Day 84 – Staring into the Middle Distance (and Hoping for Ice Cream)

It really hasn’t got any better. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s got worse. Not apocalyptic worse—there are no frogs raining from the sky or cats learning Latin—but worse in that I feel distinctly unwell, and distinctly sorry for myself. This morning I got into work and at points found myself doing the kind of 1000-yard stare usually reserved for people who have seen things. Terrible things. Like emails.

Focusing was hard. Getting through the day felt like wading through metaphorical treacle, only with less of a sugar high to sweeten the experience. My brain spent most of the day in a fog, occasionally surfacing for air, then deciding that perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort after all.

A Small Victory (and a Flake)

But even in the gloomiest of days, there can be unexpected glimmers of joy. At lunchtime, salvation arrived not on a white horse, but in the form of an ice cream van pulling up outside school. There are few things that bring a smile quite like a Mr Whippy and a 99 Flake. I queued up happily alongside the 6th Formers and for a few precious minutes, I was no longer a coughing, spluttering, anxious adult but a child revelling in the sheer bliss of soft serve and chocolate. It was the highlight of an otherwise rather blah day and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

Restless Resting

What I am a bit ashamed of, though I know I shouldn’t be, is the rest. I know, intellectually, that rest is vital to marathon training. Recovery is just as important as the long runs, the speedwork and the obsessive checking of Strava stats. But there’s rest, and then there’s being forced to rest because your body has decided to throw in a cold just as things are ramping up. That kind of rest feels like an unwelcome houseguest who keeps rearranging the furniture and drinking the good tea.

The guilt is real. Rest days due to illness feel like days slipping away and with London Marathon 2025 drawing ever closer, every missed run feels significant. I’m getting a bit anxious to get back out there, to lace up my trainers, and yes—even to tackle those brutal threshold sessions that once felt like cruel and unusual punishment but are now looking almost... inviting?

Onward, Eventually

So, for now, I rest. I hydrate. I hope that this cold clears soon so I can rejoin the land of the running. And I cling to the knowledge that training isn’t just about the miles logged—it’s about listening to your body, even when it’s being a bit melodramatic about everything.

With a bit more rest and a lot more Lemsip, I’ll be back pounding the pavements soon. Hopefully before I start queueing up at every ice cream van out of habit.