Well...I finally got back out there. After messing up my guts and my head I finally went out for a run with my mate. I was visiting him on holiday and only see him about once a year so, it was something else to see that he had also now quit smoking and was also into running. Anyway, we went on a nice gentle run up around a park near his house in Oviedo (the bit of Spain that looks like Wales) and it gave me immense pleasure to watch his face turn red while he tried to suck air in from the next valley across. Don´t get me wrong, I don´t like to see people struggle, but it was nice to know I hadn´t lost as much fitness as I thought. I found the whole thing quite easy.
I also imparted my considerable knowledge on warming up and cooling down with the indulgent air of someone who is bored with the whole subject, then I woke up the next morning with my hamstring laughing at me. I was injured. So I did what every pro does in these situations and drank and smoked my way through the rest of the week. Not the best reaction to adversity and definitely not the way to go with my mountain HM in 6 weeks. Why does he do it to himself you may ask? Why, when he has obviously got a good fitness base, enjoys running and is not afraid of challenging himself, does he fall apart at the first sign of a problem? Well the answer is easy - I´m a perfectionist. The problem with this label is that most people think it defines someone who does something to perfection. In my case it actually means someone who wants perfection. Therefore I get very affected by things not being perfect and run away (ha ha) at the first sign of a problem.
But this time...I don´t know. Something is chipping away at my soul. Instead of collapsing into an alcholic, tobacco-fuelled haze I entered a race. This gave me the motivation to chuck the fags away and get running again. I only managed 1k before my leg felt so bad I had to stop but at least I ran and it felt, at least aerobically-wise, very good. I even took a cold water bath to try to help the injury but I mainly just ended up swearing a lot. In the end my hamstring wouldn´t let me race but it didn´t matter - it was the preparation that mattered.
I forced myself back into it and back out there. I prefer it, I really do. So, I´m going to get some ice on my leg and keep my plans going. There´s a mountain to climb in 6 weeks time.
The 8 Week Challenge - Previous blogs
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