But, just after I’d decided it was too cold, too dark and too damp for 4 miles last night, and had turned back after a mile, I planted awkwardly, resulting in searing mint green coloured pain across the top of my left foot, a plethora of similarly vibrant expletives, and a slightly tearful call to N to get rescued.
Now in a revoltingly expensive taxi to the nearest minor injuries as there were slightly too many expletives for comfort this morning any time I moved it the “wrong” way. It needs strapping up. Properly. We have an A&E about a mile away, but it’s not bad enough for that, so the longer trip it is. We’re not even in the right town and the fare’s well into double figures. Fortunately they take cards.
Driving myself not really being an option. And N had a PDR today so couldn’t WFH and drive me. And I thought I was OK, and part of me thinks this is a huge waste of resources but part of me knows that getting things properly checked is sensible and adult.
(Update: this didn’t post when I wrote it. And I have merely sprained my ankle. But that’s it for running for about a month I reckon. Should be just about well when I go to Indianapolis…)