Then I got a message from Mrs RD of the Cateran Trail Ultra suggesting I swap my role as marshall for a place (at a price....) and ping, off I hop into frantic organisation mode again.
And so it was on the Tuesday, in a bid to scrape myself off the floor, I resumed training at the club much to the horror of those there. Why why why they asked? Why why not I said. Um, because you still look like death. Even after a pep talk from El Presidente, in which I agreed to take it easy all week doing nothing more strenuous than a brisk stroll, there I was on the Thursday lining up at the start for the Kinross 10k. I still had the shakes but there were cakes after and I was almost starting to feel human again.
going so fast at Kinross 10k I'm all a blur...
All things considered it wasn't a bad race, in fact, I did okay coming within a couple of seconds of my PB. Hmm, imagine what I could do healthy..... I deluded myself just 36hours later that running strongly on the Thursday night meant I could bag a 5k PB at the Parkrun on the Saturday. Mistake. After a mere 1k running through treacle I pulled out with heavy legs and canny-be-arsedness. Gosh, 2 DNFs in a week.
On Sunday night I belted round 7.2miles along the unlit road and through the dark spooky woods to Limekilns to collect my car from the previous evening's piss-up. On Monday I really belted round 11miles after planning a week of training like a demon and then blasted through another 5 on Tuesday night. But now I'm strapped up tighter than a nun's chastity belt as my calf has twanged yet again. It's my own fault, I never got any pre-Fling niggles so the niggle gods have got their revenge.
Never mind though, a couple of days of obsessive icing, massaging and stretching and it'll be just fine for the Cateran Ultra. Yeah??