It has been an abysmal training weekend for me. Spring has sprung, weather conditions are perfect for long runs and bike rides, and what happens? I injure myself. My own fault I know. I could feel something wrong in my hip on Thursday but went spinning anyway - I should have taken a much needed rest day. You know how much I hate that R word.
I decided to approach said injury with a different strategy. I will not obsess about fitness lost and the 3 476 methods of cure that Dr Google will serve up. I will think about things that I have no time for when I’m alternating between training hard and collapsing in a heap on my favourite armchair.
So I am proud to say that I have finished a short course that I signed up for months ago. It kept being shelved in favour of slothfulness and is a prerequisite for a pilates instructors course that I have had my eye on for a long time.
And further than that Coach I have nothing to report except that I WILL finish the 50-miler come what may. Last night my leg throbbed so badly that I couldn’t sleep. I imagined a deep vein thrombosis. I asked the Old Goat what would happen to our race if I had a stroke. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll drag you”. What a gem he is.