Carb Week

We're in the final stretch now. Just a few short days remain until Scott and I assemble with tens of thousands of other lunatics at the start line in Manchester. I'm cautiously optimistic about the run itself, even if I'm still experiencing maranoia about everything surrounding it. But before we begin the long journey north, there's still one hugely important factor that I've been eagerly awaiting for months now: carb week.

Pure, unadulterated carnage.

This is the time when distance runners do their carb loading. I'm eating bread, rice, and pasta in as many meals as I can. It's great. I love carb week. (I also love food, so I'm biased there). My wife is getting a bit fed up having so much pasta in the evening, but she's supporting me as much as she can - what a trooper. Thanks, babe.

I know I've mentioned before, many years ago, about the kinds of foods runners should eat before and after a run, but it bears repeating here. I'll be running for around five hours across twenty six miles. I'm going to burn roughly six thousand calories on the day. That's the amount I would normally burn over three days. My body needs to get its energy from somewhere.

Think of the human body like a steam engine. During a normal day, not much needs to be shovelled into the furnace to keep everything ticking along. But once you start to exercise and push yourself, the furnace needs more fuel to operate. For simple gym sessions and shorter runs - such as a 10k - water and electrolytes are sufficient to feed the furnace and keep you moving. But once you get beyond that, you need to plan your intake and prepare accordingly.

The body needs protein after serious workouts and long runs. Protein is the best nutrient to support muscles and help them grow. Bodybuilders, personal trainers, and people keen on expanding their physique will always say that protein is vital to muscle repair and regeneration. When Chris Hemsworth was bulking up to play the role of Thor, he would eat two entire roast chickens every day to make sure his body had enough protein - and that was on top of whatever else his diet required.

But if you know you're going to do a serious, intense workout or run a long distance, you have to make sure your body has the right nutrients in advance. For that, you need carbs. Think of carbs like the coal that gets thrown into the furnace of the steam engine. You'll need a good pile of coal to power the engine to travel a good distance, so you need carbs for the same reason.

When the body - the engine - is pushed hard, it burns through everything in storage. It starts with simple things, like sugars and fats. But once these stocks start to deplete, the body begins reaching for carbs to power the engine. The more you go, the more demanding that furnace becomes. Once you push through the exercise barrier and begin burning body fat - roughly one hour into a good run - the furnace demands carbs or you'll start to experience those dreadful muscular cramps.

You can replace carbs as they are burned. I plan to do this on the day with a couple of bagels. But you also need to make sure the furnace has enough carbs on-hand to keep you moving. This is the joy and beauty of carb week. In these last few days, it's absolutely vital that I prepare myself as much as possible for the challenge ahead.

And I will, as soon as I can.

So here I am. I'm tapering and winding down my distances. One last 10k run remains on my plan. The rest of the preparation is all about loading those sweet, delicious carbs into my body and making the furnace is fuelled and ready.

Hooray for carb week.

Maranoia

We're now ten days away from the 2025 Manchester Marathon. I have been given a running number. My participant pack should arrive any day now. I've trained, peaked, and tapered. I even slipped in some mud this week and tore up my knee (scab over faster, please!) Everything is set and ready.

Now the nerves are starting to settle in.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm...

I'm not nervous about finishing the marathon - well, maybe just a little. I'm nervous about all the things surrounding the marathon. When I think about it, everything is in hand and I know that - deep down, it all makes perfect sense - but I'm slowly being gripped by maranoia, those pre-race jitters.

I'll be travelling to Manchester with my family on the train. We're staying in a hotel roughly in the middle of the start and finish areas. We're travelling back on the train the following day.

I'm nervous about the travel, the commuting, the unfamiliar surroundings. I've briefly visited Manchester once before, years ago, but didn't explore much of the city. Will there be things to see? Landmarks to check off in my head? The race ends at Old Trafford stadium, but what else is there to look out for?

