*Well, since September last year.
As per my plan, I had a 40 minute run, 5 minute elliptical break, and then 10 minute run on the schedule for Tuesday. Excuses are for quitters, blah, blah, blah, but I totally have a legitimate excuse for not executing my Tuesday plan.
Well, Tuesday morning began splendidly at around 3am when I woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing, and that telltale watering mouth that indicates a violent vomiting session is nigh. Wet-heaving ensued.
After a lengthy spell snuggling against the bathroom radiator for warmth with one arm resting on the toilet, just in case, I made it back to bed shivering. Now, a normal person would have called in sick and spent the day recovering, but this was not just any old Tuesday. Months ago, I had impulse bought a ticket to go and see Placebo – one of my favourite bands from my angsty teens – and I had been looking forward to reliving my reckless youth having seen them last play live when I was 16 years old. I even had my questionable outfit set aside. I didn’t care how wretched I felt, I was going to that gig.
Speaking of my youth, I remember the rarity of school days spent at home sick. My mother, a terrifying 5 foot woman who weighs about 80lbs., would require you to be on death’s door if you were to miss a day of school. And if you stayed off school, you stayed off EVERYTHING for that day. Much to my dismay, this rule has stuck with me into adulthood, and so I showered and dragged myself to school, riding the waves of nausea as they ebbed and flowed throughout the day.
Thankfully, by home time I was starting to feel marginally better, but I decided it would be sensible to bunk off my planned gym routine and head home for a power nap. That was to be my last sensible decision of the day.
I had arranged to meet a couple of friends, Rhona, fellow runner, and Laura, famous published author, in the pub at 6 for a quick drink before we went to the venue, and I had toyed with the idea of not drinking to limit how rough I would feel the next day. Well, the ‘quick drink’ turned into 2 pints of lager, and for someone who has a tolerance level of about 4 pints max over the course of an entire evening, this was bad news.
Luckily alcohol lowers your inhibitions, so I kind of didn’t care at this point.
We rocked up to the Music Hall at about 7:45, and headed straight for the bar, which was crawling with balding men and beer bellies. I guess these are my people now. The support band was on, and we heard that they’d be finishing up in about 15 minutes, which meant we had plenty of time to continue to make bad beer-related decisions. Except it transpired that it was just me: Rhona is doing a post-grad degree and had nothing to be up for the next day, and Laura was catching a train to Skye, but did not have to work. Thanks guys.
Shortly before Placebo came on stage, I wrestled myself in amongst the groundlings (Laura and Rhona had seated tickets), and made friends with a very outgoing Irish couple who told me they knew the set list already. I was horrified to realize that many of their classics were not on this list, and even more horrified to learn that they had released an album in 2013, the songs of which would feature heavily. The male half of the couple, who was obviously the bigger fan, bought me a Jack and coke to drown my disappointment, and it must have been effective as I thoroughly enjoyed throwing my hands in the air like I just didn’t care to everything they played (but mostly the songs I knew the lyrics to).
After the gig, and with limited hearing, Laura, Rhona, and I regrouped and started heading in the wrong direction, to a harbour-side pub whilst I remained in denial about having to work the following day. We grabbed some breakfast later on in a kebab shop, and I went home to hug my mattress lovingly, though not before taking a bathroom selfie for no logical reason:
A few hours later I was showered and heading into work. It was a long day. For contrast, here is a bathroom selfie taken AFTER work, and before I went to spin class, and yes, I know I need to clean my bathroom mirror:
[Insert seamless segue back into running related news here]
Two days late, and without planning to, however, I completed my longest run since I was injured and nearly DNF’ed Crathes half marathon. 45 continuous minutes on the treadmill at 10 minute miles. Although I would normally consider that to be barely the minimum distance to lace my trainers up for, or perhaps a quick distance to ‘squeeze in’ before some other plans, I was absolutely beaming after 40 minutes. Add into the happiness mix the fact that I got bumped into the second fastest lane at swimming and managed to keep up, I’m counting Thursday as a massive success.
The knee has been a bit tender for the last couple of days, but to be honest, it was tender before the run. I think my new aggressive cycling routine (which has seen the return of my Chris Hoy thighs) is aggravating one of the tendons behind my knee, so I’m trying to massage it/foam roll the muscles around it/stretch, and I may even take a second rest day for the week to allow me to try another 45 minutes on Monday. A few more weeks of steady progress like this and I might even start browsing for hotels in Berlin!