Eventually, I was staring up at the cliffs, thinking it was maybe impossible. Last night was the first time I've pushed running in a fortnight. Today's the last chance for the left leg, before I look hard and honest at the real prospects for the July run. An odd sentence for me to read, after the year so far. It's been an odd time, hit very hard by the tendonitis, walking every day with the odd jog. While also caught up in the adventure (and dramatic end) of the ocean rowing endeavours of two friends, and engaging with their team across England and Wales. This led to some helpful, unanticipated exercise up-and-down the said cliffs, and a bit of film and photography. But (briefly) it's been life-as-extreme-challenge-soap-opera: injury, frustration, inspiration, confusion, potential heartbreak and curtailment.
Which is where determination and realism kick in. Should I run this race, and risk permanent injury? Or enrol for the next one? What the hell does 'permanent' mean anyway, when I'm this far into life's journey etc? Who do you let down, or not, beyond yourself?
Last night was actually quite a swift run. It hurt a good deal, oh yes, but hurts less this morning. Contrast that with two weeks back, when two surgical appliances were needed, to maintain the illusion of normality. Walking for the first hour of the day was not really on. The layoff has been high-risk on a tight schedule, backed up with simple physio. I've not been to the gym. Despite all my prior analysis on this blog, there seems no doubt now that I induced the tendonitis myself by running fast uphill on the treadmill, for long periods. So, however much I love it, I must abandon the machine training now, and just get back to my old regimes. Which are pretty simple: run on mixed, irregular ground, when you can. Knees/hips are fine, so no need to retire just yet. Injury stuff, worn-out body parts are so boring, but it becomes the story.
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