I’ve pored over the times, studied the photos, relived every minute of it, bored the backsides off nearly all who have crossed my path and generally flogged the Blenheim Palace Triathlon horse to death.

But that was then, this is now, and it’s time to move on.

“BP was nice and you did OK, but it was just a staging post, an early run-through, and you only went halfway”, I told myself early last week.

“This was always about the Olympic distance at London, so get off your laurels and get yourself out there for a run/ride/swim. And let’s not forget (as if) that you are supposed to be riding 120 miles in one day in less than four weeks’ time.”

Easier said than done, though, isn’t it?

First, it was the sharp stabbing pain in my calf muscles that kept me horizontal on the sofa.

And then it was the emotional hangover. You don’t feel the need to eat as much fried food with them as you do with regular hangovers but the lethargy is just as bad.

Getting my training started again after last week’s sprint was much, much harder than I expected. Harder even than getting a wetsuit off without pointing your toes (although not quite as stupid looking).

What I needed was what Peter Cook's football manager character Alan Latchley described as “the three Ms – motivation, motivation, motivation”.

So it was with impeccable timing that an email arrived confirming that former Crystal Palace and England midfielder Geoff Thomas (pictured) was indeed up for a training ride with me on Thursday.

This was superb news because I knew that Geoff was now an serious cyclist. I had read about how he had cycled the entire Tour de France course in 2005 and was now training to do the same again this year. Surely the chance to train with a bona fide rider would get my eyes back on the prize?

And if that didn’t work perhaps the fact that Geoff had ridden the 2005 Tour only two years after being told he had a 50/50 chance of surviving the leukaemia he had just been diagnosed with, and only six months after getting through a year’s worth of debilitating treatment, would work.

As it happened, I need not have worried.

Inspirational…now there’s a word - like genius, legend, great – often misused by journalists. But in Geoff’s case I have never been more certain of using it correctly.

From the time I phoned to say I had gone the wrong way on the M42 and would be late, to the moment I nearly ran his cat over whilst he waved at me from his driveway, Geoff was great fun, a great training partner and a great bloke all-round.

But I didn’t just get Geoff, I got his Mr Motivator too, cycling coach and general physical fitness guru Paul Bailey.

Paul works for Geoff’s old Wolves team-mate Don Goodman at FormulaGFi. He has been a personal trainer since 1998 and has coached Britain’s top cyclists and triathletes. He has also been racing – on the road, track and trail - since he was 12. So he is a pretty good rider.

Just how good he is became apparent when the three of us hopped on our bikes for a two-hour ride on the country lanes and up the surprisingly steep hills around Geoff’s house in Barnt Green (only 12 miles from the middle of Birmingham but it could just as easily be 12 time zones).

Inside 10 minutes of pedalling, Paul had correctly diagnosed that my seat was too low, spotted that I could probably use a bigger gear wheel (a “53”) to get my cycling split down and needed to ride at a higher cadence.

He shared all this advice, and much more besides, whilst Geoff and I gritted our teeth and crawled up the first of four big climbs they had planned for the day's session. The two of us were blowing hard but Paul didn’t seem to have noticed we weren’t at sea level anymore.

And then I saw him descend. Well, I saw him disappear around a corner at about 50mph whilst I squeezed my brakes for dear life and panicked a bit. Geoff flashed past me too. I suppose that must be something you learn on Le Grand Boucle. If you have put the revs in on the climbs, you would be mad not to take advantage of the free ride on the way down.

Paul’s next opportunity to showcase his cycling smarts came a few minutes later when I got my first puncture - well, my front wheel got its first puncture, I was fine.

I had been dreading one of these all through the ride section of the BP triathlon. Not because I didn’t have a spare inner tube, I did. I just didn’t really know what to do with it.

I’d seen somebody demonstrate how to change an inner tube at a London Triathlon training day a month before. I hadn’t really taken it in, though. It took about 90 seconds, without tyre levers (the bloke didn’t like them as they sometimes puncture the inner tube you have just fitted).

I initially thought, “What’s the point? If I get a puncture on the day, my race will be run.” And then my better angel said, “But what are you trying to do? Do you want to win the London Triathlon or finish it? Take a spare inner tube.”

So I did. I just didn’t know how to use it. I do now, though, and Paul is to thank for that.

He is also to thank for introducing me to the wonderful world of intervals. And what larks they are. Geoff and I would attack a climb for 30 seconds and then get our puffs back for 20 seconds, before Paul would give us the word to go again.

I think it took six of those to reach the top, by which time we were both wheezing like chain-smoking miners. Paul seemed fine.

We soon recovered, though, and it wasn’t long before Geoff and I were sprinting against each other like little boys out on our bikes before tea time (the score was 2-2 before the deciding sprint was interrupted by the appearance of a Volvo Estate on my side of the road).

From there it was back to Geoff’s, via Lickey End and Big Ron Atkinson’s pad (we didn’t pop in). I think there was somewhere else called B*ll End but I can't spell it out because it's a "blocked phrase".

Back in his kitchen, we drank protein shakes and talked about his efforts to raise money for leukaemia research, his own experiences with cancer, his football memories and his new love for cycling. The time flew and I’ll have to write about that another time.

The most important thing to say now is that I got what I came for, motivation.

That’s enough from me for this week but before I go I would like to ask if you have any requests (keep them clean). I make it eight weeks to go until London and I was thinking of speaking to a few more coaches, a nutrition expert, a sports psychologist, some more of you lot and Vanessa Raw.

Is there anybody you want me to speak to (and don’t say “the finger”)? Anything you want me to look into? Transitions? The sport's growth? Alistair Campbell's training regime? Russell Brand's continuing popularity?

One last thing before I go, good luck to all of you who are taking part in the Windsor Triathlon this weekend.

I would love to be joining you (I’ve heard only good things) but as this website’s “golf editor” (it is one step up from unblocking the loos) I have an appointment this weekend with a computer and a TV. The rest of the world’s golf media are in Oakmont this weekend for the US Open, I’ll be in White City.

This website’s “triathlon editor” (one step below unblocking the loos), Tom Fordyce, has asked me to pass on the following Windsor advice:

1. Watch out for the current in the river - if it's been raining, it'll be quite strong

2. If a swan attacks you, don't attack back - it's the Queen's property, you'll be hung for treason

3. Get down on your tri-bars on the bike - it's long and flat, with almost no climbs. And don't panic if the bike leg seems longer than normal - it is, 2km longer than normal Olympic distance

4. Don't swear when you get to the top of the hill by the castle on the run - the Queen lives there, so if you haven't been hung for treason earlier you will be now

5. Save a little go-juice for the final 200m - it's a long, flat straight along the river to the line

He’s a card, isn’t he?

Here are this week's training numbers:

Swimming 2x30mins Cycling 6x30mins, 1x2hr, 1x3hr Running 1x45mins, 1x25mins