Tag Archives: Marathon

Valencia Marathon 2025 – The Quiet Fire….

Posted on by
Reply


Before the Start Line……..

And so here we are again.

Another marathon weekend.

Another city.

Another starting line I once absolutely swore blind I would never stand on again.

Life is funny like that. It nudges, it whispers, it prods, and before you know it you’re pinning on a race number and realising, with a mixture of disbelief and excitement, that you’re here again. Running 26.2 miles on a winter’s morning in Spain, chasing a dream you don’t quite know how to define anymore — only that you feel it, deep down, and that’s enough, for now at least. 

Anyway, I’m not there yet – I’m sat at Gate 50 at Manchester Airport at 3:45 on a December  morning, waiting for a Ryanair flight to Spain. And it is flipping cold, and right now I’m just pondering life choices with myself. 

I only started running about 12 years ago. I was never even capable as a kid: badly asthmatic and taking inhalers many times a day, I could never run more than a short sprint. Then when I became an adult (if that ever really happened 😳), life took over. Work, kids, and ‘balance’. I was always too busy to exercise. Actually that’s complete bollocks – I never even tried other than hiking now and again. I also didn’t look after my body. I smoked, drank (too much), burned candles at both ends. I stopped smoking when I was about 45 and discovered I didn’t need that inhaler anymore. I was reborn, but won’t get either all preachy or remorseful about anything. “Don’t look backwards, you aren’t going that way……”. 

I owe running at all in fact to my son Dan. Round about 2012 or so when I’m already the ripe old age of 48, he called me and asked if I’d do the Great North Run with him. It took me less than a nanosecond to say yes, driven by two things, and in no particular order as they say. 

One, the Great North Run had been the one big motivational and exciting thing I’d always followed, albeit on TV (I’m from the North East and fiercely proud of it). And it had always been my Dad’s excitement too, he being a former semi-professional footballer and athlete. I didn’t know it at the time, but in just over 12 months from then he’d die from cancer. Life is short. And secondly Dan wanted to do the run and for me to help train with him and all the rest of it, even if we did live several hours apart. He’d become a bit overweight up until then (I’m being kind, I’m his Dad 🥰), and was about to start his own journey to a completely different place in terms of fitness and lifestyle. And that Great North Run story is told elsewhere…..https://aquavista.me/2012/10/

And so let’s fast forward to New York in 2019, when after quite a few more Great North Runs, I decided to step up and do my first ever full road marathon in New York. Go big or go home! I didn’t think I was capable at first, and although the body (even mine) is resilient and can be put through all sorts of torment if we push and train it hard enough, I didn’t know just how much of a step-up from the half to a full marathon would be for me. It was like the difference between walking to the pub and climbing Everest in a storm. 

After recovering from New York (it took a while!) and then Covid and all that fun, I entered my second marathon, Berlin, in 2022. It was harder still than New York, as this time I pushed myself for a good time (for me, this was 3:37). It took every ounce of discipline, effort, and everything I had to get to that finish line. And then only about 8 months later I thought I could hopefully beat that time before I got to my 60th birthday, and life then presumably started going back downhill again. We can’t forever push against the sands of time after all!

So when I crossed the line in Manchester for my last marathon in 2023, I said – quite emphatically – that I’d never do another one. It had taken too much out of me, and my time of 3hrs 35mins was every single bit of sweat and tears that I had inside me. I trained hard, doing around 800 miles of structured, no, regimental, training en route. And so that was supposed to be it: the final bow, the last medal, Finito Benito. I meant it at the time, too. But here I am. And if I’m honest, I’m glad the universe didn’t listen. I may think differently this coming Sunday afternoon of course 😬. 

So why then? Well, I’m nothing if not stubborn and determined for one. I’m also easily influenced at times, and I’m also acutely and increasingly more aware of my own mortality as I get older. Life really isshort – it is no cliché. 

I’ve been so very very fortunate over the last few years to be able to do more or less what I wanted when I wanted. I’m more or less retired from a career that has taken its toll in terms of stress and fatigue, but it also has given me that ability to be where I am. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, and never take life for granted. There I go again with those clichés!

