Horribly hungover but so fed up with not running and my partner being back from New Zealand to walk our dog, I made a late decision to walk the five minutes up the road to the start on Duke’s Drive. I had no idea how it would go. While my partner had been away I had been doing a lot of static strengthening and flexibility exercises to try to heel a calf muscle that seizes up within minutes of starting running. It’s not a new thing but seems to have settled in and I have even started to feel it while doing the three walks a day Albie expects.
I guess someone must be last even in a parkrun but hopefully that someone will always be someone who sees finishing as their achievement. I can’t say I’m overly proud these days; if I can find a way to run and not be the one keeping the marshalls out late, that is a start (or re-start) I can live with.
The run went. I can’t think of much more to say than that. I started nearly at the back, jogging very slowly as I tried to ease into running. It lasted a few minutes before what feels like the solid ball of pain reappeared in the muscle. I pushed through, knowing from previous experience that if I could just keep going it would either ease slightly or I would become accustomed to the pain, I’m honestly not sure which it is.
But 5km is only 5km, and as I eased through, walking any uphill to give my brain a break from the mental effort of holding running form, around 3km I finally found I was running rather than jogging. Still slowly, but with leg lift and some gentle push off rather than just plopping from foot to foot.
The finish, though, was still very welcome.