The timing could not have been worse. Two days before the big race, I trip over the front door and slice a good-sized gash in my right big toe.

Ouch that hurts, blood all over the place, and it won't stop bleeding, what a bummer.

They tell me again that it's not a good idea to run in the marathon, and it now really looks like God does not want me to take part in that grueling sixteen kilometer run from Amsterdam to Zaandam.

I am not going to give up that easily (and I hope God forgives me for going against his will). In just ten minutes I'm going to take a trial thirty minute run in order to see how well I hold out. Wrap a tight tourniquet around my big toe to reduce the bleeding and hopefully keep it from falling off. 

For practice this time, I will carry with me one of those jogging belt pouches filled with extra tape, band-aids and so forth, in readiness for any emergency that might arise. Just to get used to that thing hanging from my waist.

My fingers remain crossed.