Being an injured triathlete isn’t as bad as being an injured runner. If you can’t do one of your triathlon disciplines, chances are you can do at least one of the other two. So while I’ve not been able to run because of my shin splints I reminded myself that I’m a triathlete now as well as a runner.

I had two weeks off from running and two days off from doing anything at all, but for the other 12 days I was cycling, swimming and getting on the turbo. I went to see my sports massage guy – the same guy who has patched me up before three marathons I thought I might not see the start line of.

“I’ve seen a lot worse walk through my door today hoping to do London still.” It made me feel a lot better than I had an hour earlier when I was crying in the office toilets that I’d messed everything up.

By Saturday my shin splints seemed to have disappeared, but I didn’t run. I hopped on the turbo trainer and pedalled hard as Chrissie Wellington shouted encouragement through my headphones. I’m a triathlete.

Sunday marked three weeks until London, the long run on the training plan and the start of the taper. I knew 20 miles was out of the question, but a run of some sort seemed realistic. I put on my trainers with no idea how long I would be running for; I might be hobbling back home after a mile or maybe, just maybe I could stretch my legs a bit more.

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A mile in and everything seemed to be in working order. Two miles in and I seemed to be going a bit fast. Five miles in and my legs had decided to do a lap of Victoria Park. Eight miles in and they’d decided they fancied another. 11 miles in and the canal had turned into a wind tunnel and my legs had lost all power. 16 miles in and my last three miles had been a  battle against the wind and my brain.

The plan had been to do most of my training effort from the weekend on the turbo, taking some of the strain off of the long run, but a few miles in and my legs had forgotten that they belong to a triathlete now.

Unsurprisingly, the next day the shin splints were back along with the ice packs and appointment for another sports massage in a week. I knew I’d run too far to escape free of charge. But with an extreme taper they’ll hopefully be fit enough again to bash out a few miles through London in a few weeks. And if not, that’s OK too because my eyes are on the prize in Bolton this year. I’m a triathlete.