At the end of a year that has seen my running improve no end - certainly beyond my dreams 12 months ago after three years of health issues - I have tipped myself over the edge to the extent that my right Achilles has flared up again and that familiar Wrighty hobble has re-emerged. It all happened at the Eynsham 10k, a race I'd never done before but was keen to compete in as it's up there with Bourton as one of the fastest courses around.
In all my races this year I've started cautiously and gradually moved through the field, much to the annoyance of others, not least because of my shuffling action which kind of 'takes the p*** as I float past far more elegant runners. This is, however, a very frustrating form of racing because I'm always 'crossing the gap' in cycling parlance, and therefore never really running in the right group at any one time, leading to frustration at the end. So at Eynsham, with a couple of decent results behind me I went off at a faster pace than usual. It wasn't a suicidal pace but one that I recognised very early on was probably five seconds per km faster than I would be comfortable with over the full distance. Sure enough the little group that I was hanging onto started to drift away at about 6km, a difficult 2km ensued but then I settled back into a rhythm and finished strongly for my fastest time of the year, albeit I know there is another minute to come off at my current fitness levels
Felt ok after the race and did my usual couple of miles easy warm-down during which I felt a slight twinge in my Achilles. Next day I went out for a steady lunchtime run with Adrian as I had the day off work, but I immediately knew things weren't right. My right Achilles was not happy. Two weeks later, Kinesio tape on my ankle, pain permanently etched in my mind if I try to run, I realise that at Eynsham by pushing that little bit harder and stressing my legs more than I should have reasonably done, I've put myself back a few months. Not a good end to the year but nobody to blame except me and can't really complain as the year has still gone far better than planned. Time for a rest.
Mob match course in Richmond Park
Footnote to my mob match article last time. Talking to a running friend in Cirencester this week who has been injured for a year and is just getting back, a comment he made resonated strongly with me. He stated that he very nearly gave up and threw in the towel, thankfully he's now back training and will hopefully make a full recovery. Back in 1987 I was in that position and got so close to giving up: I'd just become a dad; had an annoying running injury; was in a stressful job; and seriously thought I had a serious long term illness (jury still out on that one). As a consequence I didn't run for six months as I wallowed in self-pity (and enjoyed changing nappies). I was only 30 but as far as I was concerned running was over for me, the golf course beckoned. One thing changed that, a mob match loomed on October '87: I thought long and hard, surely there was no way I could even contemplate 7½ miles after my idleness ... Yet something inside me said 'go on, have a run, what's the worst that could happen?', so I went out a couple of times in the week leading to the race, just for a short jog, felt awful, yet decided on the morning of the race that 'Hell, if I don't run I'll be on the slippery slope and will never recover.' I ran, it was hell but I got round in 50th place, got a great welcome back, found my enthusiasm and rediscovered this fantastic sport. That one day was so important to me.
