Once my year of running a marathon every month was over, I asked myself a question.

“Is enough ever enough?”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, 12-in-12 raised a good chunk of cash and I’m forever grateful for your generosity. Running all those marathons was a lifetime achievement to cherish, and I’m incredibly proud of what I accomplished. Yet once I’d heard that 12-in12 was no longer the pinnacle of human endurance, there was no turning back. So I’m excited to announce that I’ve found an even more ridiculous feat to endeavour in order to entice you to donate funds to Kiwoko Hospital.

Behold Ironman.

Billed as a race for the insane, I’m going to be massacring myself in Austria on 28 June trying to run a full marathon after cycling 112 miles and swimming 2.4 miles in a lake - all back to back. With a cut-off time of 17 hours, it’s going to be a long day.

But an Ironman isn’t just a race, it’s a journey. And when I first committed to participating in this insanity last June I was still recovering from a tibial stress fracture. Since I was advised not to run, I instead focused on getting to grips with the other disciplines. Which was a good thing, considering how totally unprepared I was for the other two-thirds of the journey. So let me give you some highlights of my foibles and fumbles thus far.

Swimming in open-water was a whole new experience.  Unlike a crystal clear pool, you can’t see a bloody thing aside from a blur of wetsuits and swim caps. And I had to get used to holding my own while being punched, clawed and tugged by a maelstrom of hands and legs. Each time something lurking below the surface brushed against me I did my best not to freak out about lake zombies. Not to mention ending up with a mouthful of duck poo whenever I took a breath. 

Then there’s the world of road cycling - no place for technophobes. The language is baffling, the amount of gear on offer is overwhelming and I could easily have spent more money on my bike than a car. When I finally hit the road on my precious new bike I got beeped at, shouted out and almost knocked-off by irate motorists who seemed to resent my very existence. Not to mention clip-in pedals; they’re frickin’ scary and I frequently found myself tottering over at traffic lights and falling Laurel and Hardy-style to the ground.

Although amazingly, each time I waded back into a reservoir or risked my life on the highways it got a little less frightening. And as my confidence grew I entered the London Triathlon (a mere 1500m swim, 40km bike, 10km run) last August to familiarise myself with the whole scene and practice transitions. 

It didn't take me long to figure out that this is a sport for people with OCD, which immediately appealed to my perfectionist nature. Everything has to be prepared “just so” to make your transitions from one stage to the next as smooth and quick as possible. Every race has an area where you change gear and clothing to get ready for the next leg. They’re hives of activity that can quite easily make or break you. Pros sail through in poetic motion. I was more like Benny Hill. Not only did I lose my race timing chip while swimming  in The Thames,  I couldn’t remember where I’d racked my bike and in my rush to get ready forgot to attach my bib number before finally slipping over in my cycling shoes.

And remember the “race for the insane” part? Well, I got a taste of it in Taiwan when I registered for a half-Ironman as a precursor to tackling the full distance. Seeing as races are seasonal, this was the only one I could find in November. After a nerve-racking swim in jellyfish infested waters it was boiling hot by the time I started the bike stint. Those in the know mysteriously claim “nutrition is the fourth discipline” of ironman races and say you should consume the equivalent of a ‘Sunday Roast’ in calories while cycling to fuel your run leg. And during my run stage - and when I say ‘run’ picture me shuffling along with saddle soreness and aching muscles - I found out what happens if you ignore this advice. I’ve never felt so close to death in my life. Having literally run out of juice, god only knows how long it took me to hobble to the finish.  

Still, to be forewarned is to be forearmed. In March I signed-up for an Ironman camp on the island of Lanzarote to springboard my training. Literally minutes into the first ride the rear mech (thingy that moves the chain between cogs when you change gear) sheared off and got mashed up in my spokes, snapping the chain and wiping me out. There’s nothing quite like a baptism of fire.

It’s been a tough road, but after a year of demon workouts I’m considerably fitter than when I started and injury-free. It’s flippin’ amazing what you can condition your body to do. And what’s equally amazing is that despite burning off thousands of calories training for 8-20 hours each week I’ve still managed to retain my moobs – dammit. Isn’t human physiology a wondrous thing?

I learnt during my year of marathons that new challenges always seem hard until they’re done. And, at present, an Ironman is still a challenge that feels out of my reach. Almost all of it will be uncomfortable and a good chunk of it will be really painful. I’m putting my mind and body on the line, but while I’m hurting I’ll be thinking about how much good every penny raised will do. I've come to realise that the only thing crazier than racing an Ironman is the people willing to take part. Each of us is only given a little spark of madness, help me not to lose mine.