December is here before its June

[Charliecat5]

BLOODY ‘ELL IT’S THE END OF THE YEAR…


So to celebrate I booked a sports massage this morning… with Ruth the Impaler (actually she was lovely).  She had an uncanny way of reading my ailments from just the touch of her hands.  From the onset she had me sorted… a runner… a wonky runner… breathing problems… spends too much timing running with a goat (ok, I made the last bit up). It was as though she’d read my running diaries.

Then she started… oh god, she started.   She found muscles that I didn’t believe I had… still don’t to be honest.  She sharpened her elbows on granite before she worked on my gluts… she took a run up before leaping onto my back with her knees to sort my shoulder out... she had me in head-lock until I promised to pay.

All in all, it was fabulous and just what I needed.   As I left (crawled out) she didn’t actually say I shouldn’t go running this afternoon, but hinted rather strongly that the last 45 minutes, combined with a vigorous run could leave me feeling like I had been kicked by a horse come the morning.   I couldn’t bring myself to mention the forthcoming evening plans as well.  Bring on the morning… well afternoon… perhaps evening.

However, as I lined up on this afternoon’s start line… with wobbly legs and a whole new bag of different aches… I couldn’t help but be impressed by the great mess of hangover and late night, standing next to me.  When I say standing… his knuckles were dragging on the floor.  Yep, Billy Goat Gruff had had a late night at Ronnie Scotts. 

It was a steady start.  Unfortunately, on this particularly run we are hit with a steep hill within the first quarter of a mile.  It is surprising how quick the big man is on his hands and knees.  Up over Juggs lane we toiled, straight into a headwind with Kingston Ridge rearing up ahead of us.

A mile and a half in and we reached the foot of the beast … in the failing light it looked moody… moody and not in any frame of mind to suffer fools.  We tentatively started moving upwards.  All my plans of racing up it fell away, as pummelled legs and a dodgy carburettor took hold.  It wasn’t a bad ascent… but it was certainly below form.  Once on the top we were straight back into the headwind before turning north again for the descent back home.  By this point, the Big Man had shed a good part of his hangover and was starting to pick up speed, helped by the declining elevation.  The last mile home was pretty quick… for us. 

Last blast of 2015 done… thanks big man.

   

Photo: Sweder