Snow: I Hate You

Just in case it wasn’t clear from the title, it snowed overnight.  And I hate snow.  While it has some kind of Jedi Mind Power over some fully grown, adult people I become ashamed to refer to as ‘friends’, within me it ignites a rage so powerful, I am amazed it doesn’t simply thaw within a 1 mile radius of my body.  Why do I hate snow?  Because when people walk on it, it becomes compacted snow.  Which basically means ice.  Which basically means I end up ass-over-feet and covered in blood.

Yesterday I went for a back, neck and shoulder massage.  It was relaxing.  It was also sunny and cloudless when I walked into the salon for my treatment.  When I left?  Snow.  All of the relaxing powers of a woman digging her oiled up elbow into my back for 45 minutes DESTROYED COMPLETELY by my voyage home through blizzard conditions.  Upon arrival at my front door, enraged and dripping with snow (because that sneaky shit turns into water when it lands on your jacket/hair/face), I took this photo of the outdoor conditions:


The only saving grace throughout this experience was the fact that it was not lying on the ground.  So I go to bed expecting to get a semi-decent ‘long’ run in tomorrow (but not as long as I had hoped because knee is still niggly and I don’t want to push it too much).

Mother Nature:  HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. No.

This morning, from my kitchen window:

Excuse the Nutella jar on the windowsill. And the streaky windows that clearly need a good scrub.

Not exactly South Pole conditions, but not ideal either.  So I left it until lunchtime to brave the cold air for a run, hoping that the awesome power of the sun would melt the snow and ice away by then.

It didn’t.  At least not completely.  About 50% of my run involved my trainers getting enough purchase so as not to make me paranoid about ending up in a human pretzel on the ground, but the other half?  Slippy.  Managed 6.5 miles with minimal knee trouble, but I was not fast.  Still, it cancelled out my indulgent dinner….

Now when I was young, I lived in Indonesia for about 4 years.  Religiously, I would eat Indomie chicken flavour instant noodles at least 4 nights a week (think Ramen noodles or Super noodles, only tasty).  Often more.  They are, without a doubt, the most awesome fast-snack food one could wish for.  Over Christmas and New Year, in Australia, I spotted some in a supermarket, and pretty much ate at least 2 packets a day.  And today?  I had a serious hankering.  And I knew where I could get release.  Enter Spice of Asia, just off George Street: home of delicious foodstuffs from my childhood.  I hadn’t been in ages (I used to make weekly visits because I used to live, handily, on George Street), but they still charge £1 for 4 packs of Indomie.  Total bargain.  I’m still convinced, as well, that I’m their only white customer.  Anyway, I present to you some of my swag:

Sex for my tongue

So today, after my run, and after foam rolling the crap out of my legs (and making unintelligible sounds/sobs for the duration), I cooked up some retro grub:

Shit just got real

So overall, a fairly pitiful training week, but one marred by having to travel to Glasgow for a day, and also by my knee playing up.  This is probably my own fault for stopping the foam roller stuff and stretching as soon as the trouble started to clear up.  Because I refused to accept that it was one of those ‘maintenance issues’ that it so clearly is.  Bummer.

On my knees!

Or, more accurately, on my hands, rolling my shrieking quadriceps into the ninth dimension of hell.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

My knees have been giving me bother for a few weeks now.  There is a dull ache, on and off throughout the day at the bottom of my knee cap, and sometimes behind my knee cap when I do squats.  This has caused much frustration and swearing at my knees under my breath.  The kind of swearing that would make sailors look at you in disgust.  I’ve been to the GP.  He said rest.  I’ve been to the physio.  She said keep going, but do some squats do build up strength around the joint.  I went for a sports massage.  She said “foam roller the hell out of [my] lower leg.”

Since Tuesday I have been resting.  So far, minimal change.

Today, I had my boyfriend venture to the local running shop for a limb destroyer foam roller.  I’ve just been in, outright abusing my lower body, and can honestly say it is not one of the most pleasant experiences I have had.  The same pain you get during a spots massage when you’re told to “take deep breaths, this might be a bit intense,” is on par with what this foam roller can inflict on you.  I had no idea something so benign-looking could cause my heart rate to spike just by staring at it and remembering that merely 5 minutes ago, I was yelling “Mother Fucking Shit Fists!” in my empty flat whilst “relaxing” my muscles.

In fairness, my legs feel pretty good afterwards, and I might even notice a slight improvement in knee pain (or it could be that the aforementioned quad-rape has distracted me temporarily from my ailments).  I’m going to keep up the torture, and hopefully I’ll manage next Saturday’s parkrun.