But since I moved to the Lakes and my absolute lifetime dream of being in my favourite place Ambleside, a different sort of running took over. I got, quite literally, into the mountains. 

In the last two years or so I’ve done four big mountain ultras of around 50 miles. Another of 35 or so in Thailand, had aspirations of getting into the biggest ultrarunning circus of all, the UTMB, and then realising I was deluding myself. It has been hard (and gets harder!) to push myself, and in last years Lakeland 50 I did that, completing around 9,000 feet of climbing and 50 miles of the Lake District’s punishing terrain in 13 hours and 20 minutes of busting a gut. Type 2 fun indeed!

My main fun though in fitness terms is now the Social Running Group that I’m a member of in Ambleside. Every week, usually twice, we go out in the evenings come rain (which is often the case in the Lakes) or shine for shortish (usually 5k, sometimes 10) runs on the fells with a pint (better, two!) at the end. It is wholesome. It is with like-minded, wonderful, friendly people. It is entirely non-competitive. It is perfect, and I love it dearly. I intersperse that with the occasional half marathon (ok, I’ve done four this year so far, including the ever-present Great North Run), and that’s (way) more than enough. But that’s my balance in life now. I can still go for a pint down the Golden Rule, eat somewhat less than optimally in terms of diet, and get out on the fells. I walk those fells too. They fill my soul with so many endorphins. 

So anyway, a couple of months ago I was sat on the sofa watching Countdown (as you do), and was suddenly feeling a bit sorry for myself. I had had toothache that wouldn’t shift for about three weeks despite visits and treatment from the dentist, including root canal work. A friend of mine asked, I’m sure quite meaningfully, if it might be something more than just toothache. Like jaw cancer for example? Well that didn’t play on my overthinking brain one bit I can tell you 🤯😫. At least the toothache didn’t get worse when I ran. So I did. And then, disaster, I pulled a calf muscle. Only a type 1 tear, but recovery would/could take 6 weeks I was told by a physiotherapist. Fuck-a-doodle-doo! I was confined to a lifetime (or so it seemed) of daytime television. 

So I did what any self-respecting (or rash, impetuous and idiotic, you choose) man-possessed would do, got straight onto the nearest internet booking site and found me a marathon to aim at. I needed something to aim for, get myself fit and rehabilitated as quickly as I could. Something to keep me alive. I found Valencia which was about 7 weeks away. Putting then a search into ChatGPT which said “devise me a training plan for a full marathon, except I’ve got only six weeks to train and have a type 1 calf tear and told I shouldn’t run at all for the time being” confused it no end I can tell you 😳. 

Anyway – I’m here. I got healed quickly in about two weeks of persistent and dogged calf raises and physio. I did a bit of running on the treadmill and got up to 18 miles in the next four weeks. I didn’t get anywhere near a proper structured training plan, but then I’m not here to go for a time. I just want to get round. I’m hoping I can still manage under 4 hours though, as I have to set myself something to push towards. I’m like that, you see 🙂. 

So Valencia is a marathon for the soul. My soul. 

It’s also a late-year punctuation mark if you will. It has also been a funny old year in terms of several things in the rest of my life, which I won’t bore you with or go into detail here. And I’ve wittered on for long enough after all, and my plane will no doubt board soon too. 

Suffice to say it is a line drawn under the past twelve months – all the joy, the mess, the hard miles, the surprises, the frustration (with myself, mostly), the quiet triumphs, some people who came and went, and being grateful for the ones who stayed.

It’s a chance to step forward into whatever comes next… with purpose, with breath, with clarity, with heart.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned – sometimes the marathon you’re most ready for isn’t the one you’ve trained perfectly for. It’s the one you enter with humility, honesty, and an acceptance that you will give exactly what you have on the day, and no more.

My Garmin, that ever-optimistic little liar, tells me I’m due a 3:58.

We will see.

I suspect it will come down to heart, legs, weather (which at 23 degrees C in the forecast is a long way from being in my favour and way too hot for me), luck, and whether the red wine I inevitably drink tomorrow night decides to bless or curse me.