Will I be able to spot my family on the way around? None of us know Manchester all that well and it's not like they can hop on the tube and rush to the next point on the map. I'd hate for them to travel all the way up only to see us at the start and end of the run.

What about water? There are only eight stations on the route, so I'm going to need to bring my pack. What about gels? I need to keep a handful on me...

Will I get enough sleep the night before? Probably not, based on past experience. What will I eat the night before and the morning of the race?

Again, I know all the answers to these questions. I've already gone over them in my head dozens of times. But the closer race day gets, the louder they get and the more maranoia I start to experience. I feel ready and willing to get this race underway. All I have to do is get through these next ten days and keep my head down.

Mental Hurdles

Despite the fact that I've been running at least twice a week for years now, I have a confession to make: my recent pushes to over fifteen miles were an absolute slog. Seriously. It was the first time in ages that I have flat-out not enjoyed running.

An overwrought yet apt image.

I started to notice this after the Bath Half. Thirteen miles is a decent distance. It only takes two-ish hours to cover that at good pace. It's comfortable enough and you can breathe and talk to a buddy at the same time. But once the number climbs higher, boy does it get tougher.

In late March, I reached the distance of 14 miles again. It didn't seem like much more beyond what I had already achieved just the week before, yet it was. Adding another mile, another ten minutes, onto the run suddenly became an arduous task.

There were a few external factors that definitely didn't help. It was still technically British Winter Time, so a two and a half hour run was taking me past seven thirty at night, long after the sun had set and temperatures had plummeted. Running in the dark is pretty grim. Running in the cold is uncomfortable. Running in both is borderline miserable.

Adding to this was the fact that my knees - my old man knees - had begun to protest after the fourteenth mile, creaking and grinding and groaning with every step. This got even worse once I headed past fourteen and into the fifteenth mile. I was now running for around two hours and forty-five minutes, most of which was after the sun had set. My knees were complaining, the temperatures were in low single-digits, sweat was cooling to my skin, and every step became harder than the last. By the time I finished, I was in a miserable state.

Thank you, stock image model, for this suitable picture.

After this, it only got worse. My first run of Hell Week was a sixteen mile jaunt that took around three hours. As before, it was harder than I ever expected. All the same woes seem to pile up and get more aggravating; knees, cold, darkness, misery. It never got easier. By the time I completed it, all I could think was, "I've done sixteen miles... and there's still ten to go." It was probably one of the lowest feelings I've ever had in all the time I've been doing this.

In fact, things were so bad that I told my wife I didn't want to do the marathon at all. I felt like it was simply too much and I couldn't make the distance. The hurdles in my mid were so tall I simply didn't see the point in jumping them.

There was even a moment when it seemed that my wish had been granted. The first draft participant list for Manchester 2025 was published and my name wasn't listed! What a relief. They weren't expecting me at all. My brother, as team leader, was listed, but not me. I actually felt some lightness in my chest. Maybe I could stop all this silliness and do something more enjoyable, like juggling porcupines.

But my brother contacted the organisers and confirmed that I would be featured on an updated list to follow. Bummer. I wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

Then something changed. It was weird and I'm not sure how to explain it. Something clicked in my mind. I stopped dreading the runs. I stopped thinking of the distance in terms of massive mile blocks and started breaking them down like I used to, many years ago. An eighteen mile run sounds incredibly daunting, but running three short 10ks sounds much, much easier.

Suddenly, just like that, I started to overcome those mental hurdles. Getting miserable about running so late into the evening? Start running earlier. Simple. By the time I finished my eighteen mile circuit, I actually felt good. Not just about myself, but what I'd achieved. The distance didn't seem so awful or insurmountable or challenging. It started to become enjoyable. I even had a pretty good experience on my mega twenty mile training run.

Since then, I haven't felt any nagging doubts or endured those negative thoughts. I know the marathon is going to be a bloody hard task, both mentally and physically, but I'm prepared for it. As prepared as I can be, anyway. All I have to do is keep overcoming those hurdles and I'll smash it.

