The most beautiful city in the world

It didn´t take long. I have fallen in love with this city. My snaps don´t do it justice at all but it has everything - beaches alongside skyscrapers nestled against a backdrop of rainforest-covered mountains. There is severe poverty and wide-eyed street urchins hang on every corner begging for money but the scare stories about every traveller being robbed in Rio have so far (touch wood) proved groundless. We´ve ridden around on the buses undisturbed - even heading perilously close to the infamous Cidade do Deus (City of God) favela. My heart leapt just once when a young boy, who could have been no more than 12, was asked to lift up his shirt to prove he wasn´t carrying a gun. He wasn´t. And apart from that we have felt nothing but warmth from the Cariocas (Rio locals) who, in stark comparison to Londoners, are the friendliest people you could ever wish to meet.
Rio´s most famous tourist spot is the Corcovado mountain with its ´Christ the Redeemer´ statue keeping watch over the city. After running the gauntlet of taxi drivers desperate for trade, we took the little red funicular train, which chugged up the steep mountainside, to discover the most breathtaking view I had ever seen. A city of 20 million people, surrounded by sea and islands spread out as far as the eye could see. And standing in the shadow of such an imposing statue, which must have been 100ft high, made it an even more humbling experience. We now knew why Rio was so special.
But it´s the people who make a city and that night we discovered the true spirit of the Carioca. They say that if you meet a Brazilian who doesn´t like football, he´s not a true Brazilian. That night, Brazil were playing Argentina in a World Cup qualifier. I´d spent the morning looking through social networking site couchsurfing.com, where I found a load of people meeting up to watch the game. And so we joined them. Five Cariocas, a Dutch guy, two Swiss scientists and a couple from London. Leading them all was Marcelo, a lawyer from Flamengo who arrived in his canary yellow Brazil shirt with a broad smile across his face.

And this most passionate of football fans even managed to mask his disappointment when the game ended in a 0-0 draw. He spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking with us until none of us were sure he´d make it to work at 8.30 the next morning. He even invited us back to stay with him when we return to Rio. Marcelo - we´ll be seeing you again I´m sure of it.

All I wanted was no cockroaches...

Twelve hours is a long time to spend on a plane only to end up traipsing through wind and rain to find a dodgy bunk bed. But it´s hard to know what you´re letting yourself in for when you´re 6,000 miles away trying to find a place to stay. Yes, Rio wasn´t exactly all sunshine and smiles when we arrived yesterday morning. Flight number 247 from Heathrow landed at 8am in grey skies and drizzle. Hopes of seeing the famous Christ the Redeemer statue from the air were swallowed up by the clouds. And when we found a bus to take us into the city, we were charged double for the pleasure of being English and clearly lacking in any Portuguese language skills.
The bus dropped us off on a stormy and deserted Copacabana beach and off we trekked to find our hostel. Sadly, the bright green ´Brazucas´ sign appeared all too quickly, through a sea of traffic and street urchins begging for money.
Nervously, we headed towards the door. After filling out the requisite forms, we were shown a choice of rooms. A choice? Bunk beds or bunk beds as it turned out. The ´bright spacious double room´ I had booked was in reality a cupboard with a bunk bed, single bed and wires hanging out of the walls. And the ´bar and cable tv room´ downstairs, which had sounded so attractive, was actually a fridge with a four-pack of lager in it, stood in a corridor with a tv in it. You guessed it - it wasn´t long before I discovered that ´hot showers´ were anything but.
This was not how I imagined our first day in Rio. It wasn´t until the evening that we began to get used to our new surroundings. Two beers and a caipirinha - the local rum cocktail - and suddenly things didn´t seem so bad. And when we returned to the hostel to find a French Canadian traveller, an Ecuadorian and Mexican doctor and an Argentinian girl all sat in the ´bar´ drinking vodka, the clouds began to lift. This trip has not even started yet...

