Good news! My troublesome left leg seems to be sorting itself out. I've not had the most sophisticated of injury recovery programmes - relaxing with my feet up, gentle pottering around the garden and a gym session - but it seems to be doing the trick.
The problem of course is: when do I start running again? Dare I risk a gentle 3 mile pootle around the River Loop? Can I pick up with my midweek 8? Is it too soon?
My entirely unscientific approach is to give it a calendar week. If it doesn't hurt too much when I prod it vigorously, then I'm going for a gentle, grassy plod and see what happens. If it continues to hurt then I'll ease off for two weeks and do sessions of 'running' in the swimming pool, which is brilliant at maintainingleg strength, stretching the offending tissues and helping flexibility.
Fingers crossed.
Am now off to read about the phenomenal running my online chums are doing. And I shall feel envious.
Monday, 20 July 2009
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Oh Bu**er!
Well, it hasn't happened for a while.
I've only gone and picked up an injury. Blast it.
I was out doing my scheduled 4 miles up the lane to Garnett Bridge and back (if you're ever there, admire the gorgeous ferns lining the road in the dappled shade of the trees) when I felt a dull ache at the foot of my left calf muscle every time my foot hit the ground. The dull ache is now a more pointy one and it's throbbing as I type.
So I'm going to have my tea then take ibuprofen and watch telly with a pack of frozen peas clamped to the offending part.
Damn and double damn. I was going well too. Isn't it always the way.
I've only gone and picked up an injury. Blast it.
I was out doing my scheduled 4 miles up the lane to Garnett Bridge and back (if you're ever there, admire the gorgeous ferns lining the road in the dappled shade of the trees) when I felt a dull ache at the foot of my left calf muscle every time my foot hit the ground. The dull ache is now a more pointy one and it's throbbing as I type.
So I'm going to have my tea then take ibuprofen and watch telly with a pack of frozen peas clamped to the offending part.
Damn and double damn. I was going well too. Isn't it always the way.
Smiley rating: 8/10 for the running. -8/10 for the outcome
Sunday, 12 July 2009
On treacherous nipples
Where to start.
We're back from a wonderful week in Ireland, travelling around the wild west coast, eating fantastic seafood and drinking the odd pint of Guinness and generally chilling out. I did manage to get a couple of memorable runs in, in between the hedonism.
The first was an early morning 7 from the hotel in Killarney, along the jaunting car path to Muckross Abbey and along the lake. It was beautiful. Sunny, warm (but not the killer stifling heat that England was experiencing) and utterly still, with the waters of the lake lying mirror smooth.
The second was a fabulous trot out at Kilkee a pretty little seaside town with a sheltered harbour with a fine, firm sandy beach. Again it was early (about 0630) and there was nobody about. In fact it was better than that. There was nothing moving at all, apart from a vigorous flock of crows which, curiously seemed to outnumber the seagulls. It was like one of those 1960s sci-fi films in which the Martian plague wipes out an innocent town. I padded gently down the middle of the deserted streets and out along the cliff top path. I've never seen the Atlantic so tranquil. I worked my way back down to the town, pausing only to examine the construction details of a sea-going curragh at the harbour yard, and decided to go on the beach and do some intervals. I did about 8x30s with 30s rest and saw the only other living soul in Kilkee - a woman taking an early morning dip in the sea. All in all, a memorable run during a great week. And I'd like to thank Angie, Sally and Lucy for their wonderful hospitality while we were there.
On our return I went into a post-holiday slump and did no running at all last week. So today, I did the 14 miles that was in the schedule even though the more prudent course would probably have been to go back a week and ease into things again. Perhaps I wanted to punish myself for my indolence of last week. I kept thinking of President Kennedy's words about the lunar mission '... not because it is easy, but because it is hard'.
I followed the Dales Way westwards towards Windermere which starts with a flattish bit along the river and then goes up and down in splendid fashion for training purposes. I went a bit wrong on the way back so ended up doing 14.55 miles, with 2,804 ft of ascent at 11.05 min/mile pace. So not too bad.
Which brings me to my nipples. I was rather shocked to discover the characteristic hideous red patch on my top when I got back. In all my, ooh, 28 years of running I've never had a problem. What is going on? I've used that particular top (a Nike Dri-Fit long-sleeve job) perfectly normally for ages. I don't think I'm any more man-boobular than I ever was. It wasn't cold. I had no particular saucy fantasies going through my head. Perhaps my nipples are revolting. And perhaps I should stop right there.
We're back from a wonderful week in Ireland, travelling around the wild west coast, eating fantastic seafood and drinking the odd pint of Guinness and generally chilling out. I did manage to get a couple of memorable runs in, in between the hedonism.
The first was an early morning 7 from the hotel in Killarney, along the jaunting car path to Muckross Abbey and along the lake. It was beautiful. Sunny, warm (but not the killer stifling heat that England was experiencing) and utterly still, with the waters of the lake lying mirror smooth.
The second was a fabulous trot out at Kilkee a pretty little seaside town with a sheltered harbour with a fine, firm sandy beach. Again it was early (about 0630) and there was nobody about. In fact it was better than that. There was nothing moving at all, apart from a vigorous flock of crows which, curiously seemed to outnumber the seagulls. It was like one of those 1960s sci-fi films in which the Martian plague wipes out an innocent town. I padded gently down the middle of the deserted streets and out along the cliff top path. I've never seen the Atlantic so tranquil. I worked my way back down to the town, pausing only to examine the construction details of a sea-going curragh at the harbour yard, and decided to go on the beach and do some intervals. I did about 8x30s with 30s rest and saw the only other living soul in Kilkee - a woman taking an early morning dip in the sea. All in all, a memorable run during a great week. And I'd like to thank Angie, Sally and Lucy for their wonderful hospitality while we were there.
On our return I went into a post-holiday slump and did no running at all last week. So today, I did the 14 miles that was in the schedule even though the more prudent course would probably have been to go back a week and ease into things again. Perhaps I wanted to punish myself for my indolence of last week. I kept thinking of President Kennedy's words about the lunar mission '... not because it is easy, but because it is hard'.
I followed the Dales Way westwards towards Windermere which starts with a flattish bit along the river and then goes up and down in splendid fashion for training purposes. I went a bit wrong on the way back so ended up doing 14.55 miles, with 2,804 ft of ascent at 11.05 min/mile pace. So not too bad.
Which brings me to my nipples. I was rather shocked to discover the characteristic hideous red patch on my top when I got back. In all my, ooh, 28 years of running I've never had a problem. What is going on? I've used that particular top (a Nike Dri-Fit long-sleeve job) perfectly normally for ages. I don't think I'm any more man-boobular than I ever was. It wasn't cold. I had no particular saucy fantasies going through my head. Perhaps my nipples are revolting. And perhaps I should stop right there.
Smiley rating: For Irish runs, 8.5/10
For today's run, 6/10 (incs. nipple coefficient adjustment)
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