Or, come on in, Lawman Murphy, I've been expecting you.
I am, it has to be said, a bit of a stupid bastard. After a good running week, including an extra hills session and some great speed work at Scotstoun, where I churned out 6:15 miles, I had a mysteriously sore thigh after Thursday's easy run. No obvious cause, and not feeling like a tear, just annoyingly persistent.
Come this morning, it felt just about OK, although as run-time approached, it started to tighten a bit. Really umm-ed and ahh-ed about whether to go out, but came up with a bail out strategy in case it felt bad.
My run was the logical conclusion of the Loch Lomond adventure - Arrochar to Home at 19 miles - and there's half an hour between my train getting to Arrochar and the return journey. I reckoned that if I started to run and it was sore, I could turn around after a mile or so and get the train back. Nice idea. But when the train is 30 minutes late and arrives whilst the return train is sitting at the platform, the bail-out has gone away.
Guess what. A mile in, and the thigh starts to tweak. By 5 it's persistently sore and after 8, it hurts. I decide, therefore, to try the second bail-out strategy and call for a taxi from Luss after 9 miles. Only I've only got one 50p piece with me, and the number's engaged. It costs 40p to make a call from a public phonebox these days, so I'm fecked.
Recommence what has now become a trudge during which I'm continually beating myself up for being such a prat and coming out in the first place. This isn't going well at all. It's been a shit week anyway, and this is just adding to the load. 2 miles later, remember that the Helensburgh taxi firm has a freephone number too. This doesn't help the "you're a tit" internal monologue.
The final bail-out is to cut the route short & take the winding back road that I've always avoided because it feels dangerous. As I've given home a 5pm "send out the search parties" time, I feel I have to keep plodding on at a pace that will get me home by then, but not exacerbate the injury. Eventually got round what had turned into a 17.1 mile run feeling thoroughly disgruntled and kicking myself up and down the street.
Then I stopped. I was bound to get an injury at some point, and it was bound to be partly self inflicted, so it's just a case of dealing with it, waiting 'til it doesn't hurt any more, and building back up gradually.
In the down times, turn to the positive. Saw this lot in Glasgow a year ago, and it was stunning. This was about the most energetic 5 minutes I've ever experienced at a concert. I have no idea how these superb lifts from the unbelievably good Albert Hall DVD are still on YouTube, but please enjoy.
And while I've been typing, the Olympics are under way. I love just about everything about the Olympics. So many stories. So much about what's good in sport. And, yes, so much tragedy too. Watch it.
Week's summary: 5 runs, 40 miles: Long run 17.1 miles
Miles since acceptance: 470
