Full of cold. Haven’t had a cold for a very long time, so wallowing in self pity. Not good for the penultimate day of Janathon, but in the spirit of hanging on to the bitter end I attempted a pyjama plank before bed.
A feeble 41 seconds and I had to give up because my nose was dripping onto the floor. Glamorous.
Cold lurgy is in full flow today, but cabin fever is also setting in, so today’s Janathon activity was a successful end to the wheelie bin hunt and a walk around the block. Well, I say successful – I’m presuming it was my bin – the two cottages at the end can’t possibly have three wheelie bins between them, can they?!
The walk was an official walk (i.e. I wore my Garmin), it measured 0.6 of a Mile and took me 10 minutes. And three tissues *sniff*.
After Sunday’s excesses and Monday’s recovery plod, today was pathetic by comparison. I think I might have finally succombed to the cold lurgy that’s been doing the rounds for the last couple of months (my own fault for feeling too smug about not catching it).
I also had a house full of people working on the house – two builders, two window men and one tiler. That’s lots of cups of tea and coffee to make and carry up and down stairs, especially for someone who still has “bungalow legs”.
I did manage to drag the very large and heavy Christmas tree round to the front of the house in a final attempt to catch the council recycling van tomorrow morning. I think that counts as strength training (it was a huge tree and put up quite a fight).
Despite not fancying a run today, I remembered how stiff I became after last week’s tough race when I skipped my recovery run. So I wo-manned up this morning, pulled on my (dry) big girl pants and staggered out of the door.
The plan was 3 easy miles revisiting the scene of yesterday’s triumph race. (Not the stream, just the bit closest to my house). This is a muddy track that usually just has tyre marks from the game keeper’s pickup, a few dogs’ paw prints and their walkers’ boot marks. However today it looked like a herd of elephants wearing trainers had stampeded down there.
As I plodded I thought about the lovely t-shirt I got at the end, and I suddenly realised the revolting pink colour was the exact shade of the strawberry* blancmange we were forced to eat at school. Another reason to hate that colour. * I presume it was strawberry flavour, although I doubt it had ever seen any red fruit let alone a strawberry.
So a race morning when you over sleep by half an hour is not a good start. Nor is not being able to find your favourite running bra. At least the rush meant I couldn’t dwell for too long on the race ahead.
It was the morning of The Slaughterford 9 – a race that I swore I would never do again after I last ran it 3 years ago. The race that contributed to an injury that led to me missing 5 weeks of training for my first marathon in London 2012. Nevertheless I thought it was time to give it another go, not least because the morning saw the area covered in freezing fog so I never got to see the views from the top of the huge climbs.
The runners and marshals were as friendly as you’d expect from a small race, and my jazzy socks got plenty of complimentary remarks.
The stream we have to wade up in the last mile wasn’t as cold as I remembered – I could actually feel my feet as I climbed up the hill on the otherside. The steam WAS deeper though, stepping down into knee deep muddy water is a challenge. Wading along the uneven bottom when you can’t see where to best put your feet is more of a challenge, and how they made it go deeper as you went along is a secret only a sadist would know. The cold water reached my shins, knees, thighs and just as it hit gusset-level I heard a cry of “oo my undercarriage” from up ahead, which made me laugh.
The final steep hill was as much a killer as ever, and then it was the final slope to the finish line. I originally ran this race in 2012 because I’d had massive race t-shirt envy. Seeing as I got paint on my original shirt I was looking forward to getting a new one. Imagine my face when I saw that this year’s t-shirt was pink.
Regular readers will know exactly how I feel about the colour pink, as did the man I was running next to when I spotted the colour (apologies to him for my language).
It had been great to see Mr. B&T pop up around the course three times to cheer me on and take attractive photos, but it was a close run thing as to whether I was more pleased to see him at the finish, or the Mars bar I was handed.
After a cold nearly-a-mile walk back to the car, I was most pleased to see his car with it’s heated seats. Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood wouldn’t approve, but I can highly recommend heated seats on a soggy bottom.
After a lovely lie in this morning, we set off for a birthday lunch for my brother in law. A great meal in a lovely cafe was well deserved after a busy few days. Then home and time to get smartened up ready for the Chippenham Wheelers Cycling Club dinner dance. Not such a good meal this time, but I did manage to fit in a couple of dances, so I’m claiming that for today’s Janathon.
A sober evening, all due to getting ready for tomorrow’s Slaughterford 9 race. Gulp!
An even earlier start and a longer day at work meant I only managed to fit in some easy stretches. However I’m claiming extra points for once again doing them in a corset. Work, eh? Roll on the weekend.