I haven’t run at all (not one single solitary step) since last Monday, due to a sore calf and a severe case of over-anxiety. I’ve walked a wee bit, and one day I did some desultory stretching, but mainly I’ve rested. Paul Sanderson tells me this is good, and he should know, but I’m starting to feel a bit antsy.
So it was good today to go to watch the Baildon Boundary Way - a tough off-road half marathon – in the glorious sunshine and with the promise of a three mile walk to stretch out the legs. Two HPHers in the mix (Rich Quinn and Khara Mills) and a sprinkling of other folk we know, although I admit to a touch of jealousy as I saw them all running home down the fantastic last hill into Baildon Cricket Club. I’m looking forward to that bit when we do the much shorter Baildon Carnival Canter in the summer.
After that – nada. We bought a barbecue, so I guess I expended a tiny bit of energy putting that together, and I cut (butchered?) George’s hair, but beyond that I’ve done what can only be described as the square root of bugger all. I’m now off for a bath, so I imagine that’s me done for the night.
Tomorrow – sports massage on crook leg, and then (please, please) the all-clear to run so that at least a get a couple of five-milers in before the big day. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
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