But mostly, it will come down to this:

I want to get to the finish line. For me, for my kids, for my Grandkids. For the memories. For the knowledge that I’ve given it what I have on the day. 

And I want to feel done. Done in the best way – the way that makes Christmas feel even sweeter on the other side.

And because life is too short not to chase the things that pull at you.

Because standing in a crowd of thousands, waiting for the gun to go, hearing your own heartbeat and knowing that you chose this – that is one of the most grounding, life-affirming sensations a person can have.

Because this race is part of a longer arc.

A journey that began long before Valencia and will continue long after it. Because I’m not done. 

It’s not even really about running at all. 

It’s about choosing to live with passion.

To keep stepping forward.

To keep saying yes to the things that move me, even when they scare me or stretch me or arrive at inconvenient times.

It’s about remembering that we only get so many chances to stand on a start line in this life – literally and metaphorically. And I don’t want to waste mine. My body is definitely not a temple and never was. More a bit of a train wreck most of the time – but I’m lucky, so very lucky, at my ripe old age to be still able to do these sort of things. Very blessed indeed. 

Wish me luck, I’m going to need it. 

New York – concrete jungle where dreams are made of…..

Posted on by
2

Sunday 3rd November 2019 will go down in my life as an incredibly momentous occasion. It was the day I became a marathoner! It is said that less than 1% of the population of the UK will run a marathon in their lifetimes, and I think I can only now truly understand why. So hereafter follows the story of the final week, and the ultimate accolade of the medal to prove it all wasn’t a dream…

After 15 weeks of training, I’m not sure either of us could believe that the day had finally arrived. It was certainly a week of countdowns! The trip to New York was on the Thursday, allowing two days for post-flight acclimatisation and hopefully not catching sniffles or worse along the way! I’d done my Tuesday and Wednesday runs of 4 miles and 3 miles respectively, and they were fine, if a bit unlike how I’d expected. I thought perhaps that at this point in tapering I’d feel ready to fly, but almost the reverse was true. My Tuesday run felt a bit like I was running for the first time!

Flying and travelling all day on Thursday (a total trip door to door of around 15 hours from Cambridge to our hotel in Manhattan, The Warwick) meant I skipped my scheduled Thursday run, but of course by then it didn’t really matter. It was by then all about just being rested and ready for the big day on the Sunday. Melanie chose to not run all week in fact, deciding that she needed the rest a lot more than what any training plan said, and also she went very much non-caffeine (inducing some initial headaches for her, unfortunately), non-alcohol, and carb loading to the tune of eat-pasta-for-every-meal. Good discipline!

I wasn’t quite so rigorous it has to be said, and just restricted myself to one glass of wine a day throughout (aren’t I good!), and I did eat a lot of pasta as well. A good thing too, as I love it, and we found a great restaurant in Manhattan called Pazza Note, which is highly recommended if you’re ever out that way (it’s on 6th and between 55th/56th for reference).

On the Friday we hit the expo at the Javits Center, a 3/4 million square foot convention centre in the Hell’s Kitchen area of Manhattan. All of the runners are required to go there to collect their bib/timing chip etc. We went early in the day to try to beat the crowds, but it was an absolute zoo! All together it took about 30 minutes of queuing (never my favourite pastime!) just to get into the doors of the event, and then it was like being in a rugby scrum to get close to any of the merchandise on display.

Bib numbers collected and it’s all getting very real!

The crowds were a real shame as we’d looked forward to the expo with some excitement (and some impatience for me, I can’t help myself!!), but it was just too busy to really stop and take a meaningful look at anything. I still managed to spend $300 on ‘stuff’ though, some of I will wear, and also a mock cowbell (which can only be described as tat at best) which will only gather dust on a shelf somewhere, so they saw me (and many others like me, the queues at the tills were extreme too) coming!

The expo was massive, and definitely inspiring 🙂

Massive wallboards had all 55,000 runners names written on there!

