Run: 0h 27m (2.5 miles) | Cross Train: 0h 33m | Gym: 0h 00m

Exercise this week has been almost entirely dog-walking, whilst waiting for the cough to clear and trying not to make a bad situation worse.

By Friday I was still coughing, although less than earlier in the week, and still hadn’t managed a test run. With Chester getting very close, I’ve more or less accepted that it is no longer going to be the sub-three-hour attempt I had been training towards. That’s frustrating after putting together a decent block through the summer, but there isn’t much point pretending the last couple of weeks haven’t happened.

The thinking now is that Chester may end up being an extended easy run rather than a race. If I get there feeling reasonably healthy, one option is to run the first half very conservatively and then pick things up if everything feels good. More importantly, everything from here starts to feed into London in April. There is probably more value in arriving at that training block healthy than trying to rescue a marathon performance from a fortnight disrupted by illness.

I did at least get back in the pool this week. I’m still rushing the stroke, particularly on the left side, and struggling to get enough air in. The focus is on keeping my head flatter in the water and rotating sideways rather than lifting it to breathe, with a little more rotation to get my mouth properly clear. It remains one of those things that sounds very straightforward when somebody explains it from the side of the pool.

Sunday finally brought a very tentative 2.5-mile test run. There was no headache, nausea or anything concerning in the chest, which was encouraging. My throat is still noticeable painful when swallowing, though, and the hamstrings felt surprisingly tight after the lay-off. Heart rate was also much higher than I would normally expect for the pace, although after nearly two weeks without running while fighting off a virus that probably isn’t especially surprising.

So, 2.5 miles is hardly the triumphant return I might have imagined at this point in a marathon plan, but at least it is a start. I’ll try another short and easy run tomorrow and see whether the heart rate and general feel begin to settle. There is certainly no mileage to be made up now.

Run: 0h 00m (0.0 miles) | Cross Train: 0h 34m | Gym: 0h 00m

There are weeks when the training plan dictates what happens, and there are weeks when your body makes the decision for you. This was very definitely one of the latter.

I came into Monday with sore quads from the Great North Run and was quite happy to take a complete rest day, other than walking the dog. After that, though, what should have been a straightforward few days of post-race recovery turned into something rather different.

By Tuesday a bad throat and cough were properly established, which meant another day without training. Then on Wednesday morning I fainted in the shower. I have a recognised vasovagal sensitivity, so the episode itself wasn’t entirely unfamiliar territory; tiredness, stress and a viral infection just seemed to provide the perfect combination. It did, however, make the decision about whether I should train that day remarkably straightforward.

The only recorded training of the week was my first swimming lesson back after the summer on Friday. Even that wasn’t particularly convincing. We’re trying to move my breathing from every two strokes to every three, which means breathing to both sides, and I was struggling for breath on the left. It was difficult to know how much was technique and how much was simply the lingering virus. Either way, 725 metres was enough.

The difficult part of a week like this isn’t really missing the running. It’s watching the calendar move on while doing it.

Chester Marathon is now only three weeks away and I haven’t run since the Great North Run. I’ve spent months building towards a sub-three-hour marathon, so inevitably there’s a temptation to start calculating how much fitness I’m losing and how quickly I can get back into the Hansons Marathon programme.

I’m trying not to do that.

Amsterdam Marathon is a week after Chester and has suddenly become a possible alternative. There appear to be resale places available and, rather conveniently, my daughter will be in Amsterdam that weekend playing hockey. An extra week sounds attractive after losing this one, although it may prove fairly meaningless: if the virus takes long enough to clear that I’m no longer in shape to have a proper crack at sub-three, seven extra days aren’t magically going to fix it.

So for now there isn’t a decision to make. The priority is simply getting well enough to run again.

It’s frustrating, but perhaps there’s something useful in weeks like this too. Serious training encourages you to believe that progress comes from continually doing more. Occasionally the more difficult discipline is accepting that doing absolutely nothing is the thing most likely to get you where you want to go.

Run: 7hrs 27min (51.59mi) / Gym: 20mins / Crosstrain: 0mins

Monday’s morning loop was steady and familiar, and I was quietly pleased to follow it up with a decent stretch session—starting to make that a regular habit rather than just a good intention. Tuesday marked a long-awaited return to the running track. Having finally had the all-clear from the abdominal strain (ultrasound in the morning, at the track by lunchtime), I was itching to reintroduce some structure and speed. The session was a classic: 2-mile warm-up, then 12 x 400m off 200m walk recoveries. With no idea what sort of pace to expect—anything from 85 to 95 seconds felt realistic—I was genuinely delighted to find myself hitting 81s and 82s consistently, with one rogue rep sneaking in at 78. I jogged a 2-mile warm down and even found five minutes to stretch beside the track before swapping my running shoes for spreadsheets.

Wednesday was a welcome rest (well, until the evening), when I ticked off 6.75 miles during my son’s football training. Thursday now means tempo runs, and this week’s was a bit of a reality check. I opted for a route just shy of 9 miles: 2-mile warm-up, then 2 miles at marathon target pace. I’d normally kick off a block with 3-mile efforts, but with fitness unknown and confidence unsteady, I just went as hard as felt sensible. Midway through the second mile, I glanced at the watch and saw a pace of 6:45—tough, but plausible. Then I looked again—5:45. Right. That explained the creeping sense of collapse. No wonder the tank was empty. I cut the third tempo mile, jogged the final 5 miles home, and logged it mentally as a line in the sand.

With no football training on Friday, I swapped the usual evening slot for a morning shakeout. Something different, something gentle—I was still carrying fatigue from the week’s reintroduction of speed. Saturday was a travel day, up early but behind the wheel rather than on my feet, ferrying my eldest around university campuses. I tried to make up for it on Sunday with a satisfying 12-miler first thing, followed by a short form session on the treadmill in Vibrams to work on foot strike and posture. All in, a week that felt like a turning point—rust knocked off, gears shifting, and purpose slowly coming back into play.