“So what’re my chances at Pisa?”

Is basically what I wanted to know when I was told I was suffering from ITB syndrome, and would require a further 2-3 weeks off running (and cycling), lots of foam rolling, and a shit ton of stretching.  I got the response I was not wanting: the slow head nod, but non-committal “Let’s see how you get on in the next few weeks.”

My right quad is basically a knot right now, and despite previously being told otherwise, my ITB is extremely tight, which is the likely cause of my debilitating knee pain after about 2 miles of running jogging.  I will continue aggressively massaging/foam rolling for the next week and a half, and I will avoid running and (probably) cycling during that time as well to try and give everything a chance to calm down, but to stop myself from mutilating children being on edge, I have been swimming.  A lot.  Which is good, I suppose, for Ironman training, since I’ll be required to swim just shy of 4km (3.86 if you’re desperate to know).  Thankfully, after years of competitive swimming as a kid, my tumble turns and strokes don’t embarrass me.

My week of swimming has looked like this:

  • Sunday: 3km
  • Monday: 2km
  • Tuesday: 2.5km
  • Wednesday: 2.5km
  • Thursday: 3km

I have already become a pool snob who complains about people doing breaststroke in the fast line.  Move aside, bitches.  I even bought a cap, because it became apparent that chlorine + my hair = bad.  Although it doesn’t quite give me the same post-workout glow as anything at the gym or a run, it’s just enough to make me feel like I’ve done some exercise.

And for any of you desperate to see/know how the flat renovation is going, I will give a one-word answer that pretty much describes the pace at which everything is progressing.  “Glacial.”

Here is my kitchen.  I was supposed to have a washing machine installed today.  It arrived, but during the de-boxing phase it became apparent that the door was broken, so it was taken away.  I remain washing-machine-less.

20141021_124516Living the dream, guys.*


*Yes, I’m still grumpy.

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.

So….. running.

Running is something I haven’t really been able to do since my near-DNF at Crathes half marathon mid-September.  I pulled out of Loch Ness marathon and ‘ran’ the 5k fun run instead.  Well, jogged 1.2 miles, felt a crippling pain in my knee, and walked pretty much the rest.  At one point a little girl spectating with her mother asked, “Mummy, why are there some people walking?”  She’s lucky to have avoided a drop-kick to the face.  Still, my nails looked fabulous and the medal was cute.


I have to admit half-wishing to witness someone falling and breaking their leg as I cheered on the marathon runners in the afternoon.  Fine, full-on wishing.  I know, I’m a terrible person.

I have also pulled out of Amsterdam marathon, much to my dismay.  In fact, I’m pulling the plug on my whole Amsterdam holiday, as I would just end up being a Debbie Downer and hating everyone who expressed even an iota of excitement about running the marathon.  So basically every one of the 30 or so people I am travelling with.

How I feel.  All day.  Every day.

How I feel. All day. Every day.

The silver lining is that my dad is coming over from Texas on Wednesday and staying for two weeks to help me with new flat stuff – painting, sanding, cleaning, moving….  It’ll be nice to not miss half of his visit because I’m off gallivanting in Europe, and it also means I can keep up my bike/swim/weights routine that I have been reduced to without running.

Stripping - the less exciting kind.

Stripping – the less exciting kind.

I have also already pulled out of the Glen Ogle 33 race at the start of November, but I’m clinging to the hope that I’ll be able to complete the Pisa marathon in December, if I ever find out what’s up with my knee and it heals itself.

I have ALSO rediscovered retail therapy:

What's up, Tiffany lamp?

What’s up, Tiffany lamp?

Basically, I feel sick with envy every time I walk past someone out for a run.  Every time I hear a song I listen to when running.  Every time I get one of those ‘How are you doing?’ texts from a running friend who is just trying to be supportive.  I’m like a spoiled brat who has been told she can’t ride her ponies (yes, plural, because this chick is insufferable right now).

Injury.  It sucks balls.