What’s going on here?
Answer? Not a lot. And certainly not as much as there should be. Work has become a millstone around my sensitivities, and I’m having to work later and later. My running has been getting squeezed, to the point that I am now worried about my schedule. This morning I filled in some of the gaps from the past week or two, and have slotted them into the relevant places, above. In particular, the Theale 10K entry.
Last night I went out for my first run in a week. That is bad enough, but to compound matters I might have picked up a potentially bad injury. It was dark. Indeed I’m amazed at how much more darker the evenings have become recently. It’s Autumn all of a sudden. The mornings are cool and misty too; ideal for running if only I could get out.
I thought I might just be able to squeeze in a 5 miler before it got too dark, but by the time I got to the canal I could barely see my hand in front of my face. As I turned onto the towpath, running at some speed, I managed to catch my left thigh on a chunk of metal attached to a gatepost. This is what it felt like:
HAARRGGGAAA-DARRRGGGAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–UGUGUGUGUG-BWARGGGGHHHH,
followed by a
KWEEEEEEKKKEEEEKKEEEEKKEE-OOOOOOOOBRROOOO-BROOOOOOOO-HURRRGGGHHHHHHUHUH.
I came to a doubled-up dead stop, just like a cartoon car braking suddenly. I just clung to the gate, cursing and wheezing to myself. Painful, painful. To make things worse, I was just about at the halfway point, with more than 3 miles left to go, along the pitch-black towpath. I stayed where I was for several minutes, hoping the pain would vanish, but it didn’t. Eventually I had to start limping along, past half a dozen anglers who’d been sitting mutely and invisibly, right alongside me, all the time I’d been hopping and clinging and squealing in agony. Cheers guys. Don’t let a near-bloody-fatality put you off your fascinating-bloody-pastime.
Today my leg has been throbbing, and has a lump on it the size of Ben Nevis. (For the benefit of my American friends I should explain that Ben Nevis is a mountain, not a person). Too painful to consider running this evening. In short, my Chicago campaign is in total crisis. Instead of doing the Hal Higdon schedule, I feel as though I’ve switched to the Pam Mather programme. My preparation has been poor this time, but I’ll still do it.
It’s now desperately important that this leg gets better by the weekend so that I can do a serious, long run. At least another 16 miles.
