Hell no.
I had two minutes left of my last W6R1 run when within the space of three steps, I went from fine, to “hmmm, calf is a little bit tight” to it suddenly contracting to the point of implosion, like a dying star.
I stopped and almost upturned a lamppost trying to stretch it out but was condemned to the walk of shame, limping like I’d taken a bullet. And then it started raining for good measure.
I’m still hobbling today. I’m trying to find a way of walking that doesn’t involve putting pressure on my toes but don't appear to be there yet. I thought I was styling it out until the cleaners laughed at me.
The Chinese say:他妈的
The Japanese say:性交
The Romanians say:Dracu
The French say:baiser
The Swedish say:Knulla
The Welsh say:F*ck
The English say:Oh dear
It’s funny how the world works. Before Christmas, I was approached by a company to give a bit of ad-hoc advice and ended up agreeing to sit in a conference call the day my son was born. I had an hour’s sleep inside of me and all the endorphins you’d expect, but just ran off of instinct. I didn’t realise I was being interviewed. There were a few follow-up mails, where I just gave frank opinion and then on Friday I received a call telling me they wanted me on the project ASAP, am I available? You never say no to that question, so I gave them a highly inflated rate expectation and a wish list of T’s & C’s, thinking they’d tell me I was way wide of the mark. Instead I woke up on Monday morning with a draft contract.
The timing is fantastic, I’ve been working under a blanket of frustration for the last year and it’s been radiating across my entire psyche. You’ve got to be happy in your work as you spend so much of your life there. I spend more time with colleagues that I constantly want to garrotte than I do with my family, who I only find mildly objectionable.
So I’ve done it. I’m gawn. Like the wind.
I will be spreading my time between UK, Finland, Poland and Germany, so there’s going to be upheavals galore, but we think it’s worth it.
Last night was the first night I really had to force myself out the door to maintain routine. Normally I’m scratching at the lacquer like a dog who’s desperate to go and paint the lawn, with this hundredweight of stress lifted, I just felt floaty and apathetic. I was suggesting to myself to hang up the Brooks for a couple of weeks until we’re set in our new routine; I couldn't shake mental images of broken legs and shattered skulls cocking everything up but I told myself I was being a bed-wetter and got myself out the door.
A pulled / torn / strained calf isn’t the worst eventuality. It’s frustrating, but the timing of it kind of fits pretty well.
I vow to pick this up where I left off in a few weeks. But I’m not sure I vow to go slower. I’ve told you many, many times. I’m an idiot. Just leave me to it.
Happy running you bunch of flirts.