March On, March On

[Sweder]

I've just come back from 45 minutes of ever-lovin' pain at the pincer-like hands of Kader the Merciless, the Algerian former Olympic boxer, Marathon des Sables veteran and Paris 2006 Team Leader offering personal trainer services and extreme deep muscle massage in his chambers in darkest Shoreham.

Apart from weeping like a small child as the Great Man squeezed every ounce of flesh from my lower limbs into my knees and then back down into my ankles, not to mention pressing his knuckle bone-deep all the way up and down each leg, this was an incredible experience; wish I'd gone sooner.
No, really.

Did I hear 'tight calves'? That was my problem before tonight's session on the rack. My right calf was so tight the muscle was slapping like the strings on a double bass against the bone, apparently the prelude to serious shin splints. Kader broke down the tense tissue, peeling it away from the tibia to loosen and sparate the muscle fibres. Yes, it's as barbaric as it sounds but already, a few hours later, I can start to feel the benefits.

More rest follows, along with liberal doses of Arnica and Ibuprofen.

A word for a friend of mine who, in running terms, has suffered a terrible blow.
Since hammering her HM PB down from 2:20 to 1:56 in preparation for her inaugural assault on the FLM SG suffered a recurrence of what she surmised to be an old achillies problem. A series of visits during the day, to a sports phisyo, local casualty department and her GP, has yielded a broad spectrum of diagnosies ranging from shin splints to tendonitis to a possible hairline fracture of the foot or ankle. One thing seems certain; for this brave soul, for 2007 at least, the FLM is over.

She is of course devastated. I spent 30 minutes on the 'phone with her tonight, telling her how brilliantly she'd done this year, how proud we all are of her sacrifice and unflinching effort and that there'll be another chance next year. All this was about as much use to her as a one-legged man at an arse-kicking party; I could hear the utter desolation in her whispered replies.

To all those who struggle against the impossible disappointment of last-minute injury, don't give up. Just remember what it took to get you this close. That alone makes you pretty darned special.

There but for the grace of God go the rest of us.