drink gin? Knit? Consume chocolate? All of the aforementioned in turn? Or simultaneously?
Having not run for a week, after falling over, it seems that I’m perfectly capable of morris dancing a mile and then some (balls of the foot), but, as a heel-striker, running, not so much. Sunday’s 8 miler got aborted about 0.7 miles in. Tuesday’s 2 miler was a bit better, but still painful at times. 2017 is not my year for running.
I *think* I’ve worked out what’s going on: tight muscles – there is much foam rollering happening. With appropriate grimaces, groans and attempts to remember to breathe. I *think* I’ve worked out how to tape it: not how I taped it on Tuesday. I *think* I’ll be OK for High Wycombe Half on Sunday: it’s going to be boiling hot anyhow and there is no shame in walking parts of the course. Particularly the hilly bits. And DNF is generally an improvement on DNS.
I hope I have worked out what’s going on here. Because, frankly, this week is being just a tad tiresome. Friends are suffering. Period arrived just late enough to raise hopes (10 day luteal phase? Not long enough, really, if you think about it. But the three mornings of feeling utterly nauseous were, shall we say, thought-provoking? Yes. I think that’s a reasonable description. Better luck next month). The diet overhaul is possibly not quite enough, but almost right. Maybe. Perhaps I am clutching at straws here. We are supposed to have a referral to IVF, but the clinic has no record of it – but then again, Mr R hasn’t been in to open his letters (from himself to himself…).
Roll on the weekend? Or is that wishing my life away?