I'm not sure I really enjoyed Christmas. I was still suffering from the weekends training session on Christmas eve and my wife went down with a virus, so I was doing a bit more than intended when I managed to strain my back getting stuff out of the attic. So by Christmas day I was having trouble walking and that was before I started on the whisky. The day started gently with a rather rare 8 year old Little Mill, lovely and lemony, then the afternoon progressed with a stunningly smooth 1960 Strathisla, from Keith, Speyside, my expensive 37 year old special treat that I've had a few years now and enjoy on occasions of importance. I finished the day with a simple but lovely 12 year old Highland Park, which did nothing for my ability to stand up.
Boxing day was going well until lunchtime when the wife's virus put in an appearance, and by the evening I was on the coke and feeling crap, but at least the legs were working again, even if the back had given up the ghost. Friday's session at NIAC went by the board as I spent most of the day in bed coughing my guts up and filling every available handkerchief with gunk that I'd rather never see again. By Sunday things were improving snot wise but the back was struggling, so no training was contemplated before the new year which was not good news, but at least the virus kept me from putting on more than 2 pounds or so, though I was missing out on the single malt celebrations.
I survived the new year, though I did manage to ship a decent half dozen single malts from the remains of the Highland Park bottle which sadly didn't get to see in the New Year. Not worry as I had another for Christmas along with five other bottles, including two Penderyn specials, a Macallan 10 year old, a Glenlivet 12 tear old, and a 10 year old Edradour that will all go on my ever increasing drinkables list.
Thursday, and the tracks in South Wales all re-opened and I was back in work feeling dreadful and rapidly running out of snot rags. The evening was cold and nobody was surprised that it rained heavily, least of all me. The session was ambitious considering I had not run since the 22nd of the previous month, 6x60m sprints, supposedly flat out, followed by 3x150m in whatever I could manage. Well the 60m 'sprints' were done, my back complained every inch of the way as the rolling starts were executed with all the power and grace of a 10,000m runner on chocolate pud. Shame really as I don't do 10K's even accidentally, but I do Chocolate pud. I ran them into the wind so the 150's could be done with the gale now lashing horizontal rain in from the chemical factory next door. First one went OK, but I fumbled the watch due to the rapid loss of feeling beyond my wrists, second was 22 and the mucus was slopping painfully around my sinuses like water. During the third one I became re-acquainted with my old friend the Bear and I see he's now got a new fridge, one of those American ones I see, so much heavier! Sadly as I crossed the line I could feel pain in my left Achilles again.
Friday dawned and I had to traverse the stairs sideways - good leg - bad leg, trouble was I wasn't entirely sure I had a good leg anymore. Next couple of days was spent with my foot in a bucket of cold water whilst I tried to recover and cope with my back pain, not looking too good for the Welsh Masters Indoor championships next Sunday (6th). Driving to work, yes I gave up riding the Bike due to another storm closing the roads and motorways in South Wales for the second time in a month, was painful but I hope to do some road runs on Sunday, however, we shall see as the USA is sending us one of their storms now they've finished with it, so we will see.
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