There's been much happening that I've wanted to comment on lately, for example: it's 40 years today since the Jonestown massacre; we've had another two mass shootings in the U.S.A. in recent times, as well as another terrorist attack closer to home in Melbourne, which is seemingly becoming Australia's terrorism capital. And then also in the news there's Trump, ever more examples of global climate change disasters, and of course Brexit, with the ongoing uncertainty over Theresa May's prime ministership and whether the deal hammered out with the EU will even pass through the House of Commons. All this is too rapid and overwhelming to properly get my head around, other than to know I should probably pay less attention to the news, which is unfailingly depressing.

Instead I might just start at the bottom, with news of my feet. Talk of my feet may not sound too thrilling, but at least it doesn't come with the threat of possible nuclear catastrophe at the hands of a mad President, or the economic isolation and collapse of the United Kingdom.

So instead, here's more truly riveting news of my injured feet: a week ago I revisited my podiatrist to collect my new orthotics, hand over a rather large wad of cash, and to discuss progress, such as it is. Essentially, whilst there is slight progress, it is terribly slow, and my podiatrist suggested I may only be half-way along the path to full recovery, meaning I still have months more to go. The only alternative he gave me which might speed things was to suggest a course of expensive treatment called 'shockwave', which is some sort of sophisticated ultrasound device, but expensive as it is, he couldn't and wouldn't guarantee anything. Discussing this at work the next day it turns out one of my co-workers has actually undergone the 'shockwave' therapy and said it was not unlike having the soles of your feet tattooed, only more expensive, much more painful and with nothing much to show for it. So I decided to hold off for the moment. Call me a coward, but the whole thing sounds to me more like something Dr Fu Manchu might dream up, rather than a recognised and effective therapy.

And anyway, it may well not be necessary. I do have days when the pain is considerably reduced, and even had one whole day totally free of it which gives me some optimism, although the torment invariably returns after a good day. Overall it is true that the pain is generally less now, and so I'm reasonably confident that I'll be able to undertake a very gentle test jog - probably no more than five minutes to begin with at a very, very gentle pace - sometime soon.

Actually, this whole recovery thing is taking on a life of its own, which is perhaps unsurprising given how long it's taking. Having gotten over the fact that I can't run and that therapy and cross-training are now the norm, I forget about lost training schedules and the whole 'return to fitness' thing becomes as engrossing as any training schedule and race plan, only without a known deadline. The lack of deadline at least has the benefit of not causing anxiety over 'lost days' from the schedule and whether or not they need to be made up.

The possibility that my running days may be over - if not immediately, then as other injuries become an overwhelming obstacle - is a real and genuine fear. I'm only 57, and already a seemingly simple injury such as this makes me question whether I can really still be running well into my 80s, as has long been my goal.

We shall just have to continue the treatment and wait and see...