February 2006

[Sweder]

A much better run this morning, partly due to the hard workout on Sunday but mostly to a massive release of stress and tension. The last 72 hours have been immense – a major tender document occupied most of those hours, the remainder devoted to worrying over Phoebe’s new insulin pump.

Phoebe has worn a pump for the last week, but this was loaded with saline as a test to see how uncomfortable or otherwise it would be for her. Yesterday we went ‘live’, visiting the hospital to load up with insulin. As a precaution we have to test blood glucose levels every two to three hours for the first week to ensure the calculations for general delivery (the Basal rate) and the booster doses at meal times (Bolus) are correct.

I woke up this morning just after 6, having crawled into bed at 01:30. Mrs S took the graveyard shift, for which I am eternally grateful. Phoebe checked out fine, 9.4 mmols – a tad high but infinitely better than she has been for some time in the night. Filled with a burning hope that the pump will make a very real difference to our little girls' daily life (not to mention reduce the chances of serious complications later) I scrambled down stairs for a shot of coffee and a return to tender. I’d set myself a deadline to submit this 50+ page epic by 07:30 this morning. I read it through one more time, knowing as soon as I hit the send button at least three major cock-ups would start screaming at me.

Click. There, it’s gone.

Another coffee, Planet Rock on a little too loud and I felt a wonderful energy flood my weary bones. Time to run! I grabbed the hounds and head for the hills, steps a good deal lighter than they’ve been for a few days. Despite the ache from Sunday I found the going easy. Uphill on the outward loop we ran into a stiff breeze, but frankly I couldn’t care less. I got another surge of well being when I crested the first hill and saw no sign of sheep – anywhere. The hills were free of dirty white cloud as far as the eye could see for the first time in months.

Planet Rock kept me company, old favourites mingling comfortably with the occasional younger upstart. Question: what’s the connection between Peter Gabriel and Sham 69? I have no earthly idea . . . then David Lee Roth belting out Just Like Living In Paradise. I like Roth – he’s always been my favourite Van Halen frontman, all wild hair, massive ego and swollen cod pieces. But some weeks ago I heard this particular song shortly after 606 on 5-Live, a program dominated by irate Bolton fans bigging up their warrior manager Sam Allardyce.

Synapses popped and sparked in my head that day, and I ended up singing
This must be just like playing for Allardyce all evening, much to the consternation of my fellow housemates.

I grinned and sang it again this morning. With the current outbreak of unashamed xenophobia in our Sporting press that song might have a chance of going national before long . . . personally I hope not. Best man for the job, and all that.

5 hilly miles, some decent Fartlek on the return.
No more caffeine today, though.