Fab Feb

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

The lovely, but evil Rebecca - she who drains my health fund dry - is finding new and awful ways to inflict pain most foul upon my increasingly nervous legs. I'll spare you the gruesome details except to say that I admire her ability to home in on the problem spot(s) precisely. That's the easy bit - but then she manipulates them (her word) in her physiotherapist's way and then berates my whimpering when I regain consciousness. I asked for a rebate for time spent unconscious but she just slaps me about some more and laughs maniacally.

I'm joking of course - she doesn't actually laugh much at all.

However she keeps me running, and I'm sure without her I would have quite likely given up in frustration by now. Certainly the problem bits (knees, ankles, sensibilities) are less problematic and getting stronger. Which makes a little bit of excruciating agony every couple of weeks seemingly, er, worthwhile.

After yesterday's session with her I had a couple of beers with my brother to regain a level of composure before - doh - remembering I hadn't done my scheduled run for the day yet. Fortunately it was just a short fartlek session, and after much rehydrating hit the treadmill just about 2 hours after draining two large, full-strength beers. In the name of science, I can dutifully report no impaired performance, and a good run was had. Perhaps it was the physio?

I can happily report that in the nearly two months since I returned to the running fold, I have made slow, but steady progress, and can now run 10km again in relative comfort. Slow, to be sure, but 10km is 10km. I am building my weekly mileage by adding 10% extra distance per week with a step-back week thrown in each month or so. With lots of physiotherapy, it's holding together and looking more hopeful with each run. So, if I survive the physiotherapy, I can look forward to some races in the coming months.

But for the moment, I have a home-torture program to do

Wish me luck.