Running round the world

OK. So that's not strictly true. Having finished the London Marathon, I really haven't run anywhere far. But I am heading round the world. Or at least, sampling a few little corners of it. And I can't wait.
What is it with turning 30? I think it gave me a Carrie Bradshaw crisis. After spending the first six months in a fitness frenzy, I've now given up my job and am flying to Rio on Sunday. For nine months, my boyfriend, Andy, and I will be living out of two obscenely heavy rucksacks, sleeping in shady hostels, on buses and on the couches of random strangers. We'll be surfing in Brazil (or trying to), climbing glaciers in Patagonia, eating steak in Argentina, following the Inca Trail through Peru and doing all manner of exciting things that right now, we don't even know exist as we head round South America. Then, when the mood takes us, we'll fly over to New Zealand and Australia before finally heading home via Japan.
I never thought I'd make it on a trip like this. I especially didn't think I'd make it this morning when, after packing up all our stuff in Nottingham, hiring a van, driving it down to Devon, unloading it, heading to the tip and dropping the van back, we made it to our train with 20 seconds to spare. It was more stressful than work! Let's hope every step of our travels is not quite that frantic. But it's all an adventure...

I beat Amanda Holden!

It might seem obvious, but I can officially confirm that running a marathon is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

I've woken up this morning with aches and pains in muscles I didn't even know I had. And I haven't tried walking down any stairs yet, but I can guarantee I won't be facing forwards when I do.

But I've done it and I did it without walking - albeit at a speed somewhere between that of a snail and a sloth for the last six miles!

I even managed some semblace of a sprint finish - there's nothing like an announcement telling you Amanda Holden is near the finish line to spur you on!

And I don't think I'll take my medal off for two weeks - such is the sense of achievement.

It all started when I got on the tube at Stratford yesterday morning. It was like a sardine tin of runners, all cheek to cheek, my gold helium balloon getting in everyone's faces and on everyone's nerves.

But amidst the crowds, I spotted a familiar face, or to be more accurate, a familar pair of socks. A girl wearing a bumblebee outfit with these excllent yellow and black socks that I'd coveted at the Belvoir half marathon three weeks ago.

Next thing, I was chatting to her and her mum (dressed as a ladybird incidentally) and they became my inspiration. That's how it went all day. Every other runner is an inspiration and helps you get round the next corner.

Standing at the start line with my running partner, Emily, it was all just a bit surreal. This thing that had consumed our lives for the last four months had finally arrived and it didn't feel real somehow.

Despite all the people, it just felt a bit like another training run. It wasn't until we crossed the start line, squealing like children, that it hit us. And we were off.

Usually, running together, it's a chance for us to chat, to catch up on all the gossip. But we have never been so quiet as we were running the London Marathon.

It was a combination of nerves and excitement, and there was just so much to look at. We couldn't speak because we were too busy people-watching - trying to spot any familiar faces in the crowd.

The first five miles were fairly uneventful. Other than my shoelace coming undone and ever other runner tapping me on the shoulder to tell me so, running was easy with all those people.

We knew we were being pulled along a bit too fast for us but we didn't care. We were just enjoying it. At five miles, we first saw the TV cameras and waved furiously at them, closely followed by my history teacher, Mr Bott, in the crowd.

I hollered at him (later discovering he was there to watch his wife run) but he didn't hear me.

Next, we passed the Masai warriors. This group of six Tanzanians had flown over to Enland to raise money for their village. Dressed in rubber shoes and carrying spears, they were a fantastic spectacle.

No end of superheroes, near-naked men and Pink Panthers followed, but the warriors were definitely the highlight.

Our first major milestone was 11 miles, where we knew Emily's boyfriend would be standing.

He was there, along with loads of Em's friends, dressed in green T-shirts supporting her charity, FSID, and in spite of the now torrential rain, it gave us a big boost.

At 13 miles, we'd reached halfway and, still feeling pretty good, we spotted my boyfriend, Andy, on the top of a double decker bus. That really helped me for another few miles.

