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