Pace not race - on letting go of goals that will hurt us

Saturday's final training run for the Lago di Maggiore Marathon on 3rd November was a bit of a disaster.

My target was to complete 32 km, leaving me confident that, on the day, a final push for a further 10 km would see me across the finish line, picking up my 35th marathon medal after a gap of 5 years.

It was a combination of Achilles Tendinopathy and Covid that stopped me - and the first of those can take a long time to recover from.

So it proved, and thus my cycling endeavours stepped in, with John O'Groats to Lands End and Hebridean Way routes completed with Sheila Scott, Alpine Gorges and Cols with Steve Turnock and, latterly, my traverse of Snowdonia with Messrs Hamill, Cooper and Wilson.

But the call of the marathon day hasn't left me and, earlier this year, I decided it was time.

My decision to head for the Italian Lakes was made for me by Rachel Barrow, who had entered the half, and this quickly turned into a family event, with Joshua and Sophia, plus Ellie Barrow and Ryan (a close friend of Rachel's).

The training began in the late Spring and, on Rachel's recommendation, I downloaded the Runna app, which gave me a clear training pathway.

So most of the summer and into the Autumn, I've been doing my best in a busy schedule to stick to the training programme - and I'd probably give myself an 7/10 for that.

One thing is for sure - whatever the outcome in Italy, it has been GREAT to get back to the meditative aspect of early morning running. To continue a tradition that goes back to my first steps in trainers (1978 - wow) - I have never worn headphones or earpods and prefer to use my running time to think.

Contrast that with my training time on the Wattbike, which is dedicated to TV series. Good fun but not soul-food.

Around 3 weeks ago, I attempted a 30 km Saturday and found myself on a round-circuit through central Cheshire, mainly trails including The Whitegate Way and arrived home after 27 km feeling somewhat worse for wear. The next morning a heavily swollen left ankle, which necessitated a few days off to let things settle - I was out again after about 4 days and back to easy 5 km morning jaunts along the River Weaver.

A week ago, after a full-day meeting with the team and Owners at Seapoint Clinic in Dublin, I celebrated the end of 5 days "on stage" in Ireland with a Saturday evening run to Blackrock, Dun Laoghaire and back to my hotel, a total of 15 km - steady and a little sore by the end.

And so to yesterday - full of good intentions I set out at 10:30 on Saturday morning - along the River Weaver to Vale Royal Locks, on to Winsford, inland and cross country, heading South until I picked up the Shropshire Union Canal and decided it would be interesting and fun to follow the towpath East to Middlewich and then pick up the Trent-Mersey Canal and head North back towards Northwich and home.

My sixth sense made me confident that this would be a lovely (and flat) way to complete the distance.

The first part of the tow path was lovely - lots of barges parked up but equally, many en route to wherever and always a friendly wave and "good morning" from the helmsman or woman.

Just after the canal junction a stop for an energy bar at the 16 km point (and a photo) - feeling tired but cautiously optimistic.

Then the Trent-Mersey North turned into a problem - the towpath quickly deteriorated into thick and deep mud - the kind that sucks at your shoes. Little did I know that the next 5 km would be a "tough mudder" of staggering from one footfall to the next, avoiding the ankle twists that would inevitably follow a foot put wrong. Horrible.

My Strava shows my pace collapsing but doesn't record the increasing anxiety as the path seemed to go for ever and each bend in the canal revealed yet another long stretch of densely overgrown banks and no escape on to roads or alternative footpaths.

I arrived at Oakwood Marina, not far from Davenham village and within 3 or 4 km from home if I bailed - and bail I did.

Back on the country lanes I was back to a more stable surface but my shuffling along made it clear to me that, even if the brain was willing, the body was not.

In Davenham village I collapsed on to a pub bench, turned off my Garmin and settled myself for a 2 km walk home, limping along at a snail's pace with everything hurting.

That grim final journey back to the welcome of tea, toast a shower and 30 minutes in the hot tub was time enough to have a word with myself and decide that Lago di Maggiore will be an enjoyable half-marathon with family and friends and not a dance with the devil that could lead to long-term injury as well as a good chance of a DNF.

The moral of the story....

There's so much out there on "feel the pain and do it anyway" and I completely agree that few meaningful goals are achieved in life without a price paid.

Lord knows I've served my time climbing metaphoric Everests over the years and pushing beyond the limits to reach my goals.

But there comes a time when common sense has to prevail - when the price we pay is too high, either because of the consequences for us or for those around us.

So "knowing when to say "No"", either to ourselves or to others is good coaching.

The fact is that nobody in the world other than me gives a damn whether I die with 34 or 35 marathon medals.

So, this time, Extreme Self Care wins over impressing others with my "machine-like determination" - of course, I still have to finish a half-marathon the day, or egg will be on face in mirror - that will involve taking care of myself in the next 2 weeks and, if I manage that, there will undoubtedly be a smashing day out to boot.

Pace not race.