Mile 14-17, heading out to the Isle of Dogs is slightly no-man's land. Few supporters and I was starting to flag. But then bumblebee and her mum passed and gave us a bit of a boost. It was just a quick chat, but it's these little things that keep you going.

At 20 miles, we saw Em's boyfriend Simon and her friends again. By this point, she was stepping it up and I was heading down a dark tunnel of despair. I managed to perk up slightly to see Andy again, along with my sister and brother and his little girls at 22.

But from there on all I could think was, 'I want to walk, I want to walk, I want to walk'. Funny that, when it's the last thing I want to do this morning!

We knew that if we really pushed it, we might just about make four hours, but I just didn't have it in me to push it. I was seriously flagging and it was all I could do to just keep going.

The crowds were great, and although my gold balloon was somewhat deflated and hanging halfway down my back at this point, I still got a few cries of "Go Jax" to keep me going.

But even at 25 miles, when I knew there was just a mile left, I still wanted to walk. I REALLY wanted to walk.

And as I spotted the time - 3 hours 58 minutes and 45 seconds, I began cursing my boss, Fletch, who had told me time and time again that I would do it in 4 hours. I knew I wouldn't now and it was making me feel like a failure.

At 600 metres I knew I could do it. Though by now I was cursing the stupid person who decided the marathon had to be an extra 385 yards over 26 miles.

And then I heard the announcer: "Here's Paddington Bear, crossing the finish line now," he shouted. ('I've been beaten by Paddington Bear?' I thought, faintly horrified.)

"And now let's all look out for Amanda Holden," he continued. "I've heard she's not far behind." Right, I'm not having that. With every ounce of energy I had left, I broke into a sprint.

OK, maybe not a sprint but I was certainly going as fast as I could muster. And I crossed the line, with Emily right beside me, in a hailstorm. Four hours, nine minutes and 51 seconds.

We'd done it. If it wasn't for the hailstorm and the pain in my legs I would have been over the moon. What a flipping achievement!

At 15 miles I'd sworn I'd never I'd it again. But as soon as we finished, Em gave me a card, thanking me for supporting her and inviting me to join her in New York 2010. Well I have to beat that four hour mark don't I?!

Two days to go...

There aren't many things that have taken over my life in quite the same way as the London marathon. GCSEs, A'levels, my driving test - they all took a bit of time. But none of them stopped me from having a social life. I seem to remember playing cards the night before my English Literature GCSE, sitting in the pub a fair few pints adrift before my history A'level and as for my driving test - I don't even remember the night before. So this has been something else.
For the past four months I've been a social pariah. When I'd usually be down the pub on a Friday night, I now find myself jogging forlornly past the window in the wind and rain, watching everyone knocking back beers in the warm. I don't even get invited to social occasions any more - everyone knows I'll just say I'm running.
So, when Sunday comes it had better be worth it. This week I've been veering wildly from jumping up and down with excitement to so nervous I can barely speak. And anyone who knows me knows barely speaking isn't really my thing. There's been more than a few moments when I've wondered if it's too late to get out of the whole thing.
I'm not really worried about the preparation - my brilliant running partner has made sure we did every mile of her programme, drawn up by the experts at Runners' World. And I'm sure they know what they're talking about. But what if something goes wrong? I keep waking up in the middle of the night, having dreamt I've missed the start or taken a wrong turn. Or even worse - not made it to the pub at the end.
I'm still not entirely sure what made me sign up for all this. The sponsorship has been great. I've raised over £2,500 for the Spinal Injuries Association and it was about time I did something to help them out. My brother was injured in a diving accident when he was 18 and although he's still in a wheelchair, I'd never thought to raise money for them before. But it's not just that. It's the feeling of achievement. I can't wait to cross that line and feel I've achieved something. Not the usual something that I achieve in five minutes, or a day or even a few weeks, but something I've really had to work at. It may well be the last marathon I do, but when it's all over, no matter how fast or slow I run it, I'll be able to say I've done it.
To sponsor Jacqui go to www.justgiving.com/marathonjax