Hell Week

There are probably technical terms for this week. Maybe professional runners have a different way of describing it or perhaps a running coach would give it a different name. But I'm not a professional, I'm just some guy who learned it all through painful experience and I like to call that seven day period, "Hell Week".

What is Hell Week, you ask? Simple. It's the final week of the big, big push before tapering can start. Again, professional runners would probably do things differently; maybe they would advise only tapering for a couple of weeks instead of four, or maybe they'd push themselves to keep racking up the distances ahead of the next marathon. For me, I'm content to set my goals well in advance and enjoy the sensation of easing back for several long, slow weeks. It feels like a lot because Hell Week is freaking exhausting.

Me too, John. Me too.

The goal of Hell Week is simple enough. It's the final week of major training. My objectives are to complete three runs across seven days and hit a specific distance target with each of them: sixteen miles, eighteen miles, and finally, twenty miles. The final run is the key. It's the last "big" run before tapering begins and has to be completed a month before the marathon date. As I learned some six years ago (six? Where did that go?) during my first attempt at running that distance, preparation is the key to ninety percent of the success in tackling a marathon.

My plans have been pretty simple for the month of March 2025. Despite my previous whining about how long it takes to do all this training (Hell Week requires over eleven hours of running!), I decided to knuckle down and push, push, push like proverbial hell to get through it. After all, the marathon was looming. April 27th was not far off. All I needed was a few short yet intense weeks of concentrated effort and it would be in the past. Then I could think about more enjoyable things, like lighting my barbecue and getting fat this summer or the upcoming Nintendo Switch 2 or even the prospect of waking up on a Saturday morning and not busting my hump getting miles under my belt.

With that in mind, I set my goals. Three runs across a week, each building in length and intensity. After completing the fantastic Bath Half in mid-March, I managed a few more decent runs in the following week, racking up another thirteen mile performance, followed by a fifteen mile run. Hell Week required me to push beyond that and take myself to the absolute limit of what the human body can train to endure.

Run #1: sixteen miles

Sixteen blooming miles.

Tuesday evening. I managed to finish work early and was out on the road by half past four, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine. One thing that made Hell Week even more uncomfortable is that British Summer Time did not begin until after this period was finished, forcing me to arrange my work days around trying to get as much daylight as possible.

The runs were made more bearable by my friend Mark, who kindly offered to join me for at least the first ten miles. Running with him was a genuine blessing. I don't believe I would have had the willpower to tackle these distances completely on my own. I'm not the same man I was six years ago; I'm not driven by a vast team of charity workers cheering me on or the thought of raising thousands to help a good cause. I'm doing this to run Manchester with my brother.

Once I crossed the half-marathon threshold and began to break into the mid-teens, this run got harder and harder. I'll drop another post soon discussing the mental difficulties, but I can safely say that the physical issues were largely in my joints. After fourteen miles, my knees were threatening to disengage completely. It wasn't helped by how suddenly the temperatures plummeted once the sun set. Seriously, it went from mild and pleasant to absolutely freezing in a matter of minutes. Good thing I tied a jacket around my waist.

Run #2: eighteen miles

That orange line is looooong...

Two days later, I repeated the process, finishing work early enough to get out even sooner. It was a real blessing to be able to move my work hours on training days like this. The only thing worse than knowing I had such a such run ahead of me was the idea that I'd be running until after eight that night. Fortunately, I was on to road ahead of four p.m. and Mark joined me once more. We chatted and joked and trundled together around a lap of Chippenham, before Mark headed home and I continue on for the last eight miles. 

It took a gargantuan effort and there were plenty of slower moments. I did my best to follow the rough plan my brother and I have agreed for the marathon: run ten, then take it a little easier. I mixed the odd cooldown walk into the run and managed to finish it in relative comfort. I even brought along a bagel to munch on for those all-important carbs during slower points.

Run #3: twenty miles

The final challenge.

