Ok, lets get something down here or folks in the future will think that Aunt Aggie got the better of me. Looking back through earlier blog entries this year, I can’t really believe I managed 5 races or so before it all imploded. I never really envisaged that the Government would crash the economy in order to control transmission, but here we are 100 days later. As March gave way to 'Lockdownmania' and we all towed the line, my running continued on an upward trajectory and well into June during which I was churning out several fifty mile weeks. I was regularly delivering 70 minute x 10 mile runs and was quite perky. It was a little off-putting seeing people diving into hedges and holding their breath or grabbing their scarfs when I careered round the corners, and for a while there was a real fear that runners were the enemy with all their extravagant breathing, huffing and puffing. 'Nothing personal', I thought.
As this state of economic and social torpor dragged on, my earlier enthusiasm appeared misplaced and my training runs slowed markedly. This culminated a fortnight ago during an eight miler in the heat of a Wednesday morning running along the by-pass when my left calf tightened. I was on the bike the next day, the first ride since January. Over a thousand miles running this year and only seventy on the bike said Strava. It was possibly the longest period of continuous uninterrupted running I have had for ages. A day or two later I developed a swollen knee and have rested all this week, succumbing to that wee voice in my head this morning to nip out for 25 miles on the bike. There was a ferocious westerly and as I cut along through the lanes of Duddo, Belsay and Whalton the crosswinds were waiting to pounce, an ambush on the unprepared rider with huge gusts funnelling through any breach in the hedgerow. The swelling has gone from the knee and I assume it’s a ligament thing. Since I blogged last, I am a year older and in celebration I have entered two local time trials. We’ll see if they go ahead or not. This years Lairig Ghru, my running target for the year, is an ancient memory that never was.
The running club have been organising a virtual grand prix, but I’ve not managed to register any times for the various events. Mrs Mac and the flying chef (Linds) have been burning up the calories though and Linds has really come on with a recent sub-20 5k. Let’s hope the running calendar resurrects itself at the same time as my knee makes a full recovery. It’s not only a means of competing, but there is also a social element to racing and, of course, if you are a runner, its partly who you are, part of your fabric.
On the book front I eventually ground my way through ‘Papillon’ and finished it yesterday. This followed 'Conclave' (Robert Harris) which I whizzed through in May and is highly recommended. I have dropped straight into Falkner's 'Moonfleet' which I recall reading when I was 12 or so. It’s quite a welcome contrast to ingesting the trials and tribulations of a serial escapee in the French penal system. Anyway, I hope it not another 2 months before I blog again. Lets hope its worth me ordering some new trainers shortly and that the lectern-hugging first minister gives us a break or I’ll be demanding a rebate from Scottish Athletics.
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