Monday, 20 February 2012
Days 54, 55, 56, and 57
When we last spoke I was recovering from the traumatic experience that is a 3 mile sing along with Dad and Ed. Since then there have been trips to morrisons and the hairdressers for Grandma, a journey back to London for me, and a rugby match yesterday (for Grandma, not just kidding for me) which was won 51 - nil. In the confusion walking rather fell by the wayside, but no more! After the gradual and patchy return I've made to excersise, I'm ready to put my routine back together, starting this morning, and sticking to phase 2 of Brian and Steves prescribed training campaign, with my first 6 miler in London. The route I've selected is not dissimilar to the 4 mile circuit I've been using up to now. In fact it is the 4 mile circuit I've been using up to now, witht he additional 2 mile round trip to Canary Wharf (as previously discovered through google maps) tacked onto the end. I must have still been giddy on country air when I hoisted myself out of bed at 8am and threw myself out onto the streets in prime commuter time, however I made short work of the smug suits, and was declared by a lollipop man to be "quite galloping along" determined to set myself a time to be proud of and force myself back into pre-concussion shape, cut down in my prime as I was. The intitial 4 miles were relativley uneventful (Dad, a regular 6 miler now - in that he walks 6 miles 1 day then has a few days off - considers a mere 4 mile walk to be nothing more than a warm up now) and I approached what would normally be the end of the walk, the end of our street where I would normally be panting and staggering back to the sofa I realised the error in my route choice. Instead of panting and staggering in the attractive way I've just described up the street and back into our house, I had to force myself my tired little legs on past the warm inviting opening and took the lollipop man by surprise by passing him again, although at more of a shuffing trot than a gallop this time. I stomped on to Canary Wharf then, unsettling the security guards there by being so sweaty and unkempt looking in public, and turned round joyfully homewards. Lollipop man was agast as I passed him yet again, this time in the opposite direction on the home straight, and I threw myself across the threshold of our house after 1 hour and 15 minutes. 15 minutes faster than even Brian and Steve could have expected of me. There is a chance now though that all my muscles will seize up in protest to such a degree that I can never walk again, and as I've learned the hard way pounding the pavement in trainers is wildly different to clumping around the country in heavy hiking boots. Once I get my breath back though I'll be pleased with myself.