. There is too much lateral movement in your arms and shoulders, which saps the strength as it interferes with forward momentum and is a plain waste of energy.” He says that I flick my feet up too much, which “interferes with a smooth efficient stride cycle and defuses energy needlessly”. I try to run in a less eccentric manner, bounding purposefully along with my arms straighter and my shoulders more stable. I start to wonder how I will keep this up for 26.2 miles.

Rosie’s running blues have eased lately. She has taken to obsessively logging her mileage. I notice a series of strange numbers appearing on her office calendar. She explains their significance. “So, this week it’s 28 to me and 6 to you. Miles that is.” She chortles. Well, it is only Week 3.

HIS EXPERT SAYS

Philip needs to make sure the upright posture he starts off with is maintained as he starts to tire; it makes breathing balance much easier. Arms should swing backwards and forwards in a straight line with the hands and elbows not travelling past the body. Shoulders should stay square to the front and loose; too much movement will sap Philip’s strength.

Even more importantly, his feet should travel through the stride cycle in a straight line; kicking them out to the sides wastes energy and can put serious strain on the ankles and knees. As the foot pushes off the ground it should travel in a smooth circular motion – not unlike pedalling a bicycle – flicking up behind him will interrupt this flow. Take shorter strides when going uphill, but maintain the same stride rate on the flat.

Get a heart-rate monitor with a stopwatch function. Philip will be able to monitor his training and improvement with a huge degree of accuracy.

Lloyd Bradley is the author of The Rough Guide to Running (£9.99); e-mail him at lloyd@fit4lifemedia.com

HOW TO RAISE MONEY FOR HELP THE HOSPICES

This charity raises funds for, and awareness of, the 240 British hospices that offer free care for all who need it. If you would like to sponsor Rosie, click on www.justgiving.com/RosieMillard

To track Rosie’s progress in training for the marathon, and to send postings, go to http://mrsmillard.timeshealth.co.uk

HOW TO RAISE MONEY FOR TREEHOUSE

The charity was set up in 1997 by a group of parents who refused to settle for the inadequate educational provision on offer for their children. Since then TreeHouse has grown to a national charity for the education of autistic children. If you would like to sponsor Philip, click on to www.justgiving.com/MrMillard

To track his progress in training for the marathon and to send postings, go to http://mrmillard.timeshealth.co.uk

Join the Times Health Club and watch Rosie and Philip as they train for the London Marathon. You can track their progress at http://themillards.groups.timeshealth.co.uk. If you have any tips for them, just log on to http://bodyandsoul.thetimes.co.uk

How did Mr & Mrs Millard get on over the 26.2 mile course? After months of training, numerous miles covered and injuries to contend with...

Mrs Millard thinks “I must stick to the plan”

THE bells were ringing out from Greenwich when Mr Millard, I and 35,000 others charge off on the course. Gospel singers, brass bands and DJs line the route, as well as people yelling “Oggy Oggy Oggy” from pub balconies. I don't join in with the customary response. I'm too busy keying into the mental plan that I and my sports psychologist Amanda Owens have prepared.

I've broken the marathon down into five chunks; the first 13, then miles 13-16, 16-21, 21-24, and finally the last two. At no point do I think about the whole 26.2. At mile 6 a fellow runner taps me on the shoulder. “Hello Mrs Millard,” she says: “I've been following your progress!” As she speeds past, I call out: “Mr Millard's ahead of you!” She nods her head vigorously. “Always sets off too fast, doesn't he?” I'm going reasonably slowly. In Rotherhithe I run past the wonderful Masai warriors. As thousands of us grab our bottles of Vittel, I think about the Masai tribesmen, running in shoes made from tyres to raise funds for their village well.

I also think about my charity, Help the Hospices. As I near Tower Bridge I think about the preciousness of life. I know, all very intense, but the physical slog of pushing on past the mile markers means you have head space for only the great messages of existence.

At mile 20, a familiar figure. Running on his toes, too, which doesn't look good. “You go on,” gasps Mr Millard. Bless him. As I charge past mile 22, I bless two more people; Amanda, for giving me a structure so rigid it is impossible to dismiss, and my brother Richard, for reminding me to do speed intervals: where you sprint for a minute then recover for a minute ten times to strengthen your legs. That's what keeps my pins going; past my cheering father and brother-in-law at Westminster and up to Buckingham Palace. Then, a great big overhead sign, saying “Only 385 Yards!” What can I tell you about running under that sign, turning up the Mall and crossing the finish line? Only that I know it is a great life moment.

