It’s April. The evening’s are light again. Blossom’s bursting out everywhere. And so is spring marathon fever.

Still a couple of weeks to go until London. This weekend it’s the turn of Brighton. And Paris. And….Taunton.

My twitter feed’s full of fear and anticipation, in equal measure. Taper craziness is in the air.

And me?

I’m lost in a fog of indecision.

After turning over my ankle several times in the space of just a few weeks, I stepped back from the trail running. But with a couple of months still to go until Taunton, I was hopeful I could salvage something of my plans for this year.

So I kept on with the marathon training, figuring that if the ankles weren’t up to it, I’d know pretty quickly.

And they held up. Kinda. Sorta. Enough to get me round a few 20 mile routes. Not enough to reassure me they could survive 26.2 miles on the road.

In a perfect world, tapering would have been a chance to recover so I could bound up to that start line, high on confidence. But of course it never works out like that. Instead, I’m getting niggles. Lots of niggles. Just the usual taper crazies or a warning sign to heed?

Now here I am, with just days to go, facing a tough decision.

I flip and I flop. I change my mind again, and again, and again.

I monitor my ankles constantly. Weighing the evidence. Trying to reach a verdict.

There’ll always be more marathons. But my body? I’ve just got the one. And I want to still be up to running marathons when I’m hitting triple digits.

Deep down, I think I know what the decision should be. I’m just not quite ready to accept it as final yet.