And just like that, we stand on the cusp of May. Where did the first four months of the year go? I have ticked off some sizeable accomplishments, yet as I cast an eye back towards January, it feels as if many things have been left languishing on my to-do list.

Some chapters we move through seamlessly, others are akin to wading waist-deep in a muddy bog. That’s certainly true when it comes to the last fortnight. I have been floored by a bug in a period that has coincided with a busy time at work and a packed social diary.

I couldn’t do it all. The result? It has felt like I’m watching life from the sidelines. Sitting on the sofa as my friends run marathons and climb mountains. Often when this happens, you re-emerge with a renewed clarity about what is actually important.

It’s a bit like filling a plate at a buffet, laden with a mishmash of food, much of which you feel obligated to take out of a misplaced sense of politeness. This growing smorgasbord inevitably edges out many of the healthy morsels that will enrich and spark joy.

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Eventually, the plate and its contents become too heavy and you drop it. It smashes on the floor making a Jackson Pollock-esque mess. You then step back and see the bigger picture.

When you eventually pick up another plate, this time you don’t pile on all the superfluous extras you don’t want or need. It contains only the good foods, the ones that feed your soul. Which is right about where we find ourselves at this current juncture.

On reflection, the biggest collateral damage of taking on too much and getting ill has been my running training plan. Four weeks from now I’m due to be standing on the start line of the Edinburgh half marathon. At the moment, that seems a formidable prospect.

But I haven’t given up hope. Will it be tough? Yes. Do I feel trepidation? Yes. Is there work to be done? Yes. Can I do it? We will find out on May 26.

Because if there is one thing that I relish it’s The Comeback. Personally, I blame Rocky, The Karate Kid and all the heart-soaring, gritty montages in a raft of similar 1980s films for romanticising blood, sweat and tears as an aspirational path to greatness.

Yet, here’s the kicker: What happens when you have already done The Comeback several times? I’m having deja vu to last summer when I had to undergo weeks of painful rehab for a calf injury.

Then came a winter of colds and viruses, seeing me write and wipe the words “The Comeback” from my whiteboard so many times it resembled Groundhog Day.

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Now another important milestone looms and with it The Comeback: Part 5. And everybody knows that sequels are never as good as the original. There are only so many times a phoenix can rise from the ashes before it becomes a dusty cliche.

Last Monday, I attempted my first run in nine days. It felt like a jailbreak to be outside in the fresh air. Thankfully no one was in hot pursuit. I was moving slowly and breathing heavily. For a moment, frustration bubbled in my chest, then came an epiphany: I’m moving and I’m breathing.

I spotted a snail on the path in front of me, its meandering silvery trail glistening in the early morning sunshine. A kindred spirit.

I plodded on. Moments later a buzzard rose skywards from some nearby treetops and flew right over my head. I stopped in my tracks, marvelling at its huge wingspan and seemingly effortless grace. It wasn’t a phoenix, but it was close enough. I’ll take it.