It was all getting a bit much for me, so time for a short break then. My eldest daughter is currently going through the whole UCAS University seeking thing at the moment, so we were off to Bournemouth for the weekend so I arranged that I would have a physio session on the Monday too.
The weekend in Bournemouth went well, nice Uni, decent hotel, great food what more could a man want (?). Sadly the bar only had two single malts, the Drumguish had clearly been open a while so I did my bit to help empty it, resulting in the pool and ping pong being somewhat hilarious afterwards. Probably put on a few pounds then, but I got plenty of exercise on the Sunday covering the many miles that women can cross touring a town centre, from Next to New Look and Boots for the hang over cure, We had a bit of excitement on the way home as somebody announced that Wales was about to shut for the night, a storm by the name of St. Jude was rolling in and the bridges were due to close, attempts to name it Allan after my friend Allan Leiper did little to lift our spirits as the heavens opened. Wales was closed after midnight but did re-open in time for work (damn).
Monday's physio was supposed to be just a rub down affair as I thought I was clear of injury. It's amazing how my physio, the brilliant Josie Adams, always finds a problem though. How such a small gentile woman can inflict so much pain is beyond me, she had me biting chunks out of the pillow to muffle my screams. But the suffering is worth while so I'm told, personally I am starting to believe this is a conspiracy, a story put about by psychopathic coaches who simply enjoy watching us inflict pain on ourselves.
I had two days off to recover from the physio, just in case. So Thursday's session should mean a fresh start, after all rest and treatment should set me up for the next onslaught shouldn't it? The menu read 2x400 & 2x600 which I have to say scared the pants off me after my last outing over 600m, so I decided to chicken out of the second one. So I did the two 400's and ran like I was carrying a bag of spuds, 80 seconds each! That's slower than when I did 4 of them. Not looking forward to the 600's then, but help was at hand.
Doc John Watson turned up and fancied a few 600's, so he took the lead which helped drag me through the first one. I did have to sit out the next one and watch the Doc show me how it's really done as he's 4-8 specialist. Anyway, I did the 2nd one, and how, Doc dragged me round a little quicker than before and let me out kick him as we had a bit of a burn up at the end. Boy did I pay for that, lost the feeling below the neck, pins and needles in my hands, but no sign of the fridge carrier! Mind you it took me 10 minutes to get back to the stadium from the 200m start.
I look forward to the weekends runs, which take me back to the canal.
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