I knew I’d face many challenges in my preparations for the Brighton Marathon. And it appears that one such challenge is learning not to fall over.

Last Monday I set out on a 3-mile early morning run. I charged up Hove Promenade and did two laps of the Lagoon. I’d just reached the two mile mark and was about to turn round for home when, one minute I’m striding athletically, the next I’m facedown on the ground and in pain. It was so fast I didn’t even notice the fall.

I may be in my 30s but I’ve apparently not mastered the art of tying shoelaces. A long loop on one shoe snared the other foot and brought me down. It was a silly accident, but a nasty one. I banged my knee up (less badly than last time) and bruised and grazed my left hand. I limped home in enough pain that I didn’t feel as daft as I ought to.

And, yes, you read that right: less badly than last time. I’ve already tripped over my laces once this year. From now on I’ll be taking much more care, tucking the ends and loops of my laces safely away before I set off.

Apart from that ‘issue’ the rest of my training over the last fortnight has gone well, including a 12 mile run from Hove to beyond Rottingdean and back. Which is good as I am currently in Morecambe, ready for tomorrow’s half-marathon, The Morecambe Cross-Bay run. This event is run through Morecambe bay at low tide, crossing the River Kent at its lowest point. It’s a very exciting run – I can’t imagine many courses where you’re told not to stray from the route because of quicksand.

I entered last year’s event, which was turned back halfway because the tide was rising faster than expected. The race was still an incredible experience. The bay is desolate with only features on the flat terrain being small channels and the water stations. It started with the wind behind us and I remember thinking how tough it would be if we ran in the other direction. Then, as we approached the river Kent the line of runners turned and we were led straight into the wind.

For the first half mile the wind was so strong it knocked me back to walking speed and I stopped running to conserve my energy. When it relented I started running again. It was obvious something had happened since there were no water stops or distance markers, just the sands and the runners. The wind gathered up wisps of sand, forcing me to keep my eyes on the floor for long periods. Running into the wind felt like a nightmare, that dream where you run and seem to be going nowhere - the only landmark was the pack of runners ahead, who were moving at the same pace.

The weather this weekend doesn’t look perfect, but I’m hoping the crossing can be completed. It will be a good psychological boost to know I’ve run 13 miles in a race.