There was one highlight at the expo however, and that was bumping into Paula Ratcliffe (as you do!) whom we both got a photo with. She was there to promote something or other, and seemed very obliging with the selfies for anyone who asked. Oh and I meant to say we also met David Weir, the multiple Paralympic champion, on the flight over, so it was a week of celebrities for us! Melanie also got his autograph in our New York Marathon book (he came third too in New York), so that’s a nice keepsake.

Spot the runner, and guess what, it’s not me!!!

On the Saturday morning, before a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon sat relaxing watching the stage show of The Jersey Boys on Broadway ( a ‘must do’ in my book if you are ever in those parts!) we went for a little jog around Central Park to have a look at the last two miles or so of the course. We were both surprised just how undulating (I hesitate to use the word hilly, which it isn’t, but it certainly isn’t flat by a long stretch) it was, and made a mental note to be fearful of that factor when arriving at mile 26. The actual finish is uphill too – oh no! Being at the finish line though was great, with the rows of photos of past winners, and the finish line gantry and grandstands certainly all served to build up the excitement and magnitude of just how big this event is, the biggest marathon in the world. All of a sudden this thing seemed very real indeed!

Melanie having found ‘the blue line’ in Central Park, so we thought we should try it out…

And this is the Mile 26 marker – I wondered if I would actually get to see this the next day!

And the finish line itself – this was definitely the calm before the storm!

After what can only be described as a fitful night’s sleep (in fact I was awake at 2am and never got back to sleep) it was time for the final leg of the journey to begin, and a pretty convoluted one it is too! The start of the marathon is on Staten Island, some 15 miles or so from Manhattan, and also reachable only by ferry for all 55,000 or so runners.

To do this involved a minibus ride to the ferry terminal, then the 30 minute ferry crossing, and then another coach on the Staten Island side to reach Fort Wadsworth, and the start of the enormous (two mile long) Verrazano-Narrows Bridge which forms the very first two miles of the course. The ferry ride was really cold, caused entirely by the fact that we chose to spend it on the open upper deck of the ferry to take in all of the sights of Manhattan and the Statue Of Liberty. Well you have to make the most of these things don’t you?

Down at the midtown ferry at about 7:30am – our water taxi awaits!

And out onto The East River between Brooklyn and Manhattan.
And now out into Lower New York Bay, Manhattan disappearing in the background – it would be about 6 hours until we got back there again!

Passing the good old Statue of Liberty en route to Staten Island, the furthest away of New York City’s five boroughs.

The journey to the start took probably two hours altogether, and then we waited until our ‘corral’ opened. In New York they start you in 4 Waves over a period of about two hours. I’d been put in Wave 2 and Melanie Wave 3, so I waited and went into Wave 3 as anyone can move back but not forwards as is often the way with these things. The whole area of the ‘start village’ looked like a scene from a refugee camp, as we were bedecked in charity shop clothing and multiple bin bags, all ready to throw away. We had hand warmers and gloves too, and needed them – it was bitingly cold in the wind, although it was to warm up to around 8 or 9 degrees C by the time we set out to actually run.

In the start village and trying to keep warm while waiting for the loo!

And Melanie keeping warm too, with our very patriotic mats that she made for us to rest on 🙂

By the time the starting gun (actually a massive cannon) went off, there was almost a surreal hiatus when it didn’t even seem real at all. I’m sure tiredness and some not inconsiderable trepidation sunk in on my part, as I was about to after all step out into very much unchartered territory for me. No such first night nerves for Melanie of course as she’d been in this very position four times before.

But then, all of a sudden, the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra singing New York New York came over the PA system, and it is definitely real now! We were shuffling (for not too long) to the start of a solid one mile long uphill on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, and this thing is happening! It really is time to focus as there is no going back now in every sense!!

At the start – and very exciting it was too – Albert (whoever he is!) certainly thought so as well!!

I had to record Frank Sinatra playing somehow – hope this plays, it gave us goosebumps at the time!

