I fell this morning. I was batting along trying my damndest to do my speed intervals properly when I found myself hitting the dirt HARD, luckily not on my injured shoulder! My front tooth (a crown) was pointing the wrong way and I could see blood. I’m not good with blood.
My first reaction was “Pause the friggin’ watch!” My next one was to feel really pathetic and shed a tear or two. Why do I do this? Why don’t I play croquet while sipping on gin and tonics? Or even bowls for that matter – they have fun there! And they don’t fall and bleed unless they’ve had a shitload of drinks.
I then realised that the only way back to the car was on my feet – and, what the hell, I may as well finish the run. And it wasn’t too bad a run either for a bleeding tortoise!
So that is what running teaches me, over and over again. You can always pick yourself up, metaphorically or physically, whatever you may be doing, and CARRY ON!
Our B&B in Ladysmith last weekend was very aptly named the Boer and Brit and here is the Boer and the Brit standing in the courtyard of said B&B looking very pleased with themselves. As you can tell, no war broke out over the 52km trot from Bergville to Ladysmith!
No, we did not crack the nod for the big C, but we were very happy with finishing alive, a strong gallop to the finish and a fast recovery. I think a lot of my fast recovery is down to my Banting way of life. I did the entire 52 km on half a Phat Cookie and two Phat Bombs and some water. I find that a little salt taken with the water stops me craving the black poison! Oh yes, I did succumb to a couple of pieces of orange which produced a bit of turbo-boost, almost stopping the Boer in her tracks!
We borrowed two mantras from my daughters – “Embrace the Pain” and “Get Uncomfortable”. We clearly did not embrace quite enough pain so we are going back for more – the 52km Chatsworth Marathon coming up in two weeks time. Apparently they take us off the road if we do not make the 42.2km mark in 5 hours 30 minutes so we need to be getting freakin’ uncomfortable from the get-go.
My favourite running mantra is “Balls to the Wall” – it always sounds so super-tough! According to english.stackexchange.com it was “probably coined by pilots whose throttle levers had round, ball-like tops and for whom putting the “balls to the wall” (the firewall of the aircraft) meant making the aircraft fly as quickly as possible.” Mmmm, it’s going to be balls to the wall through Chatsworth then!
Move over all you sports doctors out there, I’m coming in! I’m just busy designing the plaque that will go on the oak-panelled door to my rather plush office.
My hip is feeling much better, thanks to the ministrations of myself and Dr Google. I have devised some rehab exercises which I am doing at least three times a day and I have added some cycling to my regime.
All addicted runners out there will recognize the dire need for my services. Addicts cannot be told to rest. They need other solutions and that is where Dr Google and I come in.
Now I’m just wondering if Ysterbok would like a job as my receptionist. Hours will be 10am to 3pm. Salary highly negotiable.