JANUARY 2008

For most of January terrible weather forced me off the trails and hills and into the gym. Getting on a treadmill wearing a heavy rucksack and with two big water bottles strapped to my chest invited the usual round of funny looks and raised eyebrows. And the stench of my sweat saturated rucksack did it's usual job of driving all but the most dedicated runners away from the machines either side of me. Running long distances on a treadmill also has to be the most tedious thing in the world and after a couple of hours of watching the same 15 minute reel of sky news on the gym TVs, I almost always hit my boredom threshold and call it a day.

In January the wife and I also received the keys to a new house which we have bought in Dorking and of course, us being us and never the ones to take the easy option, it is a bit of a wreck and in need of a complete renovation before we can move in. The end result promises to be fantastic and it's all very exciting in a 'Sarah Beeny from Channel 4' kind of way - but the timing couldn't be worse. When I'm out running I feel guilty for not being at the house doing DIY and when I'm at the house I feel guilty for neglecting my training (which has definately suffered to some extent, although I hope I'm still doing sufficient miles to keep me in shape for the race). So if anyone would like to help release me from my dilemma and spend a few hours stripping wallpaper for me, all volunteers are most welcome.

This month I also ran home from work for the first time since I moved both house and job. This used to work well back in my London days, when it was a steady 8 miles between home and the office, but these days it takes a bit more effort as my commute is now 15 miles over the rolling hills of Surrey - although the way that some of these country folk drive it may not be much slower on foot. Getting home by car can sometimes feel like commuting by milkfloat.

Finally, I can report that my latest injury is nothing to do with pulled muscles or blistered feet. Out running recently I passed a guy and his border collie and ended up on the wrong end of a dogbite. For some reason the beast didn't like the cut off my jib and as I merrily wished it's owner a good day it sunk its jaws into my inner thigh. Modesty prevents me from printing a picture of the resulting wound, but I am now sporting a couple of K9 puncture wounds and some fairly impressive bruising. Animal lovers will be pleased to hear that for its efforts the dog received a sound beating from its owner, whilst I got a trip to the doctors and a course of penicillin. It could have been worse though - another inch (make that two or three - Ed.) to the left and it could have been an altogether more tender part of my anatomy at risk.

Border colliers - pure evil