Without describing every detail of the route of the marathon, which I could, as I literally feel like I can recount every turn, the whole thing was sensational. Amongst the standout features are not just the crowds (estimated at over 1 million people lining the route alone), but the diversity of the crowds. Passing through 5 boroughs, you see so much, and that’s even when like me you are trying desperately to only look in front of you and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

After Staten Island, there was then Brooklyn with its now hipster communities (but loud!!) and also the gospel churches spilling out onto the roadside, all happy clappy and emotional. Into Williamsburg with its Hasidic Jewish community and a much more reverential feel. Then into once very gritty Queens, now ‘the new Brooklyn’, and affording probably the best views of all of Manhattan over the East River. Into Manhattan itself for a few miles over the fabled (and pretty tough) Queensboro Bridge on 59th Street, about which Simon & Garfunkel’s song (‘Feeling Groovy”) is named.

I stole this picture from someone else’s Facebook page – definitely Queens all over!

This photo was taken by Sadi, my son’s girlfriend, as I was about to turn on to First Avenue – priceless!!

As I came down off the Queensboro Bridge I was fortunate enough to see my son Dan, who was standing with Sadi in a position they’d let me know about beforehand. I was so happy and emotional to see them, and they managed to capture the moment above. I had to regain my composure afterwards as I got such an incredible headrush from it, and had to remind myself that I had still 10 miles to run. This was such a fabulous moment though and was the highlight of the run :).

Then up First Avenue in Manhattan proper with a wall of tourists, before you get to The Bronx over another bridge, and you realise that you aren’t in Kansas anymore. The Bronx is nothing but full on, and gritty, and I consciously quickened my pace as I didn’t want to stop there for any reason whatsoever! Then the steel bands and music really started crossing from The Bronx into East Harlem, which was almost downright scary even if everyone was having a ball! There was also on one corner the biggest stage band you’ve ever seen, also playing New York New York, which made me very emotional indeed. Concentrate now, you’ve only got 5 miles to go! Then back over what is called ‘The last damn bridge’ after which followed a long long drag up a steady incline at the top of Fifth Avenue before heading into Central Park, and an absolute wall of people lining (a bit too close at times) the whole (damn!) park.

Central Park houses the last three miles of the run, and by now I was pretty sure I’d make it to the end at least! I definitely owed a lot of that to my shiny pink Vaporfly Next% shoes, which I have to say were an absolute revelation. They are so cushioned and gave my legs the ability to still have some gumption in them at the end. When the last mile came I was lucky enough to be able to just go for it, and ran my fastest mile of the whole day. When the finish line came I was totally exhilarated and emotional. It had been a long day, and long journey, and a bloody amazing four or five months of such intense effort all building up to it.

And this is what a red in the face, somewhat exhilarated marathon runner looks like, 26.2 miles later!
And celebrating together just after the finish line 🙂
And with medals awarded, we could begin the trek back into central Manhattan.
Medal on and recovery drink in hand, we could finally relax and make our way back to central Manhattan…….
Where Dan and Sadi, and some much more exciting recovery drinks were in store!

Proudly displaying our medals, this was such a wonderful moment too, amongst so many 🙂
And the next day we both got our names……….
in The New York Times! How about that?

After the run the time it takes to get your medal and goody bag and post-race poncho (lovely and warm by the way, even if it never sees light of day again!) are seemingly interminable, and getting back into uptown Manhattan to meet Dan and Sadi took forever too. The beer afterwards was so enjoyable though!

I could go on forever about highlights and memories of the day, but one thing matters more than anything else, and that is that we did it! Being a marathoner is something that no-one can ever take away from me, and Melanie has now become a five time marathoner, and that is nothing short of incredible!

I owe everything about this run and this whole wonderful experience to Melanie, and it is completely dedicated to her. I would not have been there in the first place without her, and the inspiration (and a heck of a lot of perspiration!) along the way is all down to her too. We have run collectively around 1,200 miles over the last four months, put a huge amount of effort in, and had most importantly some amazing adventures and fun along the way. Marathons take dedication, willpower, sacrifices, and a huge amount of physical and mental fortitude in equal measure. Oh yes, and pasta, and digestive issues, and money, and lots of pairs of trainers, and vaseline!!

