The last long run takes a strange, fateful twist.

I don't believe that I am the only runner in the world that starts to get paranoid in the last couple of weeks before a race, but I do think that I take it to a whole new level. As race day quietly tip toes towards you a runner treads the fine line between making sure that he/she is at the peak of their fitness, against the constant worry of picking up an injury if you train too hard, or if simple bad luck comes calling.

These last few weeks I have been running in the style of a man holding a bomb in his hands, with no safe place to set it down. Every step I take is a possible ankle sprainer, and every loose paving slab is a definite knee crusher. Everything in my path is an enemy now, divots, puddles, tree roots, gravel, mud, steps, curbs, leaves, other people. All of these things have the potential to do damage and ruin 6 months of training, sacrifice, and effort.

My assassin of fate did not come in these forms though, I was not felled by a a loose slab of concrete on the Regents canal, I did slip on the new gravel by Victoria Park, but it did not cause me harm. No, I was cruelly struck down by an agent of doom, a bringer of misfortune, lady lucks cruel joke did not throw me something so predictable.

I got done by a suicidal squirrel.

I was running my last long run and to bump the miles up I went twice round the park, which is about 6 miles give or take. It's a circle I have run many times and I know it well. As I came around the first lap, through the gates by the village I moved across onto the grass path, in between the bushes and the benches. I don't look at people anymore, I don't enjoy the early morning hue, I just stare at the space one meter in front of me, making sure that every step is a safe one, picking each landing foot to make sure I don't twist or pull anything. From the corner of my eye I don't see him, I just see a rustle, like a flash something is a foot and a half in front of me, maybe one step in front of my eyes the pace I'm going, it's a squirrel, with a conker stuffed in its little mouth.

Time slows while I try to work out why this normally nervous little animal has decided to get so close to me, did he see me? or was he too busy making sure the conker doesn't escape its jaw? Then I consider my options,

1. I could run straight over the little thing, who's eyes are now firmly locked into mine. He looks sad, as if he knows that the conker will be never be enjoyed, because death is upon him in the shape of a ginger, running blur.
2. I can swerve to my left and smash into a newly painted bench.
3. I can swerve right and into the bushes.

I go right, the squirrel doesn't even move, and I become acquainted with the bushes like two old fat friends embracing at the airport, arms out stretched, struggling to wrap their arms round each other. I go in one side of the bush and come out the other, I look back and the squirrel runs back in to where he come from, eyes front I straighten up and check for damage. nothing. I am in the clear so I round the corner and head back around.

By the time I get to Alexander McQueen's old house the squirrel is a forgotten memory, a brief moment of awkwardness, followed by confusion, then forgotten. Like a one night stand. I have completely forgotten about it by the time I head back through the gates at the village, and onto the grass verge.

This time I see the little bastard, his head is moving from side to side, poking out of the bush, like he's waiting to cross the road. and then he does it again, still with a conker in its mouth, he bounces in front of me and stops dead. Now I'm just confused, once is a strange little accident, a funny, early morning quirk, but twice? from the same bush? This is just weird.

so the ballet starts and a decide to leap over the squirrel and deny him what he so clearly wants, a way out. Death by runner, it's a bit like death by police but the park based, animal version. I jump over him and my right foot lands on a big stick, and the uneven surface does something to the underneath of my foot, I regain my balance, look back and the squirrel is waving a fist at me and shouting,

"come back and finish me off! I don't want to live anymore, come back and end this cruel nightmare for me!"

He doesn't, the little shit just sits there, then scampers across road and into another bush.

I exit the park and a shooting pain has started, I get home and stretch out and my foot feels OK. I go to work and walking to the bus stop, the pain starts again. I sit on the bus and ponder the possibility that a squirrel may have ruined me in 2011. I phone my physio and explain what's happened,

"A squirrel?"

"Yes, a squirrel Bob"

"Came at you twice?"

"Yes, out of the same bush"

"And now your foot hurts?"

"Yes, like a stabbing pain underneath my foot, going all the way to the ankle, you think I should go for another run?"

"No. you've done enough now, stay healthy, rest it, I'll see you Tuesday. Just try to stay off it"

"OK, will do."

"Oh, and Gareth?"

"Yes?"

"Don't go to the park again"

"OK"

Today is Tuesday, I fly tomorrow, and I have no idea what Bob is going to say. I run the 2011 Chicago marathon in 5 days from now and it's possible that I might be injured and unable to run the race that I want to run because of a squirrel.

Life is very strange.