Amsterdam - Week 5

The week in numbers (so far)...

Miles ran: 18.5
Times I've been to the gym: 0
Alcohol drunk: 2 bottle wine & some beers
Chocolate eaten: 1 yorkie
Diets maintained: 1 (sort of)

Weight: 12stone 7lb

Wake up and again no new leg pain, nothing's any worse than it was and I feel a little more confident about getting back out more this week.  

It's track tonight and way to soon for me to attempt any speed work.  I decide instead I'll do 3-4 miles easy before the session and then stand and watch and chuck in some heckling.

A last minute booking means I'm working til 6:45 so easy miles won't work, I then decide I'll do easy track miles whilst the group train, that'll be good.

I join E team and start the speed session. 

I'm such a fucking idiot.  I blame my coach, Graham that is, not myself for once.  He said he was running in E and that was enough of a reason for me to join them.  

Pace was okay, could feel my lack of training midway through and my god I need to lose weight, the diet starts again this week.  We get to 8 or 9 reps and Graham says he's doing all 14, I of course say I'll do the same as does Brian in E team and the three of us nail the session.

A jog home and everything feels very sore.

My Garmin tells me I need 86 hours recovery.

Rest day tomorrow from running and maybe a short gym session. 

Yeah right.

I'm planning a run today, taken an easier day at work and got a physio appointment at Rake Lane to do some gym work.

Head up to the physio, walk there whilst listening to some Getdown Services.  Arrive and get taken into the gym, lots of questions and told to do some one legged squats and wall sits, tell him that I've been doing these for the last 3 months.  He tells me it sounds like I have shin splints.  I do more wall sits and then leave. 

A waste of the morning but I'm in the system and hoping at some point someone decides an MRI would be a good option. 

Come out the hospital and walk out onto the main road, it's about 3 miles home, so nice steady pace is the plan.  I start running, I'm about one minute in and a lady is coming towards me pushing a pram, I move left onto the grass verge to let her pass.

As my left foot lands on the grass I immediately roll my ankle right over and let out a little scream.  I then hop forwards from the pain and can't put my foot down, pram lady has gone and I mutter 'oh for fucks sake' to myself.  I turn and see an old lady at the bus stop behind me and she's scowling at me.  Less of a mutter and more of a sweaty man shouting fuck at himself I guess.

I walk on for a minute to see how it feels, it's not good.  My foot and ankle hurt, a sharp shooting pain every time I bend my foot.  I need to get home, it's three miles.

I start running, I stop after a minute and loosen my shoe, the laces are hurting my foot.  I run very slowly and have to keep stopping for walk breaks until I'm home.  Don't want to look at my foot, so take a shower and ignore it.

Walking round the house hurts, going to and down stairs hurts a lot.  Eventually I take a look and the top of the foot is starting to swell up and so is my shin. 

Arse.

I strap it up and ice it at every opportunity and hope it's nothing serious.

It's Saturday, it's parkrun day.

A couple of issues for today.

Firstly, I ate so much food last night that my whole body actually hurts, my stomach is so bloated that I struggle to find a running t shirt that actually fits.  I have to go deep in the running drawer, beneath the smalls and the mediums and there lie the fat Simon clothes.  I stick on a large and head down to parkrun.

Secondly, my foot hurts as I walk down, I don't want to jog down as I know this will hurt and then I'll have to admit I shouldn't do parkrun and I don't wan't that level of honesty on a hungover Saturday morning.

Arrive and have a chat with Graham, he's on his ultra comeback and aiming for an easy 25 mins.  I think I'll be on for about the same so stand with him,  the run starts and Graham is already 200m ahead of me and accelerating away.  Those who know Graham are well aware that a let's have a 'chatty one' means he's going to rip the group apart and when he say's he's not feeling it and is 'running a 25' means he's going at least 2 minutes faster than that.

I keep a steady pace, my breathing is hard, I'm sweating out pizza, red wine and coke but foot feels okay.  I overtake Ben and Ivan and expect them to cruise past me later on but they don't.  Amazingly I run a negative split and each mile is slightly quicker and I feel okay.

I have to jog home as I'm working at 10 and have a quick turnaround.

Home, shower, strap my foot and ankle up and then back to work for the morning and then an hour free to snooze on the chair with Murphy.

Gail get's home.  The sun is shining.  I suggest a drink in the pub, Gail agrees.  Tell Poppy we'll be back in an hour.

We head home about 5 hours, 2 pubs, numerous pints and large glasses of Merlot later. 

Diet starts tomorrow.

Or maybe Monday.

Want to read all about my London adventure in 2023.

It's mostly about Ben, my sausage dog nemesis and wine.

LONDON CALLING

Well you've read the last two so may as well carry on.

Manchester, so much to answer for.  Yeah Ben gets a mention or two

MANCHESTER  - THE SECOND COMING

All previous blogs are available to read HERE