I had built my entire week around this run. It was a cool, crisp, dry Saturday morning. Unfortunately, Mark wasn't able to make this one, so I laced up my shoes and planned my route and gave it my best shot. The plan was simple enough: I ran through town and back around the country lanes, following the Chippenham Half course and adding a circuit around town onto the end, even looping around a couple of local roads to make certain that I hit the target.

To my surprise, the entire run went well. Temperatures slowly climbed as the minutes turned to hours. Everything was planned. Run ten, walk one. Eat half a bagel. Run to thirteen. Eat the other half. Loop toward town. Hit up the bakery and snag a croissant and an extra drink. The only surprise was how much more water I needed to consume during this run. I had to stop by a petrol station on the last couple of miles to grab another bottle of sports water to get me over the line.

But I did it. I ran that final mile and hit the big two-oh and I have never been so pleased with myself. I am nowhere near as fit, slim, and light as I was this time six years ago, dammit, I can still put in the miles when it counts.

And that brings an end to Hell Week. It's behind me now. The worst is done. Manchester awaits.

A Few Extra Pictures from the Day

I wanted to share a few extra pictures of the Bath Half that were taken by other people. These help to illustrate what a full, fun, exciting day it truly was and capture some of the excitement felt by everyone taking part and those watching from the sidelines.

Firstly, here is a lovely snap of Scott and myself at the TeamRUHX tent, preparing for the kickoff:

Representing the team.

It was really great of the organisers to bring a photographer to capture the high spirits ahead of the run. Everyone was smiling and happy and eager to get going. All those pre-race jitters seemed to melt away in the face of such relentless enthusiasm.

Speaking of the wider RUHX running team, here we all are:

Here we are - at least, those who managed to get through the heaving streets in time.

And an action shot. "Team RUHX!"

In my raceday report, I briefly mentioned the team bus, situated around mile 2/ 8, depending on the lap. The photographer on board managed to snap some wonderful photos of everyone running past in those distinctive blue vests, including the two of us:

Early in the run, mile two. I'm still chilly enough to have my sleeves down.

And this one is at the eighth mile when we're red faced and absolutely knackered.

Having the support of a dedicated team who seek you out and make noise just for you is a wonderful feeling and a great part of running in aid of a charity.

Also, I want to share a brief glimpse of the incredible atmosphere from all the supporters on the day. This is the amazing scene that greeted the runners as we reached the urban areas toward the end of the Lower Bristol Road and returned to the centre:

That moment alone made the proceeding miles worth the effort, I can tell you.

Finally, here's a hilarious and weird coincidence that was shared with me the day after the run. A group of lads who work in a different department of the same company took this group picture at the start line as they were waiting to set off. Look who happens to be standing right behind them:

An unbelievable coincidence.

That's all for now. Massive thanks again to everyone involved in organising and planning and executing the Bath Half, including the amazing volunteers who worked tirelessly on the roadsides. You all made it a truly spectacular day.

The Bath Half 2025

The atmosphere in Race Village is wonderful, unique, and filled with excitement. There's a crackling energy in the air as runners arrive and start preparing for the race ahead, meeting up with friends and chatting to strangers. Everyone is here for the same reason and nobody can wait to get started. There are tents set up all around the field for each of the many charity runners, plus a warm up area in front of a small stage with a DJ, and a huge tent for storing baggage. That's not forgetting the enormous array of portaloos that quickly attract long queues as runners go for several nervous pre-race wees.

Race Village in all its glory. People, tents, excitement.

There are twelve thousand people taking part in the Bath Half today and the park crackles with energy. Scott and I arrive a full two hours ahead of time and make our way to the tent for Team RUHX. There are eighty-four of us running in aid of the Royal United Hospital and everyone is eager to get on the road. The team organisers have spoiled us today; there are bananas, jelly sweets, croissants, drinks - anything that a runner might want before setting off on a 13.1 mile trek.

