Monday 23rd Feb - Sunday 1st March

Food! I love food. I love running because it requires me to consume vast quantities of food! Up until now it has been a good friend of mine. It makes me stronger and picks me up from the lows of exhaustion. However, food kicked me in the guts this week, literally.

I like a treat, and after a long Sunday I feel I deserved a treat. A nice piece of cake found it's way into my grubby paws. I wolfed it down, it didn't taste as good as it might have but I thought nothing more of it as I moved onto my staple diet of a big bowl of cereal.

On Monday morning I was up early and completed a simple thirty-minute run. I felt OK and there were no sign of what was to develop. As the day wore on I began to feel a little odd. I was tired and lethargic. I was a little light headed and had a slight aching in my stomach. I completely lost my appetite and when this happens I know that something's wrong.

The time for my scheduled evening run arrived. I was racked with guilt as I declined to put my trainers on deciding instead to get an early night hoping that it would all just pass with a little rest.

It didn't pass.

Half way through the night I was up - my head down the toilet. It wasn't fun. I can't remember the last time I was sick. I like to pride myself in having a strong stomach but tonight something had well and truly weakened it.
I was up and down all night, but at the back of my mind was the fact that at least my body was ridding itself of the troublesome bug and that I would be quickly be back on my feet.

I was wrong.

I'll save you the details but for the rest of the week I didn't like to venture more than a short dash from the toilet. I couldn't seem to shift whatever it was that was irritating my stomach. I was still eating, aware that I needed to keep up my strength, and drinking well, ensuring I wasn't dehydrated. But it was all very bland, water and dry toast.

By Wednesday evening I thought I was on the road to recovery and with a race on Saturday I knew I needed to eat some proper food so I stood a chance of making the start line.
It was the last league match of the season. My club Epsom & Ewell Harriers were in the running for promotion to Division One. To compete in Division One next year would give me stronger competition every weekend and will hopefully prepare me more for the bigger cross country races, when every second counts, which are sometimes a shock to the system when I'm used to cruising to victory. I knew I had to run if we were to stand a chance of promotion. I had a decision to make. Did I miss the race to ensure I was rested and recovered for the final remaining race of this season, the Inter Counties, or did I race to help ensure that next season I had the competition to make my whole season as strong as possible.
Eating normal food didn't go down too well with my stomach. I was almost back to square one. I paid my doctor a visit. I explained the situation to her and rather than just advise rest and no or minimal food as I'd expected, she advised me to eat normally until my race on Saturday, compete if I felt able, then fast for twenty four hours. Giving my stomach a rest and hopefully enabling it to recover and return to normal.

So I carried on as normally as I could. As I wasn't running I didn't have to consume the same levels as I would normally, just enough to keep my energy up.

Friday came round and I was still unsure of whether to run or not. I decided an easy twenty minutes to test everything out was a good option. I felt dreadful, but I didn't need to nip into the bushes, which was my biggest fear. I would race and keep my figures crossed that I could pull something out of the bag.

The race was in Lloyd Park in Croydon, my favourite cross-country stomping ground. It gave me a bit of confidence that I felt so at home racing here. I hoped it would add an extra string to my depleted bow.
I did a minimal warm up. I would use the first mile to warm up properly, the less running I could get away with the better. My goal was to make sure I finished and that I did so within the top ten. No point in taking all the risks I had and not completing the race. At no point was I going to take the lead. If I was in contention I would leave it till the last stride if possible to hit the front. I knew I wouldn't have much energy for the race or my recovery post race, so saving as much as I possibly could was key.

The race started and I settled into a pack in around twentieth place. We hit the first hill and it felt like Everest. I had no power in my legs. I knew it was going to be a long hard slog and that I'd need to play to my strengths if I was to get to the front and really help my team's push for promotion.

Up hill was hard, but down hill was no problem. I could stretch out my legs and chew up the ground on the leaders without wasting any energy. I managed to use the first two down hill sections to move up to fifth. On the flat I felt reasonably comfortable and my group of five moved clear of the field. Up the next hill the two leaders, one a team mate, the other from a rival club vying for promotion, moved away. I managed to stay with the rest of the group then moved onto the back of the leaders down the next hill.

I was actually enjoying the fact I was running under such tough circumstances; it added a strange spice to my race. I was running with less pressure on me to win. I could just concentrate on running a tactical and sensible race.
We finished the first lap as a group of three. I was stalking at the back, unwilling and unable to take on the pace. I decided to alter my pre race aim. I was clear in third and as long as my teammate won, I'd be content with third. But I wanted an Epsom & Ewell victory, so my mission was to stick to my opponent and react only to what he did.
My teammate Phil made his move early on the last lap. He managed to open a gap on us and I was content to let him go. By this time I was finding the going tough. I was really lacking any energy. My aerobic capacity was fine but my legs just felt empty and drained.

Up the next steep incline I was dropped. I had no response and resigned myself to finishing third. The gap grew to a hundred metres quickly. I managed to recompose myself on the flat and stayed within watching distance of the action in front. Suddenly I noticed my teammate faltering. The gap to second was quickly eaten up. I woke myself up and decided to make an attempt to catch back up if I could.
My competitive spirit had got the better of me. If we finished second and third instead of first and third it would make little difference to whether or not we were promoted. I just felt that if I could win feeling like I did it would be a great confidence boost for when I got myself back to 100% fitness.

I caught my teammate who'd fallen behind the leader and started to slowly claw back the gap to first. Up the final uphill drag I neither gained nor lost any ground. It was all down hill to the finish now. I began gaining and with one hundred metres left I made contact. I went for it straight away. Anything I had left I gave and it was just enough. After an initial tussle I pulled a few metres clear in the last few strides. Of a five-mile race I'd only spent ten metres in the lead. But they were the ten metres that counted!

I was shattered and my warm down was a dash to the Portaloo!

I refuelled that evening then set about a twenty-four hour fast. I was actually feeling a little better post race. Like I'd finally blown away my bug. But I took no chances and rested up, 'Doctor's orders'.

Now it was about recovering my depleted energy reserves to ensure that for the final and biggest race of the season I had a chance of being competitive. I hoped I'd made the right decision by running. We'd gained promotion for next season but had it come at a cost? I'd soon find out, as there's no hiding place at the Inter Counties Cross Country Championships.