Tuesday, 31 August 2010

So far, toe good

After four weeks of hobbling, swimming, prodding, moaning and ugly shoes (apart from one ill-advised attempt to wear heels for an evening, which lasted about an hour and resulted in a black toe nail the following day), I have just been for a run! Only 2 miles, but it's better than nothing. It felt so rough, but so good at the same time. Fingers (and toes) crossed I can get some shoes on in the morning, eh?

Monday, 9 August 2010

Pork, dust and swimming

One week on and the toe looks less like a big German Blutwurst but more of a cheeky Spanish chorizo now. It turns out there are a number of things that are tricky to do with a foot resembling a selection of charcuterie though:

1. Wear fab shoes (the trusty Kayano's are still favoured).
2. Do press-ups.
3. Go running.

I'm sure there are more but it turns out number 3 is a particular pig (or pork-derived delicacy) when there's a marathon in fewer than 10 weeks. In which case, I suppose I could add:

4. Write a blog about training for a marathon.

(Cue painful sausage puns: “What’s the wurst that could happen?”, “It's not the wurst-case scenario”, “There’s a wurst time for everything”, “Oh this has really brat the wurst out in me” etc, etc.)

In other news, four burly builders have just turned up to start our kitchen work. We thought things would start at a fairly pedestrian pace this morning... cup of tea, shaking of heads, another cup of tea, sucking air through front teeth, biscuit, one last cup of tea...

We seriously underestimated the efficiency of these fellows. At just gone 9, a whirlwind started in the house. Windows are being torn out and the water’s off already. I feel suddenly motivated to get out training again. Not because the builders look like this* but because the house looks like this:


So I’m off for a swim, the wurst of many this summer I suspect.

*In case you were wondering, they don't, by the way.

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

Kit testing

Home for the weekend, my brother asked me if I'd like to go mountain biking yesterday. Ever happy to embrace cross-training opportunities and rarely one to let a lack of appropriate kit be a burden, I set about establishing a series of comedy compromises, the three most significant of which being:

1. Borrowing my mum's bike.
2. Realising in the car park that said bike has slick tyres on it.
3. Attiring my feet in my trusty Asics Gel Kayano running shoes.

These shoes have been fantastic. I've had the 13 and 14 models and they are a great stability shoe. Lots of cushioning around the heel and, most importantly, my latest ones are GOOOOOOLD. Surely they'd be fine for an evening pootle round the woods on my (or at least my mum's) bike... what could possible go wrong?

Long story short and an oh-so-glad-that-no-one-had-a-video-or-that-would-have-been-on-you-tube-faster-than-you-can-say-face-plant moment later, I can now enlighten the world with the knowledge that that the humble Kayano makes a particularly ineffective biking shoe.

On a more positive note, they are proving to be the most comfortable thing to wear on a busted up big toe today.

Sunday, 1 August 2010

Yoof of today

I did an easy-ish plod of 3 miles or so this morning, to fit in with a drive back to my folks' place for the weekend. Running around where I live can often be interesting but by and large the people are nice. I do often wince a little though when I can see myself approaching anyone a little... er... "unsavoury" looking... shall we say? I guess it's just self-preservation for a girly out running alone.

This morning, such citizens came in the shape of two adolescent boys, masking themselves with hoods, despite the sticky weather, and swaggering proudly up the road. I bravely upped the pace and tried shuffle stealthily past; however, I didn't go unnoticed and they thought themselves very amusing to start making noises reminiscent of Pepé Le Pew trying to impress that poor kitty cat, only lacking the flattering sentiments.

I never know quite what to do in these situations, so I plumped for the first thing that came into my head: flick them the finger and run for it*.

At least I could be certain of one thing - there was no way they could chase after me. They'd chosen to wear their trousers at half mast as only yooves (plural of yoof, surely?) know how. These bad boys were so precariously low slung, they were approaching their ankles - even the slightest of jogs and gravity would have put a stop to the pursuit. Phew.

*(Aren't I the upstanding member of the community?!)
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