Four weeks ago I did a ten mile run. It was hideous. I stopped. I started. I stopped. I stretched. I started. I stopped. I readjusted clothing. I started. I stopped. I whinged. I started. I stopped. I moaned about hills. I started. I stopped. I started. I ran the final three miles home with no problems. Except for the fact that my hip hurt, my ankles hurt and my knees hurt. In fact, I struggled to settle into the run because I wasn’t managing to weight bear properly on my right knee. I was plodding on like a limping cart horse. This was the run that made me seek out a physio, become well acquainted with my foam roller and take a week off running.
Today I ran the same route. It was ace.
In the intervening 4 weeks, I have been foam rolling at least once a day and have been back to the physio, who has deemed me to be rolled enought to be given corrective exercises to help adjust my wonky pelvis. He was going to show me four of them, but after demonstrating three, he judged (correctly) that three were enough for my little brain. I’ll be waving my legs around in front of the telly for another three undignified weeks and then back to physio.
Today’s run was hard in parts. I felt weary after four miles and I had to focus to get myself up all of the hills (but I have never managed all of the hills without walking before today). My face was so red that it was less of a complexion and more of a cry for help. I don’t really care. Knowing that I can do 10 miles has put me in a much better frame of mind for the Folkestone Half in (gulp) five weeks.