Six months ago I was on top of the world. Running at my absolute peak, I achieved a lifetime ambition after the greatest run of my entire life, the culmination of a decade of planning, trying, failing and trying again. After eighteen months of training, I finally got the sub three hour marathon I’d always wanted, but never thought I could achieve. My proudest ever moment.
Naturally after that, in the weeks to come my running dropped off a little, but by January normal service was resumed and 40-mile weeks were back on the agenda. All eyes were on a possible triplet of half marathons in March, May and October with maybe one of them being a PB attempt and all in all things were ticking over very nicely indeed.
Then I got Covid.