Miles completed - none
Miles missed - 29
Litres of water drunk - two litres a day
Gin consumed - Lost count
Toe nails lost - Toe nails intact due to lack of running
It's ten days before the marathon and everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.
I haven't pulled out yet, but as I limp around the house lying to everyone that I'm ok, I have to admit that I'm worried.
I haven't been able to run for two weeks.
A leg injury (either the IT band or hamstring - as yet undiagnosed) meant I had to pull out of the Strabane half marathon last Sunday. (minus 13.1 miles) It almost killed me watching everyone else going for glory but I had to be sensible.
And anyway someone had to be there to hold the Star hoodies and Prosecco.
Two sports therapists have told me my injury is not serious, all I need to do is stretch (check), drink water (check), rest (check) and foam roll (uncheck, that will have to be dug out from the dust pile under my bed.).
I thought I was back on my feet last week when my son came home from school with a tummy bug.
No doubt the huge amount of kisses I demand from him on a daily basis resulted in easy transmission of infection and by last Thursday I was confined to bed. And I binged watched box sets of Netflix until I finally declared myself to rise from the dead on Sunday morning.
That meant missing my 16 mile run. (Now I'm minus 29 miles)
I've since recovered but the old leg injury continues to trouble me.
Could it be psychological? I don't know.
I've been for two sports massages, crunched ibuprofen, iced, and I've even tried out the dreaded foam roller.
And now I'm seriously contemplating asking for Padre Pio's mitt.
I know I shouldn't but I'm facing my demons in my new trainers tonight and going running.
I need to get back out there. I need to make a decision about this marathon.
Litres of water drunk - two litres a day
Gin consumed - Lost count
Toe nails lost - Toe nails intact due to lack of running
Pairs of running shoes bought - One
Sports massages completed - two
Half marathons missed - one
Friends fed of hearing about it - one million
It's ten days before the marathon and everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.
I haven't pulled out yet, but as I limp around the house lying to everyone that I'm ok, I have to admit that I'm worried.
I haven't been able to run for two weeks.
A leg injury (either the IT band or hamstring - as yet undiagnosed) meant I had to pull out of the Strabane half marathon last Sunday. (minus 13.1 miles) It almost killed me watching everyone else going for glory but I had to be sensible.
And anyway someone had to be there to hold the Star hoodies and Prosecco.
Two sports therapists have told me my injury is not serious, all I need to do is stretch (check), drink water (check), rest (check) and foam roll (uncheck, that will have to be dug out from the dust pile under my bed.).
I thought I was back on my feet last week when my son came home from school with a tummy bug.
No doubt the huge amount of kisses I demand from him on a daily basis resulted in easy transmission of infection and by last Thursday I was confined to bed. And I binged watched box sets of Netflix until I finally declared myself to rise from the dead on Sunday morning.
That meant missing my 16 mile run. (Now I'm minus 29 miles)
I've since recovered but the old leg injury continues to trouble me.
Could it be psychological? I don't know.
I've been for two sports massages, crunched ibuprofen, iced, and I've even tried out the dreaded foam roller.
And now I'm seriously contemplating asking for Padre Pio's mitt.
I know I shouldn't but I'm facing my demons in my new trainers tonight and going running.
I need to get back out there. I need to make a decision about this marathon.
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