I’ve never had trouble sleeping. I’ve put in some valuable training over the years to perfect my ability to sleep soundly for a good eight hours most nights. Of course, this hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve persevered and now I’m pretty good at it – in fact I’d say I’m in the elite category when it comes to sleep.  I’ve even managed power naps in nightclubs in Amsterdam and Ireland. That’s just how I roll.

But now the marathon is threatening my beloved 40 winks. The marathon anxiety dreams have started. Last night’s dream, I’m certain, was induced by an inspection of my training plan that revealed that with 10 weeks to go, I’m not hitting the mileage that I need to be. I’m smashing the long runs, but the 3-4 runs during the week aren’t always going to plan. Time to up my game.

My dream went like this: I was at the start of the New York marathon (presumably because I keep telling people that Nottingham is the New York of the Midlands), however the course is very much Brighton Marathon. So I start running and I’m going too fast and I know I should slow down, but I’m feeling OK.

Then I reach for a gel, but I don’t have any with me. So I panic that I’m not going to be able to make it and I’m going to hit the wall. I ring my mum (because clearly a phone was more essential to pack than gels) but she’s not there. So I ring my sister and try to explain to her where to find my gels. I get off the phone but I don’t know where I’m going to meet up with them. And then I wake up.

It doesn’t take Frasier Crane to decipher that my subconscious brain is worried my target of sub-4 might have been over-ambitious and that, with my support crew one very important man down, realising I need to be self-sufficient in the race (and worried I can’t do it on my own). But my subconscious brain can do one. Come Sunday 11 September, I’ll be lining up at the start in the correct city and I’ll be prepared. Bring it on.