I don’t think of myself as easily star-struck, but last weekend’s Close Encounter with Paralympians has given me much food for thought. It’s made me reassess both my personal situation (bloody lucky) and my determination (somewhat less than that shown by others). I know that I won’t ever be the best runner in the world, but listening to Noel Thatcher (many-times gold medallist) made me more conscious of the fact that I can choose to be a better one – it just might hurt a bit.
So, armed with this new-found grit, I embraced the pain that is the post-Trimpell recovery week. Having embraced it, I gave into it. All I have managed to do this week is sleep. Even eating has taken a back seat. Four (slow) miles with runclub on Tuesday, a supposed 12 mile run that turned into a 5 miler on Friday, and 4 miles on Saturday. For the last seven weeks, my shortest long run has been 13 miles – this week, 13 was my total for all runs. Just like that – kaput.
The main problem has been my hip flexors. They don’t flex, they don’t extend, they just hurt. Not an injured sort of hurt, more a complaining, bemused kind of hurt. If they could speak, they would say only one word – “why?” They’ve come over all reproachful, like a neglected puppy or a disappointed parent. If I treat them well (ie I walk slowly and carefully) then they stay quiet, but if I run, they rage.
So, I’ve given them a break. I’ve listened to my body and I’ve done what it advises. Next Sunday is East Hull 20 – till then I’m following Paul Sanderson’s advice, and resting.
Another double-A side. When will it end?
No comments:
Post a Comment