It’s been eight weeks since I last wrote.

Not because training stopped. It didn’t. It ramped up. Fiji turned into Canada. Canada turned back into Australia. I ran in minus five degrees. I ran in forty-degree heat. I ran after long-haul flights. I ran through jet lag. I ran when it felt effortless and when it felt heavy.

There were 32-kilometre long runs.
There were marathon pace efforts that clicked.
There were sessions that scared me a little.

And now, suddenly, I’m two weeks out.

The volume has dropped. The taper has begun.

And something interesting has happened.

The voice in my head has gotten louder.

The Voice Gets Louder When It’s Quiet

During peak training, there isn’t much space to think. You’re just executing. Running. Recovering. Sleeping. Repeating.

Now that the kilometres have eased back, there’s room again.

And in that room, the voice shows up.

Today’s run was 18 kilometres, with the final four at marathon pace. Target was 4:15. I ran them closer to 4:05. It felt strong. Controlled. Smooth.

But I could feel my calves.

Not injured. Not bad. Just aware.

That awareness was enough for the voice to begin.

Was that long run three weeks ago enough?
Should I have squeezed in one more 30-plus kilometre session?
Have I done enough to hold pace for 42?

Nothing dramatic. Just subtle questions. The kind that creep in quietly.

It’s strange. When I was running 100-kilometre weeks, fatigue felt like proof. I felt tired all the time, so I felt prepared. Now that I’m fresher, there’s this odd sense of vulnerability. As if freshness equals fragility.

Logically, I know that isn’t true. Taper allows fitness to surface. But logic and emotion don’t always move at the same pace.

A Marathon Is a Conversation

The more I think about Tokyo, the more I realise it won’t just be physical.

It will be a conversation.

Forty-two kilometres of dialogue between me and me.

Somewhere around 28 or 30 kilometres, there will be a shift. Discomfort will rise. Pace will feel harder. And the voice will offer an alternative.

Ease off.
Back it down slightly.
No one will notice.

That is the moment that matters.

It’s not about brute strength. It’s about staying engaged. If I mentally check out for even a few minutes, the pace will drift. If I allow myself to negotiate, I will lose rhythm.

The marathon demands presence.

Positive Self-Talk vs False Confidence

There’s a thin line I’m trying to walk right now.

On one side is doubt.
On the other is ego.

False confidence sounds like this:
I’ve got this. Easy. No worries.

That’s dangerous. The marathon punishes arrogance.

Constructive self-talk sounds different.
I have done the work.
I respect the distance.
I will stay in the moment.

It’s not loud. It’s steady.

When I felt my calves today, I could have spiralled. Instead, I reminded myself of the facts. I’ve trained through extremes. I’ve held marathon pace in tough conditions. I’ve built the volume. I’ve shown up consistently.

That’s not ego. That’s evidence.

Positive self-talk isn’t pretending everything feels perfect. It’s choosing where to place your focus. It’s acknowledging the doubt but not letting it steer.

Managing the Noise

I don’t think doubt disappears before a big goal. If anything, it sharpens.

The key, at least for me, is not trying to silence it completely. It’s managing it.

Noticing it.
Responding to it.
Reframing it.

When the thought comes, Are you good enough?
The answer becomes, You’ve prepared for this.

When the thought says, What if it falls apart?
The answer becomes, Stay with the kilometre you’re in.

The marathon won’t be won by thinking about the full 42. It will be held together by staying in each kilometre, one at a time.

Two Weeks

There’s no more fitness to build now. Only belief to strengthen.

The body is readying itself. The legs are absorbing the work. The taper is doing what it’s meant to do.

Now it’s about the internal dialogue.

Because in two weeks, when I’m standing on that start line in Tokyo, it won’t just be about pace.

It will be about the voice.

And when it gets loud, I plan on answering it calmly.

Not with arrogance.
Not with fear.
But with steady belief.

Two weeks to go.