Our heroes, prepared for battle and ready to go.

The temperature in the park is low this morning, with the occasional bitter wind that blows across the open plain and sends us scurrying back into the shelter of the tent. This is punctured now and then by the sun emerging and basking everyone in its lovely warmth. Quite a contradiction. Looking around at the other runners, it seems that nobody can agree on the best gear to wear. We choose to layer up - I'm in long trousers, an undershirt, a loose top, and the RUH vest, while others wear a vest and shorts. Initially, I've made the right choice, but I'll get warm soon enough.

During the wait (which is not as bad as I feared, there's lots going on), I meet up with Ed, a friend and one hell of a runner. He's an incredible athlete. In a few weeks, he's taking part in the unofficial Reverse London Marathon - running from the finish line the night before the event, ending at the start point in Greenwich. He's aiming to do that in three and a half hours. We ask Ed what time he hopes to get today. He says, "I'm hoping to take it quite easy. Maybe an hour and forty-five?"

Our hero and Speedy Gonzales.

Before we know it, the time has come. Runners begin moving toward their start lines in wave order. We take part in a short warm-up to get the blood moving, then it's our turn to filter out of the park and onto the main road.

Follow these huge arrows and you can't go wrong.

Thousands of runners huddle up together, trying to make as much space as possible. We're in wave seven, with wave eight directly behind us, watching with eager eyes. The tension reaches a fever pitch as the final minutes count down and then - we're off. The crowd starts moving forward. At first, we're walking slowly, then we're able to start a gentle jog. Finally, we cross the start line and the 2025 Bath Half is on.

The vague black archway in the distance is the starting line.

The route around Bath is a pretty good loop. We start by running downhill and heading past Royal Victoria Park, then out toward the dual carriageway heading to Bristol, before turning back and entering the city again. We'll do two loops of this area in total, but the first lap has an extra section where we continue past the centre and out past the Rec Ground, until we turn a sharp hairpin and come back on ourselves.

There are worse ways to see the city.

Runners on their second lap are kept to the left on the roads, while those of us just starting stay to the right. It's quite a shocking sight to get on the road at the beginning and already spot the elite runners tearing past, going hell for leather at seven miles deep. I later learn that the men's winner, Jake Smith, smashed the course in sixty two minutes, with Abbie Donnelly representing the ladies at sixty nine minutes. meaning that they were almost finished by the time we set off!

The atmosphere from the spectators is absolutely bloody amazing. They shout and scream and cheer and clap and hold up signs and blow horns. It's impossible not to smile and wave and soak in the vibes. It's equally impossible not to want to push hard, spurred on by all the support and encouragement. Everyone is having a great time and the crowds line up almost every part of the route. There are even the odd handfuls of people watching on that long trip back toward the city on the leftmost portion of the map.

A few miles deep and still smiling.

The sun comes out almost immediately. Within two miles, I've rolled up my sleeves to try and cool down. Now and then, a cold wind blows through the streets, but the majority of the run takes place in lovely crisp sunlight. We're toasty and warm, although the same can't be said for the spectators, all of whom are absolute troopers and keep up their energy despite the chill.

Once we turn back toward the city and start following the wide road into Bath, the landscape changes. Industrial buildings give way to small businesses. The huge railway bridge acts as a tall, dark barrier to our right, and it's a relief to finally get past it (seriously, it goes on for far longer than you realise). Crowds of people become more and more frequent, until the pavement is completely taken up by cheering spectators again and the energy hits a new high. Brass bands play at the roadside, radio stations have set up special booths to play music and commentate on the run, and the roar of constant support is beyond fantastic.

So. Many. People.

To our left, the elite runners continue to file past at a steady clip, now over nine miles into the circuit and still moving at a cracking pace. As for Scott and myself, we're doing really well. I can feel that our pace is quicker than usual, but we're keeping up and overtaking other runners now and then.

