I haven’t been running in 9 days. Or 214 hours. Any runner knows this feels more like 214 days! My last run was on holiday, which now feels like a lifetime ago. Strained my calf on those Tenerifian hills, I’m not asking for sympathy, I barely even feel sorry for myself it was so lovely! Fat chance I was going to be following the RICE protocols as a ‘mum on holiday’! Does a couple of half arsed laps of breaststroke in the freezing hotel pool count as icing? I did however rest and elevate (sunbathe), should have cross trained in the poorly air conditioned hotel gym……But didn’t. (in my defence I was on holiday, ok I’m lazy) I took my chance with daddy around and drank mojitos and daiquiris instead. This was ill advised, I think one too many shots of rum lowered my defences and left me vulnerable to tonsillitis from the germ infested plane. Well at least this ensured I wouldn’t be running on my sore calf for the next few days.
Back in the UK a quick trip to the docs got me some much needed antibiotics and voila, I was woken up this morning by the baby bear feeling confused, tired but relatively well. Boobed him back to sleep, looked over at my sleeping husband and thought, ‘this is it, this is your chance, get out, go go go’. Snuck out from under the baby with that ‘mum stealth’. Threw on my kit and opened my front door. It was cold, especially for May, and felt much harder work than it should have but I did it! I kept the pace easy and my heartrate well within my aerobic zone. The first run back always feels so foreign, ‘is this fast, did I do this for fun, should quit running forever, HOW UNFIT AM I?!’. I actually considered walking the last mile, had to have a quick stern word with myself for being so ridiculous and jogged home. But I did it, I ran past the early morning commuters, and I caught the early morning verse of birds and felt smug…. For a minute anyway. And for 4 glorious miles I wasn’t ‘mummy’, no one cried at me or told me they they didn’t like their breakfast and I was one step closer to my goal.