However things did not go as planned, with Simon now dead and Lee committed to a wedding in Scotland (Lee: Congratulations Lucy and John) I selfishly thought I would be going it alone on Sunday, but on Thursday bad things happened. Firstly it was windy – oh well can handle wind it makes my strand of hair look sexy - onwards!, then it rained a little – keeping me cool and making the t-shirt see-through - I like your sexy style rain cloud! Then I pulled my Achilles Tendon – AY CURUMBA! SANTA MARIA! SHOW NO PAIN! PEOPLE ARE LOOKING! STOP SCREAMING! Instead of handling this like a sensible person and stopping, my alpha running ego decided to save face in front of a shocked dog walker and carry on. Advice to fellow runnerers. Do not do this. It break you. It break you real bad.
With the inability to walk on Friday I began to question this decision, come Saturday and having to crawl down the stairs hands first I realised I was an idiot, come Sunday I found I would be spending the entire day playing Toploader’s hit number 43 single ‘Achilles Heel’ (luckily I have 2 copies, single and album version) on repeat while weeping into a pillow and eating bag after bag of Hula Hoops.
My Achilles heel had become my Achilles heel – woe the irony woe! The strangest thing I’ve found about the being injured experience (other than the cats fainting around the house from the Deep Heat fumes), is the discovery that not being able to run has made realise I’m actually enjoying this running lark. I’m now looking at fellow runners on the seafront with envy rather than pity. What have I become?
Anyway I’ve been recommended to rest it, which fortunately is something panthers excel at, so hopefully it should ‘heel’ (eh!) by next week so we can complete our epic 22 miler and get on with our lives.
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