A student of Greek mythology

Having completely naused up the previous weekends competition, my attention turned to the second part of the Welsh Masters Indoor Championships on  the 2nd of February, so that meant back to the couch with my trusty bucket of cold water to sort out the Achilles. It's always been my weak spot, both of my Achilles have given out at some point during each of the last few seasons as a Master, so I've come to learn to get use to the feeling and how far I can push it before it feels like some Greek warrior just planted and arrow in my lower leg. So, with that in mind I planned 4 days off with enough cold water to turn my left foot into a prune. As it happened personal circumstances lead to me being unable to get do the track all week.

Achilles, God of the lower leg

Training had to change as attempting to run was stupid even for me, so I set about my rowing machine and exercise bike with renewed vigour. Unfortunately both the bike and rower have seen better days, and the bike's pedals have broken straps and I soon slipped off and smacked my "good" Achilles on the pedal. Not a good start, now both Achilles hurt. By the end of the week, the rowing machine was making more creaking noises than my legs, well I hope the noise is the rowing machine anyway.

By the Saturday normal service had been resumed below the knee, so Sunday was given over to a short sprint session indoors in the dry and comparative warm of NIAC in Cardiff. I managed 6x60m sprints flat out (ish) whilst my daughter improved her long jumping technique. I have to say her progress was somewhat greater than mine although I have to say I wasn't moving too badly. The Achilles went straight into the bucket of cold water as soon as I got in.

Monday, and training was back on the creaky bike and the even more creaky rowing machine. It went well enough for me to decide to run on Tuesday night, but  then my track record in making decisions in this area is not exactly outstanding, more Kamikazi in style.

I ended up regretting the decision but for an entirely different reason. As I crossed the Severn Bridge, leaving drizzly old England behind on my way back from work, it actually stopped raining for once. "Ah!" I thought, "Its going to be a good session after all!". 30 seconds later as I regained God's own country, the rain turned so heavy I was in danger of drowning - Croes Y Gymru! The session of 4x40m + 4x30m flat out was somehow completed into this driving and freezing rain, it was so cold I was losing the power of speech. And I even said so at the club: "I seen tau bee looshin der parer of speeth!".

By the morning, I was reaping the rewards, but the speed is coming slowly.