You know what it's like: you're running the 3000 metres at your school athletics day (which is what I did last year) and you are at the back - waaayy back but now the whole school it watching and every time you run past the stadium, the crowd roars 'Go Mrs Roxborogh! You can do it! You're my hero Mrs Roxborogh!' and you're thinking - why the heck did I even think I could do this. You have two laps to go.
It's stinking hot. You're stinking hot. And then, out of nowhere two people join you: the gorgeously fit PE teacher and the 'just-as-stunning' deputy head girl. Flanking you on either side, they run the last lap, calling encouragement. Though you really just want to stop and have a cup of tea, you can't let them (nor the crowd) down. So, one foot in front of the other. Steady, steady, steady.
Finally, ahead, it's the last 200 metres. You think, stuff it, I'm going out with a bang. You lengthen your side and pick up the pace and you finish the race, head high, crowds going wild and then find a shaded spot to collapse in.
But, it's not over. Wave after wave of students and teachers run up and congratulate you for your determination and steady approach (and, as one said - yer mad, mate. Stark raving mad. Well done!)
That pretty much sums up what's been happening to me these last 24 hours. I rang my dear friend Fleur and said 'Stuck!' And, for the next 25 minutes we talked scenarios and I got excited and then I was off again - those last few hundred metres conquered because of the willing input of a dear friend and a amazing writer (I wanna be as good as her).
And so, dear reader, I'm about to finish the SFD of the last section. The book, as they say, is cooked.