Every so often, we pass someone being attended by a paramedic on the side of the road, probably around five or six in total. Their faces are contorted with pain and devastation and most of them look to have pulled something in their legs. I consider myself very lucky to not encounter such a scenario in my runs.

Finally, our route diverges with those on the second lap. While they veer to the left and cross the river toward the centre, we continue straight and carry on. Now the left side of the road is filled with people who have already finished the hairpin turn and are running back on themselves. I was prepared for this moment from looking at the map, but I had no idea how long this section truly is. It must be at least a mile and a half, but feels so, so much longer, made worse by passing people who have already done it. Every time I see a junction or a roundabout ahead, I assume we're coming to the end, but - nope! - the course keeps going, Eventually, we turn onto a wide street lined by those familiar massive Georgian-style houses you always associate with Bath and turn the hairpin at long last. Now we head back on ourselves and run down to the river.

There are a few runners in costumes here and there. We see a classic Rhino Runner, a man dressed as a postbox, and a guy wearing a full disco glitterball. The runners supporting a breast cancer charity all wear a single large boob. I said to one guy, "I bet you feel a right tit." He laughed. There's another man in an amazing get-up, who I will talk about later. He deserves his own mention.

By now, we're making our way up an incline and following the road back into the city. We've crossed mile seven and are still going strong. The path splits off again, with the elites on mile twelve continuing ahead while we turn to the left and run back towards Royal Victoria Park for the second loop.

Lap two is much, much harder. The crowd's energy keep me going for most of it. We pass the same sights again, waving to the supporters on the Team RUH bus, high-fiving kids on the side of the road, grabbing jellied sweets as they're offered and even tapping the signs bearing Mario power-up mushrooms. Anything to keep going and stay strong. As we reach the dual carriageway and veer around for the long, long straight, I confess to Scott that I don't know if I can maintain this pace much more. He agrees that we can ease up a little, so we do - but not by much.

Now we're running on the left hand side of the road, but there's nobody to our right. It feels like everyone is now on the second lap. Somewhere around mile nine, I get a message from Ed. He's finished already and his time is an incredible one hour forty.

The quieter end of the loop, far away from town.

We press on. Past the radio stations and brass bands and swelling spectators. Past the railway bridge and the industrial buildings and the small businesses. Past the river and the water stations and the bridges. Finally, we follow the elite runners from earlier and turn left, crossing the river, heading into the city once again. This the only time I have to slow to a walk - I can't breathe and run and drink at the same time anymore. We follow the path around the river and pass the twelve mile marker. This is it. We're approaching the end now.

But the Bath Half is hiding one final, awful, nasty trick up its sleeve. As we draw closer to the finish line, the road starts to incline. It didn't feel as bad before, when we were seven miles deep. But now our legs have turned to rubber and our knees are creaking in complaint. It becomes harder to draw breath. The higher we climb, the steeper the road becomes, somehow getting to an absurd angle. It feels more like mountaineering than running. At one point, I get caught behind someone moving much slower, forcing me to walk, sidestep, and start running again. That one moment hurts more than anything else.

Now we push through the gates and into the park, still running uphill. The cheering reaches a crescendo. Spectators are going wild from both sides, screaming the names printed on our vests, yelling for us not to stop. This is about the point when I spy two familiar faces - Hayley and Suze from work. They're screaming for me and jumping up and down and their encouragement helps me get up the last bit of this awful hill. Now the road finally flattens out and our goal is just ahead.

There it is! The finish line!

All the struggle is worthwhile. Scott and I cross the line together, barely able to get enough breath for a cursory cheer. It's over. We've done it. Not only have we finished the Bath Half, we've managed a time of two hours and twenty minutes - a full nine minutes faster than our previous best in Chippenham! We're elated and thrilled as we collect our shirts and medals and wind back to the Race Village.

Survivors. Champions. Heroes.

And that, finally, is that. We completed the race, ticked a massive target off our bucket lists, and had a blast doing it. Even when things got tough, the atmosphere kept us moving. I cannot fault the amazing spectators for everything and all their wonderful support during those thirteen miles.

