Welcome back!
Well, this isn't exactly going to plan. I was confident about jumping straight back into full-on marathon training, but in fact the truth is it's been a lot harder than I'd hoped. After two tentative runs to see how my knee was coming along, I went out on the Sunday with every intention of doing some longer miles.
Just my bad luck, then, I suppose, that the weather had turned from biblical to apocalyptic. It was lashing it down with rain, which is hardly ideal, but I can deal with that. The problem was the wind, which was absolutely howling, with gusts of up to 120 km/h. Call me a slacker, but it was just impossible to run. For the first time in my entire life, I wished I had a treadmill at home. So there was nothing for it but to head back in and get on the bike. I did think of waiting until lunchtime and getting out then, but there was no let-up in the storm, so I did the only thing possible and went out to a bar to drink beer and watch Arsenal v Leicester. If I'd hoped this would cheer me up, well, I was wrong!
The next week was little better, running-wise, at least, as I received the welcome visit of my brother and his two little boys. We had a great few days together and I wouldn't have missed it for anything, but between preparations (cooking, cleaning etc.) and the visit itself, I didn't get much running done: only two easy 6-7 milers, in which I at least felt comfortable again.
One morning we went up to the area of the famous Angliru, and played around in the snow. Does that count as hillwork? I'd like to think so.
The clan had to be back at the airport for 9:30 on the Sunday morning, so it meant an early start and not much sleep. Having breakfasted in Departures after a nerve-wracking, fog-bound journey, I got home around 11 and pooled all my resources of motivation to not go straight back to bed, but instead haul myself out for a run. I dragged myself round Oviedo for just over 11 miles and felt pretty satisfied with that, given the circumstances.
While stretching after the run, though, I noticed a pain behind my (good, but lately not so good) right knee. It hadn't bothered me while running so I put it out of my mind. I was more concerned about a palpable loss of fitness and the paltry number of miles I've been able to do, hardly in keeping with a training campaign for a marathon. And while I talk about miles, well, that's how far I am away from where I should be at this stage.
This has now turned into a full-blown salvage operation. All the evidence seems to suggest that I'm going to have a complete disaster in Brighton, with so little time to pull things round.
I think, to be honest, if I didn't have the flights booked and it wasn't in Brighton, my (other) brother's home town, I would have given this up as a bad job. But I think I may as well do as much I can do and see what happens. I curse my blog, too, for holding me so accountable - but in any case I can't, and won't, give up now.
Two short-ish runs on Tuesday and Wednesday went by uneventfully, but the niggle behind my knee was still there and clearly was only going to get worse, so I booked in for a session this morning at Jaime's physio practice. He would sort me out, for sure, although I went in some dread, remembering the agony he had put me through in times past.
I expected to be treated by the great man himself, so was surprised and not displeased to be greeted by a a tall, slim, raven-haired beauty by the name of Lucía. She ushered me in and soon got to work. If I'd imagined a gentle, soothing massage I was promptly disabused of the notion, as she yanked my poor legs this way and that and contorted me into impossible positions, like she was playing with one of those bendy Pink Panthers, or something. She then concentrated on my hips and abductors before moving onto my lumbar region, and, er, arse, which she kneaded and prodded into submission. In short, however, it's the first time in a good few weeks that I can honestly say that I've had a good workout!
I decided to book another session for a week today, as I clearly need all the help I can get. In the meantime, I'll be out tomorrow early before embarking on a go-as far-as-I-can session on Sunday. If I can get to about 14-15 miles, I'll be happy, try to recover well and just push on from there. As I said before, this is turning into a car-crash of a training campaign, but I have no option but to bag all the miles I can and pray that in 8 weeks I will have done enough to get round Brighton in one piece. I don't even want to think about target times, I think it's gone beyond that, now.
Now it's just about how far I can go. How far, in fact, can too far go? That's the question.
Thanks for reading and please join me again next time. It's fun, this, isn't it?
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