Since the events of Tuesday night, we are all demoralised and worn out, apart from Giles.

The bare bones of the Watford Half marathon are:

1. Pat - an astounding 1 hour 29 minutes to finish 180th out of 2000. If only he wasn't injured;
 
2. Angus - an even more unbelievable 1 hour 34 minutes with one leg made out of metal;

3. Rhys - a very strong 1 hour 39 minutes, after a mammoth session the day before; and
 
4. Seb - a not disgraceful 1 hour 49 minutes, after two bottles of red wine the night before and a couple of whisky chasers. To put this in context, his time would have meant a podium finish in the Ladies Over 75 category.

The positives don't stop there for Seb. He has finally taken delivery of his bike and has even been for a ride on it around the ground floor of Jones Day's London office.

Wesley put a firm marker down for Paris with a strong finish in the Helicon Asselrode 27.5 km race in Apeldoorn, Holland on Sunday clad, stylishly as ever, in his trademark vintage blue tracksuit and perfectly knotted cashmere scarf.

Leon has also taken delivery of a bike but, bizarrely, it wasn't his. He has also finally found a photo for his bio. However, his most significant action this week has been to throw the rest of us, apart from Giles, into a maelstrom of self doubt and confusion.

At 11.21 on Tuesday night, Leon became the eigth Team member to pull out of Wednesday's team run with a medical excuse. It was the throwaway final line of his email that unleashed a series of events that has brought confidence and motivation levels crashing. The suggestion that "the podiatrist reckons you are all overdoing it" didn't cause Giles to bat an eyelid, such is his mental strength and clarity of purpose each time he squeezes into his colour co-ordinated lycra gym wear. The rest of us, however, started to have crushing doubts, for the first time since we were stupid enough to think of doing this.

Consequently, Wednesday's team run was a disaster. The mood in the changing room was subdued as John P and Rhys exchanged nervous looks, knowing that they were no longer in the zone. Giles was unable to locate a satellite until we were on the South Bank and Rhys had to pull up with shin splints after 20 minutes. Last week, John P was running with a strong core and an erect posture. This week it was back to wading through treacle in diving boots. Giles' Hyde Park Corner toilet break took almost a quarter of an hour and he still managed to overtake John P before the Houses of Parliament.

Since the podiatrist - he's actually Will's podiatrist and Leon was only borrowing him - has called into question our training schedule, we have all been searching desperately for advice and are now even more confused. Roberto has recommended cold baths, a real life Iron Man has told us to forget the running and get on our bikes and we are now so obsessed with not over-training that we are not doing anything at all. The muscle strains and niggles are now being recategorised as fullblown injuries brought on by overtraining.

Rob is keeping our spirits up by being permanently cheerful and Angus's efforts on the auction continue to amaze. Will has been working hard in the gym - he is worried - and John D has been working hard in the office but finding time to humiliate John P about his lack of awareness of young persons' stuff. In an attempt to close the age gap, John P has attempted to organise team bonding trips to an Erwin Schrott concert and a Jonsi Birgisson exhibition but has faced an ungrateful wall of apathy.

Thanks then to Leon and Will's podiatrist.

Apart from "podriatist" this week's words are "orthotics" and "glycanol".