There is one more thing I want to mention. There was a man we passed at the starting line who was running for Great Ormand Street Children's Hospital. Not only was he older than us, he was running with a cement mixer on his back and pushing a loaded wheelbarrow. We saw him one more time, as we we making our way back down the hill toward the train station. The man was pushing the wheelbarrow up the final hill and still bloody running.

Cement mixer man.

This is what these events are all about. This is an ordinary man doing something totally superhuman. Yes, the elite runners are impressive physical specimens, but this man is an absolute hero. He was only about forty minutes behind us and still moving at an amazing pace, despite the hill and the weight on his back. What a champion.

With that, the Bath Half 2025 comes to an end. Now we have six weeks to prepare for a challenge that's double the length. Next stop: Manchester.

Squeaky Bum Time

At the time of writing, it is Friday 14th March 2025. The Bath Half is just two short days away. In fact, this time in 48 hours, I will be running through those familiar streets. I'm excited to get underway and also pretty dang nervous - but not just for the race. There's something looming ahead that's far, far bigger and more daunting than the upcoming half marathon.

There really is no experience like race day.

The 2025 Manchester Marathon is just over six weeks away. This is the last month where I can train to the fullest before it's time to taper off and slowly wind down. I feel ready - or as ready as I'll ever be - for this coming Sunday and the steady 13.1 miles that comes with it. But I am absolutely nowhere near physically primed and pumped for Sunday 27th April.

There have been a lot of frustrations lately. When I signed up for Manchester, my life was in a different state. I worked from home five days a week and had the luxury of closing my laptop and getting straight out on the road for a quick run. It was easy to get to the gym and I could enjoy all the lovely open spaces nearby at my leisure.

But things are different now. I have a new job (a great new job with lovely colleagues), but I'm in the office Monday-Friday. I don't work anywhere near home. If I want to run along familiar roads, I have to drive thirty to forty minutes home (more if the traffic is against me) and then get changed. Sometimes I don't get out there until after five thirty; at that time, the sun is setting and the temperatures are plummeting, as if mocking me for daring to train at this time of year.

Working back in an office also brought an unexpected new dimension to long distance running. I felt guilty about being away from home for so long. It was bad enough leaving the house at seven thirty and returning after five; adding at least another two hours to that, twice a week, was unthinkable. I struggled to find the ideal new balance. If I drove home first, I wouldn't start running for an hour after work. If I ran straight after work, I'd feel bad and miss my wife.

I don't say all this just to gripe and moan. I've always intended for this blog to be an open and honest recollection of my experiences as an amateur runner. With all these huge changes and adjustments, running has taken a backseat to everything else for several weeks.

Just to complicate matters further, I came down with a horrible illness for over two weeks, just when I intended to kick my training into high gear. Instead of reaching goals and smashing distance targets, I was sat on the sofa, struggling to breathe through my face. So now I'm in the final, exhausting crunch period, and I'm pushing myself - hard.

This week, I've managed to cross the ten mile goal twice, setting me in a good position for Sunday. After that, the real challenge begins. I have just two short weeks left to push myself and prepare as best I can. By the end of next week, I need to be back to at least fifteen miles (and just writing that sentence made my stomach turn). By the end of the month, I need to hit twenty miles again. After that, I can slowly ease back, back, back through April.

All my previous worries about finding balance and being away from home don't matter any more. I have six short weeks to get to ready and those weeks are going to fly past before I know it. Now I don't have the luxury of time. I need to be ready and, dammit, I'm going to get there. The road ahead is a long one, but it'll get shorter soon enough.

Until then, I'm going to enjoy a lovely tour of Bath this Sunday. Scott and I are running in support of the Royal United Hospitals and we're smashed our £200 donation target. I'm thrilled to raise so much money for a worthy cause and I can't wait to cross that finish line on Sunday.

After that, the real work begins.