Mr Millard thinks “I must run my own race”

THE Big Day rather creeps up on me, although Rosie's ashen face is a constant reminder of what we are about to go through. This is a bit like getting married, especially as we are doing it together. Many good luck texts come in, Mrs M spends several hours the day before at the hairdresser. A rather smart car arrives at 7.25am, courtesy of our next door neighbour (personal best: 3hr 18min), who is also running, to whisk us off to the start of the marathon in Greenwich. I'm wearing a yellow wristband which shows how fast I must run to hit my predicted time of 3hr 45min.

At the start, we end up close to a runner with a large rocket stuck to his back, a man with green hair and the obligatory pantomime horse. I've run only a mile when a nasty pain presents itself in my left knee. I gallantly ignore this. The sun is shining and I'm soon scorching past people. I think about the various half marathons I have run. I join in the singing and booing. I glide - yes glide, Rosie - past the Masai warriors who are chanting, carrying spears, shields and running in shoes made of old tyres.

Somebody I know runs up alongside me. We start running rather fast. Even a rainstorm will not deter us. If I can hang on to this guy's coat-tails, all will be well. The half marathon is despatched in 1hr 45min. I'll be home in no time. I see the winners running the other way like demi-Gods.

A rather annoying loo stop at 15 miles wrecks my rhythm. At Canary Wharf, I look out, vainly, for my supporters (four small children, a nanny and several friends). The noise is deafening. I spot somebody I know just after the 20-mile mark. It's Rosie, sloping past me.

By now, I've got the reverse jets on. I start attacking strangers, grabbing handfuls of Jelly Babies. After 3hr 35min, I'm still two miles from home. My running speed suddenly judders to a halt, near walking pace. The crowds are roaring, annoyingly, as I emerge from the last tunnel. Somehow I reach the Houses of Parliament but as I run past Buckingham Palace somebody swears. Apparently we are in the group labelled “Those That Just Missed The Four Hour Mark”. It has taken me 26 minutes to hobble the last two miles. A curious depression settles on me as I collect my medal. But in the sudden rainstorm Rosie is there to hug me, cheer me up and to remind me that I did well, although not quite as well as her. Bring on the re-match.

FINAL TIMES

Training miles

Rosie: 500 (started November)

Philip: 350 (started January)

Pre-marathon training races

Watford Half Marathon, Reading Half Marathon, Finchley 20-mile, Kingston Breakfast (16-mile)

Injuries

Rosie: none

Philip: pulled calves, bleeding nipples, black toenails

Key recovery agent

Aromatherapy Associates De-stress Muscle Gel

Habits abandoned

Wine, late nights, caffeine

Habits acquired

Early mornings, speed running, obsessive mileage calculation, occasional grumpiness

Weight loss

Rosie: couple of pounds

Philip : 1st

Sense of personal achievement

Immeasurable

THERE'S STILL TIME TO DONATE

There are 55 days left to donate! Rosie and Philip ran the London Marathon to raise money for their respective charities. Philip ran in aid of TreeHouse, a national charity that was set up in 1997 for the education of autistic children. Rosie raised money for Help the Hospices, of which there are 240 hospices in the UK offering free care for all who need it.

You can still make a donation to Philip or Rosie, simply log on to themillards.groups.timeshealth.co.uk

It's one week to go until the London marathon, how are Mr & Mrs Millard coping with the pressure; while columnist David Aaronovitch recalls his Marathon experience two years ago.

Mr Millard thinks “I'm bound to break down halfway”

Running the London Marathon is like taking a rather nasty written exam. Its date has been fixed in my diary for months, creeping inevitably nearer. It is a somewhat impossible challenge, it has a deadline, and one sunny (though not too sunny) day it will all be over.

In January, I used to worry several times a day about the marathon, although recently a strange thing has happened: I don't think about it at all. But then I wake up and it is staring me in the face, yelling at me. I assume this amounts to a crude defence mechanism. Lately, I have been fretting about defective parts of my 48-year-old body. Last week it was my Achilles tendon (overstretched).

