You don’t train for an Ironman by yourself. At least I can’t see how you can. I’m lucky to have a team of people around me who all help training happen, whether they realise it or not. My four-year-old niece who asked me why I cycle so much, prompting me to answer that I do it because it’s fun really, then told me about how she’s getting her stabilisers off soon and then she’ll be able to get a big girl bike, in her own small way is part of that team. My sister, whose birthday it was yesterday and who hosted a barbecue conveniently timed for the finish of my 74-mile sportive is part of that team.

Anyone who has cycled and swum alongside me in the past six months, made me dinner, listened to me moan, given me advice or cheered me on in a race is part of that team. And they’re all helping.

I’ve just completed the biggest weekend of my Ironman prep so far and I couldn’t have done it without some great people around me. It all began on Friday when I met up with triathlon coach and PT Chris for a very long chat about the past 26 weeks, the next four and that one big day in Bolton that looms on the horizon. I came away much more confident about all three and with a slightly intimidating a plan for the last training push. Part of this plan saw me arriving at Parliament Hill Lido at 7:30am on Saturday morning ready to swim 3km.

3km would be the furthest I’ve ever swum. And because my usual open water swimming spot is closed because of algae, I’d be doing it in a pool. I wasn’t excited about this, but I had Josie to keep me company. I swam up and down and stopped half way through to speak to Josie. “A man just swam over the top of me, it was quite impressive really” she told me. It was busy, but we carried on. She finished her session before I did and sat on the side cheering and counting down my laps for me. And then we went for coffee and ate cake.

I travelled up to my parents’ in Peterborough ready for a 74-mile sportive and my sister’s birthday on Sunday. “I’ve got a hen party to go to tonight so your dad’s cooking,” said my mum. He cooks a mean curry aided solely by the telephone and a takeaway menu. I went to bed early full of food.

The next morning I stopped 30 miles into my ride to eat sandwiches made by my mum and realised that it was only 9:30am and I’d already been riding for two hours. I was doing the Flat Out in the Fens sportive along with Phil who had a shiny new road bike that I know he wanted to tear off ahead on, but he kindly stayed with me the whole way.

We followed pink signs around the Fens for more than five hours, never getting lost and chatting about how much our bums hurt and whether local anaesthetic is a viable option for cyclists. We arrived back at my sister’s house where my running shoes were waiting for me to do one last mile round the block on foot as per Chris’ instructions.

I stumbled back in the gate eight minutes later. “That wasn’t very long” said my niece. I think she’s got a great future as a coach ahead of her.