Went for a run today after a hard session at the gym yesterday. Big mistake. I knew I'd felt a small twinge in my thigh on the torture instrument cum abductor, but as is my usual approach I ignored it and hey, presto it went away. Only to reappear about 40 minutes into my run when I was another good 40 minutes away from home.
It's a tricky choice whether to grind to a halt and hobble home, or limp on back at as smart a pace as possible just to get back asap. In the end I opted for the latter option, but by the end my thigh was not happy. In fact I was very glad to bump into an old friend and stop for a chat and a gentle stroll at the end of the run as I was worried that something my twang catastrophically if not.
Still it is a while till my next race, but I have now entered the Kingston Breakfast Run, which given that I live in North London is sure to mean a disgustingly early start, but at least I can blame any poor performance on that. Thing is ever since I was bitten by the racing bug in my first 5K Race for Life, I have found myself wasting far too much time browsing potential races and wondering how long it will take for my husband's patience to run thin as he is left holding the fort - and the four boys - on yet another weekend morning as I dash off to run another race.
But you just can't beat the buzz of testing yourself against other runners. Naturally some whizz off into the distance leaving you for dust, but I console myself that most of them haven't birthed four children and that explains their speed (please don't disabuse me of this fact as it will just depress me), but the ones who interest me are the ones who are just a little bit quicker than me. If I can overtake one of those I have had my eye on since the start then I can really feel good about myself - never mind if he or she looks older, more unfit or downright ill, I will still pat myself on the back as I huff and puff past them.
Perhaps I have finally begun to unearth the competitive nature that has hitherto lain dormant within me. It certainly never reared its head in my youth when I famously told my PE teacher: "I would rather die of a heart attack when I am old than ever pick up a hockey stick". Of course back then old looked a long way off, whereas now it is a whole lot closer, though I must admit a hockey stick still doesn't hold that much appeal.
Twinging thigh probably means a day off tomorrow, but I will be back on the road as soon as the old girl is up to it again.