It’s now as I write this 10 days post-race, and the question I think I’ve been asked most following the marathon (other than “how was New York” and “did you enjoy it?”) is “have you signed up for the next one yet?”. Well Melanie reminded me just yesterday that in the immediate aftermath of the run (when she asked me the same question) I apparently said “never again” or words to that effect. I’ll say now though that I have the right to change my mind…..:)

I’ve loved doing my blog again during this adventure, and it’s been now nearly 10 years since I started it. There are lots more adventures to come, they are what life is about and what makes me me. The subtitle of my blog is “to travel, to experience and learn – that is to live”, the mantra of Sherpa Tenzing following his becoming the first human to stand on the summit of Mount Everest in 1953. Well I, and we, have lots more travel and experiences and learning to do. Watch this space…..

Where do I start?

Posted on by
Reply

So as an update to my post last week, I am still awaiting confirmation of whether the Marathon is happening or not. It is 100% happening in my mind, and my desire to do it increases almost hourly, but as I’m waiting for confirmation from someone else as to whether they are doing it too, I’m in limbo, a bit. That’s frustrating (and that’s possibly the understatement of the century!) but it is what it is, and it will be what it will be.

A bit of light bedtime reading….

I am in the meantime very indebted to the various people I am getting good advice from. It’s great to get such encouragement and people telling you how incredible they find it that you are even entertaining the idea. Maybe they find it incredible that I am contemplating it at all, who knows, but it is all positive so far :).

I’ve also had some great help from a work colleague, Esther, with whom I run with at lunchtimes at work from time to time. Esther has done a great job of encouraging other people in our office to get from the couch to do a half-marathon, and sacrifices a lot of time and her own running time to do so. That’s really as inspirational as it is admirable, and she is also already helping my journey too. Yesterday she brought into the office a veritable library of books for me to borrow, dealing with almost every aspect of running, from the physical to the theoretical, the down and dirty to the esoteric. and as I have a thirst for knowledge I could be buried in books for some time……….:)

I cannot however bury myself in theory for too long. While it is important, there is nothing to beat getting out there. Strava tells me that I have run 268 miles this year so far, which is a (not bad for me) 14 miles a week on average. I’m currently (the last two or three weeks) at about 20 miles a week, which whilst a decent base, is nowhere close to what I will need to be running in order to get myself over the finish line.

The tale of the tape as at 14th May 2019…

Most training plans I have seen seem to go up to around 50 miles a week, and that is a massive (and daunting) amount to say the least. On top of the effort to do the miles themselves, is the time. That is about 9 hours of running, plus the faffing and changing, showering and what have you, so you can probably double that. So 80 hours plus a month, over 4 and a half months (most training programmes are 16 – 18 weeks) just to do the training. Gulp!

But even before that, I have to keep up my base fitness, keep doing at least the 20 miles a week, and then choose which plan to stick to. I have downloaded 5 so far, and while they are broadly similar, they differ by number of days, amount of miles, how hard you go, what you supplement your long runs with etc. I want to get the right balance between motivational, and doable, without being too taxing. I will stick to any training programme as long as it isn’t too hard, as if it is I will not succeed. I’m at the point where I now for the first time in my life am starting to actually enjoy running, and I don’t want to take the fun away altogether. Having said that, I know the next few months will be tough, very tough at times and I have to make sacrifices, but that’s all good – I am up for it completely.

So for now, let’s be patient (hard for me, as this is all as massive as it is massively exciting), and hopefully get my news through and my booking made. Then the hard work starts. Watch this space…….

Setback!

Posted on by
3

Having been a bit on the quiet side for a month or more on my blog now, here’s an update as to why:

On the 16th September I competed in a half-marathon, the Great North Run. It’s the world’s largest half marathon, and I was running for a number of reasons, not least of which was the need to keep up fitness levels for my forthcoming trip to the Southern Hemisphere’s largest mountain, Aconcagua, in December.

