Crikey, my arse hurts — but the only indiscretion I’m confessing to is three tough early morning runs in the last three days. Yesterday’s effort was the author of today’s discomfort — a routine, short plod that turned into a 9 miler (with extra hills please…).
I set out yesterday to run four or five miles along the canal, but I plodded myself into some kind of trance that trundled me not back along the A4 as planned, but across it, and down a quiet wooded lane that winds for a few miles through a tract of forest before looping back to the village. OK, I admit it – there was no hypnosis involved. Just an aversion to plodding for 2 miles back along the manic A4 at the epicentre of the rush hour. These people are driving to work in Reading — they’ll be desperate, I kept telling myself. And even though my boss might have something to say about it, I decided to follow my better instincts and head for those whispering hills.
It was slow and painful, but it was 9 miles.
This morning’s four were even more uncomfortable. My lower back and hamstrings ached, and even sitting down has been a painful experience today.