The marathon term I like best of all is “tapering”, jargon for running a lot less in the two weeks before the Big One. Everything is relative of course as I've still been out doing interval training (10 times one-minute sprints, with 2-minute rests in between). But as exam day looms, there is little else to be done. No last-minute cramming, no drinking, early nights, lots of pasta and some Zen thinking, as I'm sure the real battle will be fought in my head.

Philip's expert says...

Make sure you don't hurt yourself, so stay loose and relaxed, and enjoy your running.

Don't run more than four miles at a time in the final week.

Taper off your eating plan as relative to your running, but stoke up on carbs the evening before the race.

You've trained properly, you can do it.

Lloyd Bradley is the author of The Rough Guide to Running (£9.99); e-mail lloyd@fit4lifemedia.com

Mrs Millard thinks “Glide. Power. Achieve it. That's my current mantra”

Well, I'm as ready as I'm going to be. The London Marathon Store (londonmarathonstore.com) has checked out my trainers. I have decided which bra I'm wearing (Nike, black), which top (short-sleeved) and which pants (Capri style), thank you Sweatshop. My fundraising is going well and I've been doing fast-interval training.

I also have a mental training plan from my sports psychologist, Amanda Owens. “You must hit the ground running at the start,” she tells me. She has put together exercises for me to do the night before the big race. This involves reading a list I have compiled of all the races that Mr Millard and I have completed. I've written down how I've felt during the races (good) and my times achieved (also good). Reading the list will help me feel as if running 26.2 miles is actually achievable (we hope).

I've also been sent an inspiring poem by Michelle Dewberry, of The Apprentice fame, which starts thus: “When you stand on the start line, you join the club. When you stand at the starting line you earn your membership. Millions dream of being where you are. You are no longer a dreamer. You are a doer.”

Rosie's expert says...

Make sure you have mentally arrived, ready for the race.

Be aware of the unexpected, and prepare for it.

Look back on what you have achieved.

See yourself in a happy place; running down the Mall to the finish line, and receiving your medal.

Remember to smile as you are running.

Amanda Owens can be reached on www.believeconsulting.co.uk

Mr and Mrs Millard need your help

Rosie and Philip need to raise £2,000 each for their respective charities. Philip is running in aid of TreeHouse, a national charity that was set up in 1997 for the education of autistic children. Rosie is raising money for Help the Hospices, of which there are 240 hospices in the UK offering free care for all who need it.

If you would like to make a donation to Philip or Rosie, log on to themillards.groups.timeshealth.co.uk

Times columnist David Aaronovitch recalls the countdown to the race two years ago

Two weeks before the 2006 London Marathon I ran my last long distance - 20 miles along the Thames towpath - and then, as you are supposed to, tapered down before the big event. The Friday before the marathon I allowed myself only a six-mile run. As I stopped, just before a steep hill, a bloke came up behind me, all split-thigh shorts and pheromones, and said: “Don't give up!” I wanted to race him up the incline, but I had to obey the law of the taper, which has two physical effects: it stops you being tired and it makes it less likely that you'll be injured.

But the third effect, the psychological, turned out to be the most unexpected; I just couldn't wait for the big day. Yes, I was nervous, but I was also totally ready, fitter than I had ever been, thinner than for a decade, and with a need for that endorphin rush, which only a really long run could satisfy. When the day came I was like a greyhound in the traps (albeit a slow, grizzled hound, but keen just the same).

All that worried me, unromantically, in the last day, was digestion and its consequences. Bodily functions are important to distance runners. Plenty of men and women time it right and the early stages of many races are lined with uninhibited urinators, and then later on become ragged with pinched-knee loo-searchers. I am far too squeamish for that, and so it was essential that everything on the Saturday and Sunday happened in the correct sequence. And it did. Good luck Rosie and Philip. It's nearly as good as childbirth.

Triathlon, anyone?

This summer David will be adding cycling and swimming to his semi-competences and taking part in the London Docklands Triathlon, August 9-10. If you are competing in a triathlon, why not join David's club at triathlon.groups.timeshealth.co.uk to swap tips, advice and training schedules.