I had ramped up my training to where I completed over 100 miles in the three weeks prior to the run itself. Excessive maybe (or it is for me), but I took the advice from various running forums and websites which said that that was the sort of distance I should be covering that close to the run. Sadly with one week to go, I developed a fairly intense pain below my left ankle. I self diagnosed this, after much frantic googling, to be tendonitis, and a subsequent visit to the doctors suggested the same. Armed therefore with a bunch of painkillers and some anti-inflammatory drugs, I decided still to do the run, and told my self that I could/would quit if the pain got worse during the event.

Myself, Dan and my good friend Mel, immediately prior to the Great North Run.

Not long after the start of the run however, something strange happened. My left foot, where the pain had been coming from, was basically sore, a dullish pain without being too bad. I thought to myself that I could live with this if this was the worst that it was going to get. My right foot however, after about three miles, began to scream at me. It was agony, and I could hardly place my foot on the ground at all. Now limping on both feet, I thought to myself how ridiculous, that it looked like I was getting tendonitis in my right foot as well.

By mile six, the pain was horrible, and I should have stopped, but just didn’t want to. Plenty of people had sponsored me to do this event, and I was running for Bowel Cancer, which means so much to me. I just didn’t want to let anyone down, didn’t want to quit, it just seemed like the easy way out. I told myself to grin and bear it. The second half of the run is all a bit of a blur, but to cut a long story short, I made it to the finishing line, and in a time of two hours and two minutes. The last mile felt like someone was hitting me on the bottom of my heels with a chisel, and I half limped and half walked in.

To cut then an even longer story short, I discovered afterwards, following first X-rays and then an MRI scan, that I had what in the medical field is termed bilateral calcaneus fractures. To the layman (which includes me) that means “two broken heels”. To boot I have a torn tendon just below my right ankle, and the right foot is considerably more sore than the left, as perhaps is illustrated more clearly by the pictures below, which are from the MRI scan:

MRI scan of my left foot

In the centre of the above picture you can see a dark serrated line jutting down from the middle of my heel bone. That is a fracture. Bummer, as they say.

MRI scan of my right foot.

Towards the right of the above picture you will see that the heel bone has basically split – the back part is apparently separated from the remainder. That might explain why it hurt so much! As if to add insult to injury, I also have post-traumatic arthritis in my left heel, and the torn tendon in my right.

So anyway, the upshot of all this is that I was unable to even put any pressure on either foot for about three weeks. It was just too painful, and I got around in a wheelchair, even in the house. The bigger upshot is that I have since been told that I need to wait a further six weeks before I can load bear at all, and then three months before I do any repetitive strain type activities on either foot. If I told you that I was gutted by all this then it would be a ridiculous understatement.

So the biggest setback of the above, apart from the immobility and the waiting around for what seems like a lifetime to be able to walk around unaided again, is that my trip to Aconcagua is off. There was no way I could have gone, as the trip starts in less than six weeks from now. There’s also no cycling, no nothing in fact, until probably January until I can dare doing something strenuous again, and that’s if I get the all clear on my next hospital visit, when they MRI scan me again in November.

Aconcagua will therefore have to wait. It’s not going anywhere of course, but the frustration is then that I have to wait another year for it to happen. The ‘window’ to climb is only open in December and January, which won’t now happen this season obviously.

It’s all too easy to feel a bit down when you are essentially housebound, cannot walk unaided, and have had to cancel the thing that has driven you all year, i.e. the biggest mountain, at 7,000m, that I will probably ever get to attempt. My overriding emotion through it all so far though, is that in overall terms I am lucky. I have my health in overall terms, and there are millions upon millions of people out there a lot worse off than I am.

I have been helped by quite a few people in my recovery period so far, and my thanks to all of them, but very special mentions to Anna and in particular to Mel for all that you have done. I’m extremely grateful, I really am.

It’s difficult to use time productively when you can’t really go very far or indeed stand and bear your own weight, but I am doing what I can, and trying to not let daytime television get the better of me. I have bought myself a home gym, and am trying to use it as diligently as I can to at least stop too much muscle wastage on the rest of my body, not that I was overblessed with muscles in the first place. I think I’ve come to the conclusion overall though that running is just not my sport!